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ariesbilly · 9 months

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i love your freaky Harrington twins au drabbles, i had an idea for another one, maybe where like a children hood friend of the twins wants to sleep with billy too, and and she kinda of acts like a cockblock for them and tries to seduce billy herself, but its all in good fun because the twins know she not being mean but its kinda like a fun little competition between the three of them over billy

(Billy is still very much a giant homosexual in this but I figured I could still have some fun lol) (also this went way into hornytown I don’t even know if it’s entirely what you asked but this got away from me lmao welp)

Warning for smut and incesty behavior and poor kink practices :) but hey…sub!billy :)

Billy had this rule for himself: for every guy he hooked up with, he had to make a public spectacle of hooking up with a random girl. It helped ease any nerves he had about being found out. Make sure people see him acting like a heterosexual and no one will catch on that he’d rather be sucking dick. Balance out the universe a little bit.

So after his little rendezvous with the twins he’s gotta do damage control. Contemplated briefly over if that meant he had to hook up with two girls this time, but ultimately decided two guys at once should still count as one. Maybe he’s cheating the universe a little. It’ll be fine.

Anyway. A week after that all went down there’s a party. And at that party, there’s a girl. A girl with a mountain of dark curls pulled back atop her head and a skimpy little blue dress that hugs her in all the right places, like she knew exactly what she was doing when she put it on.

And she’s been eying Billy all night. Like she decided hours ago he was going to be hers and nobody, not even him, could do a damn thing about it. Fortunately for her, tonight it’s exactly what he’s looking for.

He seeks her out in the crowd, though, the way she’s looking at him as she continues swaying to the music leads him to believe she still thinks she’s calling the shots here. Whatever helps.

“Name’s Billy,” he shouts over the music, leaning seductively close to her ear.

“I know!” She grins, doesn’t offer her own name back.

“You gonna tell me yours?”

“If you don’t already know it then maybe you don’t deserve to.”

She’s cheeky. He’ll give her that.

Slipping his hand around her waist, Billy pulls her in close. She goes willingly. “Names are overrated anyway. No need to make this personal.”

She looks up at him then, devilish twinkle in her eye as her hands slide up his shoulders to his neck. “Couldn’t agree more.”

She’s not the first girl he’s kissed in Hawkins, but she is the first who’s initiated it.

It’s not bad, all things considered. Certainly isn’t igniting any flames of passion, but on technicalities alone she’s one of the better kisses he’s had.

Her lips are soft, if a little tacky from her lipgloss. Strawberry flavored. And she’s not afraid to use her tongue, and knows how to use it, too. Billy’s sure she’s made plenty of boys happy already, and there’ll only be more to come in the future. He’s just not one of them.

His eyes flicker open and land directly on the last two people he wants to be seeing right now.

Off in a corner across the room, the twins are standing side by side - James casually leaning against the wall, nursing a beer, while Steve is leaning on a hand placed by his brother’s head. And they’re just…staring. At Billy. At Billy making out with some girl. James looks amused. Steve looks… annoyed? Which is weird, considering he and Billy still aren’t on great terms, even if Billy did have the guy’s dick in his mouth the other night. That’s besides the point.

Billy’s brows furrow as eye contact remains. The whole scene is creeping him out. Normally he’s not opposed to voyeurism, but the hairs on the back of his neck are starting to stand and he needs to get the hell away from the twins’ off-putting gaze.

He pulls away from the kiss, mumbles “I need a beer,” and slinks out of the crowd towards the kitchen.

He gets about a minute and a half of solace before he feels someone pressed to his back.

“Looks like someone’s enjoying himself tonight.” James’ breath ghosts over the shell of Billy’s ear, has him flinching away and shoving the guy off, eyes darting around to make sure no one saw. They’re alone.

“Are you looking for an ass beating?”

“Mmm, that could be fun, but I’d much rather give you one.” He winks and takes a bite out of a Twizzler. Where the hell did he get candy from?

Billy rolls his eyes. “How about you give your brother one instead and pretend it’s me.” Steve bristles on the other side of the room, clearly offended by the remark, not that Billy gives a shit.

He goes to shove past James, but only manages a few steps before his wrist is being grabbed, a sickly sweet patronizing saying “Aw, c’mon William, don’t be like that.”

Billy snatches his wrist away, gets up in the guy’s face, snarling. “Don’t fucking call me that.”

James is undeterred. Stares at Billy head on with a mocking pout on his face. “You didn’t seem to mind it the other night…” He lifts a finger up to trace down Billy’s temple, in the process tucking a loose curl behind his ear.

Something snaps in Billy then. His fist rears back for a swing, but before it has a chance to connect, another voice is filling the kitchen.

“There you are!” The girl from earlier. “Was wondering what was taking you so long. Hi James!” She smiles bright. “Steve.” She’s less enthusiastic on that one. Obviously some history there Billy doesn’t care to know about.

“Heather, looking beautiful as always,” says James, all chipper like he wasn’t just about to have his shit rocked.

“Obviously,” Heather laughs. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything…” She pressed to Billy’s side, hand sliding up to his shoulder as she awaits an answer.

Billy switches back to his charming self no problem. Hand snaking around her waist like he’s proving a point, ignoring the other two boys in the room. “Not at all, doll.”

“Good. Because I was thinking maybe we could take this party upstairs…” She walks the fingers of her other hand up his chest, sharp nails scratching their path.

And Billy will take any excuse to leave this room right now, so. He smirks, squeezing her briefly before his eyes flicker to James. “Lead the way.”

They find an empty room upstairs, and they waste no time getting to business once the door is shut behind them.

Heather’s on him in an instant, hands behind his neck as she kisses him, using it as leverage to lift herself up and wrap her legs around his body. Billy can’t help but laugh, hands going to get waist so she won’t fall. “Damn, someone’s eager.”

“Parties make me horny,” she breathes before licking their lips again.

Yeah, no shit, Billy thinks.

She’s pulling his jacket and shirt down his arms as he walks her back to the bed, throwing her down on it because something’s telling him she likes it a little rough. The glimmer in her eye as she looks up at him is enough confirmation.

And then he’s on top of her, hands guiding her dress north as he mouths her neck.

She’s making quick work of his jeans, getting them as far down as his upper thigh and grabbing at his ass, clearly eager to get started.

He can almost pretend she’s someone else. Has gotten very good by now at leaving his body and pretending he’s elsewhere, where the hands on him are bigger, rougher. Where the body underneath him is solid and muscled and enough to break him in two. Where the moans floating through his ears are deep and throaty and taunting.

He’s just starting to get lost in that dream when he feels a kiss between his shoulder blades and a warm body at his back. Is gone enough to let out a soft moan of pleasure until he remembers where he is, and who he’s with, and how no one’s supposed to be behind him and-

He jumps off the bed in a fright. Sees James lounging back on the mattress, a cackle coming from his lips as Heather lays beside him, laughing, too.

“Surprise!” James sings.

“What the fuck is this?” Billy practically shouts, pulling his pants up to cover himself, but leaving them undone. His eyes dart over to the door, seeing Steve casually leaning against the frame, arms crossed over his chest. Looks decidedly less amused by the situation than the other two, but his expression remains unreadable.

“Just having a little fun.” Heather smiles, shimmying her dress down.

“Is every rich person insane or is it just the ones in this town?”

“I’ll ask at the next convention,” James laughs. Heather joins him. “Oh, come on! Don’t be a poor sport. Come finish what you started!”

James pats the space between he and Heather, and he must be out of his fucking mind if he thinks Billy’s sticking around for this shit.

“You’re all fucking crazy.” Billy grabs his clothes off the floor and marches towards the door, but as he reaches for the knob, Steve’s arm comes out to stretch across, blocking his exit. “Move, Harrington,” he growls.

Steve is undeterred. Just stares at him, unbothered. Tells him “Go back to the bed” as if he has any authority over Billy.

“You think I won’t beat the shit out of you right now?” Billy asks as he steps into Steve’s space, nose to nose.

All the response he gets is Steve’s hand suddenly at his throat, squeezing almost hard enough to cut off his airway.

“You won’t do anything, besides getting back on that bed.”

Billy would like to put up a fight. Would like to assert some authority and plow his way through Steve and leave this house and town behind him, but. He can’t deny the way his cock twitches in his jeans. How the firm hand on his throat has his brain going a little floaty. How he wants to bite at Steve’s plump pink lips until they bleed and piss him off enough to really wreck Billy’s shit. He’s so fucked.

Steve lets Billy go, and when all he does is stand there, says “I won’t say it again. Get. On. The bed.”

And Billy goes, God help him. Keeps his eyes on Steve as he backs up to the mattress, settling on the edge once the backs of his knees hit it.

He swallows thickly, waiting for what comes next. Which is Steve making his way to a chair that’s placed in the corner of the room, still in front of him.

“Heather, darling, I believe your services are no longer required this evening,” James is saying somewhere behind him. Right now all of Billy’s attention is aimed forward, his and Steve’s eyes locked on each other like they’re preparing for battle.

With Heather out of the room, the air feels thicker. Charged. Billy’s about to open his mouth to make some smartass comment, but Steve interrupts him.

“Get on your hands and knees. Facing me.” His tone brokers no room for argument, and Billy has to fight to conceal the shiver that runs down his spine. Feels like losing if he lets him know just how into this he fucking is.

So Billy gets himself into position, but he takes his time, making a show of it, knows he looks fucking tempting even if Steve just looks bored.

“Any other requests?” Billy taunts.

“Yes, actually. Jamie, I want you to eat him out. And make it good.”

Behind Billy, the bed moves, James shuffling into place. “Ooo, baby brother’s taking the reigns tonight.”

Billy sways his hips a little as his jeans are being pulled down to his thighs, spreads his legs for as much as the fabric allows them.

James wastes no time. Billy hisses as he feels the first press of wet heat at his hole, but he doesn’t allow himself to buckle. Stares straight ahead at Steve who has his eyes trained on the sight before him.

The whole thing is heady. Has Billy’s blood singing and skin tingling with electricity, cock hanging heavy between him and the sheets.

James presses his tongue inside, and Billy slumps a little, elbows bending him closer to the bed. Steve tuts.

“Stay up.”

“Or what?” Billy hates how breathy his voice sounds.

Steve smirks. Simply says, “Jamie,” and James stops. Billy has to fight back a whimper at the loss.

Steve’s looking at him with an eyebrow raised, challenging, daring Billy to make the wrong call.

He doesn’t. Just straightens his arms and clenches his fists in the sheets.

“Good boy.” Steve gives a slight nod, and James is back to business, spreading Billy open and eating him like he’s starved for it.

Billy’s eyes stay on Steve. Watch him slowly slide the zipper down on his jeans, pop the button open. Spit into his palm before taking his cock out and begin lazily stroking.

And Billy… wants. Wants to get his mouth on him, wants to feel him. Can almost pretend with James’ tongue shoved up his ass but it’s not the same. Not even close.

He’s aching for anything else, and James must be a mind reader with the way his hand reaches around to take hold of Billy’s dick. A sweet relief that lasts all of two seconds before Steve’s clicking his tongue at them like they’re dogs doing something they shouldn’t.

“No touching. He hasn’t earned it.”

And James’ hand backs away, and this time Billy does whimper because fuck, he just wants to come.

Steve seems to take pity on him. Gets up and crosses the room, hand still on his cock, stroking so slow, tempting. He stops just short enough that he’s out of reach of Billy’s mouth. Rakes his fingers through golden curls, almost reverently.

“You are a pretty one, I’ll give you that.” Tugs at Billy’s hair in a way that forces him to look up.

And Billy’s captivated. Maybe he could blame it on his lust-addled brain- that’s all it is. Nothing else. But he can’t take his eyes off Steve, or the way he’s stroking himself faster.

Steve doesn’t even have to say anything. Billy’s mouth opens on its own accord. Tongue out, waiting. Steve groans, and Billy waits til the last possible second to close his eyes, not wanting to miss the look on Steve’s face as he falls apart.

Billy’s face is a mess as he’s finally allowed to collapse onto the bed, limbs giving out like a chord’s just been snapped. His cheek pressed against a soft duvet as he stares up at Steve, mind gone foggy.

James gives a bite to ass, then a playful smack as he moves away, has Billy’s lower half wiggling futilely, but all his focus is on the vision in front of him; Steve Harrington’s looming presence, hand now soft in Billy’s curls, admiring his work. Billy catches himself wanting to be looked at like that again and again and again.

“Look at you,” Steve says, almost fondly. “Should take you downstairs and show you off.”

“Now there’s an idea,” James says, voice somewhat muffled before the sound of a lighter wheel can be heard.

It’s a nice idea, Billy thinks. Under different circumstances. To be showed off and sought after like a prize. He wants that.

What he gets instead is Steve crouching down to his level just to lean in and lick a broad stripe of his own cum off Billy’s cheek, and that’s enough to have his neglected dick kicking beneath him. And Billy groans. Because that’s about all he can manage right now, but he’s got the worst fucking case of blue balls.

Steve just tuts, patting Billy’s cheek all condescending. “Not tonight, sweetheart. But if you want it bad enough, you know where to find us.”

Steve stands up, tucking his dick back into his pants, straightening himself up. James follows him out of the room with a “Toodles!” over his shoulder.

And Billy’s so fucked.

#harringrove #freaky harrington twins au #briana answers things #my writing

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wildbornsiren · 2 years

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sfw alphabet | r.f.

SFW Alphabet R.F. author’s notes: I will literally salt and burn the earth to protect Bob. Thank you so much for the likes/reblogs. It really means the most. what: an alphabetical list of safe for work headcanons featuring Robert “Bob” Floyd. Gender neutral reader. warnings: none.

A: Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?) Bob is an introvert, so if he willingly spends time with you, you are important to him. Quality time is extremely important to him, as well as acts of service. He picks up your favorite magazine, remembers when your favorite band has a new album coming out and will pick it up for you. He knows your coffee order and will bring it to you when he comes over. He leaves love notes on the bathroom mirror, post it notes in your lunch, good morning/good night text messages.

B: Best Friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?) Bob is an introvert. He can count his real friends on both his hands. You need work and be patient if you want to get onto that exclusive list of close friends. A lot of the barriers are those who are already on that list. They’re protective of him and want to keep him safe. While he may not be the best of friends with everyone on his squad, but he is fiercely protective of them and will have their back. C: Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?) He’s not a cuddler. He’s the one to sit next to you on the couch, pull your legs over his. When he rests his head in your lap, if you play with his hair, he’s completely relaxed. He’ll sit with his arm over your shoulders during a movie, or if you’re sitting in a booth at the bar. If you need cuddling, all you have to do is ask. He’ll wrap his arms around you, tuck you against him and hold you until all the bad melts away. He’ll rub your back, kiss the top of your head. He does sneak his fingertips under the hem of your shirt, lightly rubbing at the small of your back, enjoying the skin-to-skin contact. D: Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?) Bob is comfortable if he’s single. He doesn’t seek out one-night stands, and he’s not someone who -needs- to be in a relationship. He does, however, want to settle down. He’d like domesticity and someone to greet him when he walks through the door. He's a good cook but doesn’t really do it all that often. He’ll call for take-out or bring something home. Weekends are for cooking and grilling and trying new things. His place is comfortable. Cluttered, he’s got a pile of unopened mail on the kitchen table, there’s a few dishes in the sink. Dirty laundry is typically in a pile in front of the washer, and there’s a pile of clean clothes in the bedroom— though his uniforms are pressed and hung properly. His fridge is covered with photos, graduation announcements, programs from school concerts, ticket stubs ect. He’s got the newest tech and gaming systems and that’s where most of his money goes after his financial responsibilities are taken care of. E: Ending (If they had to break up with their partner how would they do it?) He doesn’t take the decision to end relationships lightly. He tries to make it work, and will put in work, but if it just isn’t going anywhere? He ends it gently. He doesn’t cast blame on himself or his partner but says that they’re not working and it’s time to go their separate ways. He has ended a few relationships via text, but he can do it in person. F: Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?) Once you’ve gone dates for a few months Bob will ask to make it official. By then he’s got a decent grasp of your personality and how you treat people. He doesn’t rush into things. Like most military guys once commitment and enmeshing of your lives together he’ll propose. He’s one that will meet your family, and you’ll be a regular at his family’s homes, and get text messages and postcards from them. He’d propose when the two of you were alone together on vacation. (And he would have asked your parents for permission beforehand). G: Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?) Bob will treat you right. He’s gentle, affectionate, physical and likes to make you smile. He wants to make sure that you shine and will do everything he can to put you first and out there. You’re special to him, and he wants the world to see it—though he may not have the words to say so. He's got a good hold on his emotions, and deals with them in a healthy way. He talks with members of his squad, old timers, and eventually he’ll share what he can with you. A lot of his missions he can’t talk about, but he doesn’t hold things in. H: Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?) He likes hugs. He’s a full contact hugger, your body pulled tight against his. You can feel the strength in his arms, the way he holds you for a few moments before letting go. He’s one of those that his touch lingers, his hands will slide up and down your arms, and almost pull you in for another before he’s stepping away. I: I love you (how fast do they say the L-word) It started with “I love when we get the chance to hang out”, or when you’re signing out of a multiplayer game at night a quick ‘love ya’ before the mic goes dead and his icon goes dark. You chalk it up to friendship. He’s comfortable with those select few that see past the introvert habits—you’ve heard him say it to Phoenix and the others when you all leave the bar for the night. He says it to his friends, it’s a way to express his affections. You decide to test the theory one day. It’s late, he’s sprawled out on your couch, x-box controller in hand, too tired to drive back to the barracks. You shut the system off, get to your feet, and drape a blanket over him. Your heart is beating so fast you feel like it’s going to burst from your chest. “Love you.” He says. His hand closes around your wrist, and you feel the press of his lips against your palm. “It’s okay if you don’t want to say it back, but I need to say it every chance I get. Just so you know.” That night you find out that the two of you can sleep comfortably on the couch, and the sound of his heartbeat in your ear is the sweetest lullaby. J: Jealousy (how jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?) He doesn’t. Sure, he’ll express envy at certain times, but he doesn’t get jealous. Yes, he’s quiet and introverted, but he knows what he’s doing. He has you, doesn’t he? He doesn’t mind if you dance with other men, or chat with them at the bar. He’s not a dancer, and if its something you want to do, he’s not going to deny you that happiness. K: Kisses (what are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?) Give this man a forehead kiss and watch him melt. On the other hand, he is down for a sloppy make out session that leaves you both panting and unable to think of anything but the feel of each other’s mouth. He’ll pull you close, one hand at the small of your back challenging you to keep up. He likes to leave his mark on that soft skin at the hollow of your throat. L: Little ones (how are they around children?) He's got a literal shit load of nephews and nieces. His siblings reproduce like bunnies, and he dotes on them all. Realistically he can’t be there for every ball game, recital, birthday etc., but he calls or video chats. He sends cards and has many group chats with the older kiddos. When he manages to make it home for holidays he’s often tackled and pounced upon by a hoard of excited kids. He's the youngest of a large family, and he wants kids of his own. He’s got a couple single female friends with kids, and he’s a good male stand in.

M: Mornings (How are mornings spent with them?) On his days off getting this man out of bed is an act of God to be honest. There’s actual protest, pleas of ‘ten more minutes’ or even ignoring your efforts outright. He has been known to shuffle into the kitchen in his boxers and t-shirt grab a box of cereal and go back to the bedroom eating it dry by the handful in the safety and warmth of the covers. When he’s on duty he’s up an hour or so before report time. He showers, shaves, eats breakfast and reads the paper. He’ll set the coffee pot to brew for when you need to be up. He’ll leave you a note on the wipe off board on the fridge, kiss you on the cheek or forehead before he leaves. N: Night (How are nights spent with them?) When he’s feeling particularly social, or the squad wants him to come out, he’ll go out and drink. He doesn’t drink a lot; he’ll nurse a couple of beers. Play pool, darts, and watch everything that’s going on around him. If he stays in and again is feeling social, games. Board games, video games, tabletop games in person or on discord. His favorite way to spend the evening is curled up next to you on the couch, playing something on x-box with you playing with him, or you doing your own thing. He wants to be near you. O: Open (when would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?) There’s layers to Bob. To get through them takes patience and time. He’s an introvert, private person and fiercely protective of the people he keeps close to him. Once you’re through, he talks about everything and anything. He likes to talk when you’re doing something else, playing games together, cooking, doing the dishes, late night drives or walks. The way he talks about the people in his life, you feel like you know them, long before you get to meet them. P: Patience (How easily angered are they?) Frustrated, often. Angry, not that often. He’s got a lot of patience and is slow to anger. His irritation generally stays at frustration, and he’ll snap at the subject of his irritation. He does have a nasty habit of getting even though once he’s reached the anger threshold. Q: Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing or do they kind of forget everything?) His career is high stakes and detail oriented. This spills into his day-to-day life. He remembers birthdays, anniversaries, firsts that you share together. He’ll send you little text messages reminding you of your first kiss, the first time you stayed the night. The first time he went to work with hickies on his neck and forgot about it. (You paid for that one, not that you’re complaining). He’s the one that will send a “Don’t forget you’re meeting xx after work today. Love you” if you leave the house in the morning in a hurry. R: Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?) “Are you ready for this?” It’s just the two of you in the elevator. You study his reflection in the mirrored doors, taking in the brilliant white of his uniform, splashes of color from service ribbons and medals. He’s standing at his full height, a quiet confidence there. He smiles, reaching for your hand, fingers interlocking with yours. “Are you? They can be…” He pauses, “A lot.” “It’s a bunch of fighter pilots and their supervisors. I expected it to be a lot.” He brings your linked hands up, kissing the back of your hand. “They’re going to be all over you.” “I’d rather have you all over me.” You’re rewarded by the flash of color high on his cheeks as he shakes his head softly. “I promise you that will happen later.” The elevator comes to a stop, the doors opening with a soft ping. The sounds of a string quartet blending with the din of conversation hits you first. Bob keeps a hold of your hand as you step out of the elevator. Navy service men in their formal finery, their partners equally beautiful are chatting in small groups. Round tables with white linens, flowers, place cards and table settings are toward the back of the room. Waitstaff move amongst the crowd holding trays of champagne and appetizers. The elegance takes your breath away, giving you pause. Bob squeezes your hand, leaning over to kiss your temple. “You look amazing.” He whispers. “I’m proud to have you by my side, thank you.” Over the sound of a violin, you hear a woman’s voice call out “Bob!” She’s also in her white uniform smiling widely, waving the two of you over. There’s an answering chorus of “Bob!” from the uniformed men next to her. You’re introduced to his flight partner, a woman named Natasha, or Phoenix, who hugs you tightly before grinning up at Bob and hugging him as well. A clean-shaven man with a wicked smirk drapes his arm over Bob’s shoulders and mutters something to him, causing your boyfriend to flush and roll his eyes. A flash of money passing between Phoenix and the mustached pilot, Rooster as Bob ducks out of the hold. Their call signs are familiar, and its almost as if you already knew them from the stories Bob had told you. S: Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?) He is very protective. He watches you in public, keeping an eye on where you are in the crowd. He knows who you’re talking to, or who is going with you when you go out with your friends. When you’re walking together in town, he’s a step or two behind you, letting you shine, but he’s keeping an eye on the surroundings. When you go to restaurants, his chair is against the wall, and you’re on the inside when you sit in booths. You often find yourself stepping in when people get too close to him or overwhelm him with conversation/presence/physical closeness. You don’t have to speak for him, but you’ll interrupt so he can get a word in edgewise, or if there’s something wrong with an order at a restaurant. T: Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?) He's a romantic. He leaves post-it notes of sweet things, sends you photos of cute animals, or things that you’d like. He’s a gift giver and there’s so much thought behind whatever he brings you. Dates, he puts some effort in, especially if it’s a night out. He’ll take you somewhere nice, or to the theater if there’s a movie or play you’ve been wanting to see. He does things for you without asking, and if you do ask him to do something, it’s done. U: Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?) If you wrong him, he gets back at you. Somehow. He’s also got the urge that most introverts have, to just up and disappear for a few days, cutting off all contact with the outside world. Typically, you can see this coming, and you brace yourself. He doesn’t mean to cut you off, it’s just that he literally cannot do anything with anyone for a little while. The first time this happens, you’re convinced that your relationship is over. You did something wrong, and rather than ending it, Bob ghosted you. When you ask mutual friends about it, they don’t have any insight, his phone going straight to voice mail, your text messages left unread. It was the source of your only full-blown argument when he wandered in three days later as if nothing happened. V: Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?) His hair is a little longer than regulation, but he keeps it slicked back enough that he doesn’t get flack for it. He’s one of those people that bodies are bodies, and he’s happy with his. He’s not entirely comfortable baring it all, so the glimpses you get of him when he’s fresh out of the shower, before he’s got his boxers on, are a rare treat. He takes care of himself. He’s got a couple tattoos on his back and torso. W: Whole (would they feel incomplete without you?) If you are his person, you are his person. It would take him a long time to get over you, and he’ll always love you, whether he’s in love with you or not. Y: Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?) Unwarranted malevolence. He is one who pays attention to how his partner or dates treat service workers. People being unkind—he understands that people don’t have to be nice but being unkind is something he doesn’t like. He doesn’t handle change well and needs an adjustment period. Partner wise, he can’t be with someone who doesn’t understand that at times he needs to be by himself without anything else. He needs someone who will allow him to escape when social situations get to be too much, or the day or two he needs to decompress when he comes home from a deployment before he can be yours. Z: Zzz (what is a sleep habit of theirs?) He sleeps in a t-shirt and boxers, fan going, normally on top of the blankets. He sleeps on his belly, face buried in the pillow and good lord does he snore. His bedroom is plain, queen-sized bed, blinds on the window which are always open, and halfway pulled up. He’s got his side of the bed, and it’s the one closest to the door. On a table next to the bed is his cell phone, watch, alarm clock, glasses and a water bottle. Most of the time when if he goes to ‘bed’ before you, you have to move a x-box controller out of the way or comic book or four. He likes it when you tell him that you sleep on his side of the bed when he's gone.

#Robert Bob Floyd #Bob Floyd #Robert Bob Floyd x reader #Robert Bob Floyd x you #Bob Floyd x you #Bob Floyd x reader #reader insert #reader imagines #headcanon #Top Gun: Maverick #Top Gun Maverick #Top Gun fanfiction #Top Gun: Maverick Fanfiction #shelly writes

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impulsea · 1 year

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In an alternative universe where Eric never enters in the picture/doesn't exists, do you think Triton would had found out soon or later about Ariel's grotto? And would had Ariel go to Ursula the same way she did in the film?

Hi friend! I definitely think, with or without Eric's involvement, King Triton would've discovered Ariel's Grotto- and this makes me uncomfortable even thinking about...but because Ariel couldn't trust anyone around her. She already had to be super mindful of who even knew about it, and the only person she willingly told was Flounder, who unintentionally spills everything the minute he gets anxious so he would've fumbled the bag at one point or another, just as he did in the reprimanding scene of the original film. Also, Sebastian was literally appointed to spy on Ariel by the King and discovers the Grotto almost instantly- and he, too, over-speaks during times of stress, as we see him being the one to tell King Triton that Ariel fell in love with a human. So, King Triton definitely would've found out, sadly, because the undersea world wasn't a place where Ariel could've actually had a sustainable hiding spot or a safe place- it's like trying to complete an obstacle course that's plagued by all those laser beams flashing through it and having to try to dodge them with every movement. You might be able to get away with it for a little bit, but sooner or later, you just can't fight against it and the end is inevitable.

However, regarding your second question, Ariel definitely never would've gone to Ursula the way she did in the film if King Triton hadn't messed up the way he did. Again, he invaded her personal space, told her he didn't accept her, and screamed at her. He then left her in a state of ruin before resolve could even be attempted. Even in this instance, Ariel didn't seek Ursula out herself- rather, the eels came to her, and she initially denied them. It's possible the eels would've come to her at a different time, had this opportunity not presented itself, but I doubt she would've gone through with it. When she first rejects the eels, her lines are: "Ursula- the sea witch? I couldn't possibly." Ursula is someone that's been "othered" and alienated as someone who can only live on the outskirts. No one wants anything to do with her and she's deemed as not being worthy of society or inclusion in any form. She's viewed as dangerous, a "demon" and a "monster" and Ariel's been socially conditioned in a way to not even allow herself to entertain the slightest possibility that she might pursue Ursula as a viable contact...but, didn't Triton really just do that to Ariel through her connection with humans? He barges in on her secret hiding space, berates her for saving a human, and deems them as monsters "incapable of any feeling" but Ariel, at this point, is already in love with a human and humans in general. She's seen them up close, interacted with one- she knows better. By Triton not accepting her connection with this world or his daughter, in turn, he's now pushed her into the role of an outsider just as he has with Ursula. Which, honestly, Ariel always was in the film- having to hide in her own part of the ocean, not telling her sisters anything, having to live her life in secret, but it's never been so apparent or violent or intrusive as it had been that night King Triton destroyed her belongings. Where was Ariel going to go to- a home that didn't accept her, to be around sisters that probably would've shunned her after what her Father told them? Ariel never fit into the spaces her Father created, but after that night, she probably felt a weird kinship with Ursula (she saw how wrong he was about humans- how aggressively, horribly wrong...maybe Ursula wouldn't be that bad? Besides it was the only person in Ariel's entire world that she could mildly have hope in after the events of that night) and that created the thread that led her to ultimately go out on a limb and take a chance through that specific avenue. If that never happened, though, I think Ariel would've gone through with the original plan she was voicing at the beginning of Under the Sea- she would've found out where Eric lived from Scuttle, swam up to his castle, and told him about what had happened. The thought is so dear to me, because as a child, I loved this snow globe above all others and the Ariel and Eric figurines are mostly the reason why. You have all the "normal" couples dancing along the stone floors, while leagues below them, Eric descends upon the cool night sea to embrace a little mermaid, her cold lower half unable to rise from her natural home, but her yearning heart and longing eyes warm with an everlasting love for him and every bit at home with him as his soul is with her.

#- message in a bottle <#ask #anonymous #the little mermaid

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sereia1313 · 2 years

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Hello! Seriea, cannn you doooo Toga x Izayoi orrrrrrrr maybe Midoriko x Kirinmaru *shoots myself in the face*, maybe cafe or gardener, and I love purple~~

@shade-without-color! How wonderful to see you in my inbox! I'll end up doing both of your ideas, but have some Midoriko and pining Kirinmaru for now! And I hope you're feeling better, my love 💖💖💖

Read it on Ao3, Dokuga, and FFnet.

Midoriko/Kirinmaru, Gardener, Purple

"You were told not to change anything!" The broom hit the back of Kirinmaru's head, easily avoidable, though he'd done nothing to dodge it. The old priestess never ceased to find reasons to take her ire out on him.

He'd come to them severely injured, barely making it up the stairs of the shrine before losing consciousness. He'd never imagined that he'd wake up again—or in the arms of an angel no less.

The broom made contact again, and Kirinmaru sighed. "I'd thought to add a little colour."

"You are not allowed to think," the old woman hissed. "You are only here because she wills it. If it were up to me, you'd have been left to drown in your own—"

"Sensei."

Kirinmaru stilled, her voice doing much to calm his rising ire.

The old woman huffed, then turned to the head priestess, bowing low. "Midoriko-sama, this filth has desegrated your personal garden."

"I can see that." Green eyes peeked out from under his auburn hair, gazing upon the wonder that was his saviour. She considered him for a moment, then turned back to the one with the broom. "I will take care of it."

The older priestess pursed her lips but didn't say anything else, bowing again before shuffling away, broom in hand. Adverting his eyes, Kirinmaru returned to his work, covering the bulbs with fresh soil at the base of the wall.

"She's right, you know." He winced, not looking at her, even as she stood beside him. "You should have asked first."

The shrine was surrounded by apricot trees, the pale blossoms symbolizing elegance and the pure hearts of those that trained under Midoriko. They grew in abundance, the oldest ones planted by her predecessors—secluded in the back and used as a private oasis for the head priestess.

Kirinmaru had always hated them—Midoriko was so much more than that. A warrior with the face of an angel who had used her own power to bring him back from the edge of death when all others would have left him to perish.

The purple hue of the violets now climbing up the wall behind the apricot trees was much more suited to her unbreakable spirit.

"I apologize," he said, reaching for his tools. "I'll remove them—" His eyes widened when her hand touched his shoulder, stilling his movement.

"And ruin all of your hard work?"

His heart swelled, and he gave her a stiff nod, plucking one of the newly opened blooms and holding it out to her. She accepted it willingly, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"A simple note would suffice next time you wish to thank me."

Kirinmaru jerked, looking up at her with a startled expression. "You are aware of the meaning behind—"

"We are taught many things in order to be prepared for those who would seek to harm us," she said, twirling the flower between her fingers. "It pays to know which plants are poisonous and which are meant to heal."

She kissed the violet he'd given her, then placed it against his mouth, colour blooming between the blue marks on his cheeks. "I appreciate your sincerity, Kirinmaru. As well as anything else you have to offer." The smile from before only widened at the shock on his face, Midoriko tucking the flower into her robes before turning away. "Do not overwork yourself. And try to stay away from Sensei's broom."

He was unable to form words, even as she walked back towards the shrine, though his tools felt lighter when he was eventually able to return to his task, hope lessening the weight on his shoulders.

#sereia1313 #creator: sereia1313 #sereia: my stories #100 fic ask #Kiss fic #tumblr asks #my inbox is always open #my inbox is overflowing #spill the tea #support creativity #inuyasha fandom #inuyasha fanfiction #shade without color #kirinmaru x midoriko #kiss & tell #midokirin

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nerves-nebula · 2 years

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(same person again) Honestly considering how low the bar is it's not that hard to be a good foster/adoptive parent.

If you don't want to read this, that's completely fair! But idk, here's some opinions and stuff from someone who grew up surrounded by the system.

First I'd like to say, even if you don't read the below, that I think you you'd make a good parent, but I of course don't know you personally lol. But you wanting to learn about the system and seeking out opinions from actual adoptees show that you're already wayyyy better than quite a few adoptive parents out there already.

(the rest. Sorry it's long, I don't know if it came off but I'm excited to see someone who respects the experiences of adoptees when considering adoption! Good luck with whatever path you choose, I wish you well)

Firstly, consider the kid's background. Is it an open or closed adoption? Why were they put up for adoption? For me (and all my foster siblings) we were put up for adoption because it wasn't safe to keep living with our birth parents. My case was.. more severe than most (had my birth parents family (who weren't put in jail lol) known where I was they could've kidnapped/killed/etc me) but for a lot of people it isn't that extreme.

But that's a HUGE thing to consider if you go the paid adoption route vs the foster-care route. Understand why the kid was put up for adoption, check if they are legally an orphan or not (I was, so my social worker didn't have pressure to actually see if things were going well. who would they tell, my parents? multiple people failed that role).

Consider how different things about the kid might change how their social worker treats them. Did you get a kid quickly, or did it take time? Did the birth parents willingly give the kid up, or will you possibly have to considering going to court for custody in the future? (for me, they called up a few different families and gave me to whoever got to the hospital fast enough lol. but I've heard some social workers go through background checks to see if the potential adoptive parent is good enough)

Then after all that consider how that will affect the kid. Did they have support as a baby? Were they abused? Some kids will act out, and some will withdraw. If a kid is acting out try talking to them on their level, it can be so easy to feel like you don't have a place to belong, especially if kids at school pick on them/make fun of them for being adopted.

But remember if a kid withdraws or acts ""good/easy"" you should still check up on them. Sometimes when you're in the system you fight for what you have without realizing you don't have to be perfect because you won't be kicked out for crying or having an opinion or inconveniencing someone sometimes.

Basically, remember the kid doesn't exist just to be your kid, they have their own life that they've lived outside of yours and that will impact them. Even if it was only for a few years. Be kind, be understanding, don't let them take advantage of you, and get them help if they need it.

When race comes into play, don't be a jerk. Don't make fun of their skin tone or make comments on how they look inhumane because of it. Don't talk about how obvious it is that they aren't related to anyone/not part of the family. Be open and talk about it and encourage connection with any cultures (if that applies). If their genetics/ancestory are unknown be open to discussions that can come from that. The kid might view themself as separate because of it, but that's nothing to do with you. It's hard figuring out your position when it comes to embracing ancestoral culture when you're adopted, and even more so when no one hears you out or when you have none of that information.

Also, (it's difficult to categorize this since my adoptive parents didn't let me stay in contact with any of my foster siblings/birth family and it's not the most common thing [foster from adoption is less spoken about than paid adoption or open adoption]) but like. Depending on your experience with the system, I'd say that being adopted makes you part of an exclusive minority. Sure, it's super diverse because everyone's experience with the system is different, but there's a core shared experience of abandonment and adaption that we all share, especially us that were orphaned to be put in the system.

Just, accept this with whatever kid you may adopt. They will have experiences you will (possibly? idk your life) never have. They will form their world view based on these experiences. Perhaps giving them the oportunity to meet other adoptees when they're older can help them understand and connect with other people and feel understood. I don't know if such programs exist, they don't where I live, but it's important I think. Just like how it's difficult to explain to cis folks what it's like to not be cis, it can be difficult to talk to non-adoptees what it's like to be adopted.

(also also, if you're getting paid to help care for a kid, actually buy them clothes or school supplies. I get that going to the lost and found for mittens and school supplies is helpful, but like, getting old clothes from foster kids who got it from other foster kids sometimes gets to be a bit much lol. Recycling is good, but when kids at school can tell there's something weird going on, you could be damaging the possibly already difficult process of making friends for the kid. Kids can be cruel, and adoption is still used as the butt of a lot of jokes. When you're young and in the system sometimes the only way your peers will understand is that "your parents didn't want you" or "you're not an equal".)

sorry for taking so long to respond, this is just a lot and ive been kinda busy. I did read it the day you sent the ask though haha.

OK SO: holy shit, thank you so much! This is perfect, and gives me tons of leads to follow later on. I'm not planning on adopting any time soon (i'm still in college, don't have a career, wayyyy too young and immature lmao. I’ll prolly need to go through a lot of therapy before I try to raise a kid) but it's always good to have this here for the future.

Also like, I consider the kids of adoption probably the BEST people to go to for adoption advice. There were a lot of things I hadn’t considered the traumatic nature of before I started listening to adoptees, because they’d just been really normalized to me (examples include changing the kids given name, even if they’re a baby, and not allowing the kid any contact with birth parents. I just assumed those were like, the normal state of affairs. And they kind of are? But I didn’t realize how Truly Fucked that was until I started paying attention to what adoptees said)

A bit proud to have considered some of the things here already, but I'm making a mental note of the ones I hadn't thought of.

Most of your notes on race were things I’d already considered, being a mixed kid who’s mom would make/get weird remarks. But I do appreciate your frankness around the subject of race & cultural heritage. I know I personally would have felt more connected to my blackness if my mom had mad any effort at all to get us connected to black people in our community. So, that’s something I try to be considerate of.

I think one of the ideas that’s been most impactful when thinking about raising kids in the future, for me at least, has been to remember that I’m not just raising a “kid” I’m raising a Whole Ass Human Being. Who is NOT going to be like me. No matter if I adopt them or birth them or what.

ANYWAY enough rambling!

I’m really really thankful for this insight :D

#nnstuff #rambling #ask #adoption #adoptee advice #long post #parenting

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amlovelies · 2 years

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If you’re still taking character development asks, can I ask 8, 18 & 21 for my beloved Romi please? 💜

I'm always taking asks. lol as long as I can find the original post I'll never say no to an opportunity to talk about my babies 🙊

8. Where and when do they seem most and least at ease? Why? How can you tell?

they are most at ease when they feel safe and secure. as of right now they probably feel most at ease when in their armor. when they are literally protected and feel like they can handle anything that the world tries to throw at them. holed up with danny in his apartment also has a similar effect. it goes against all of her instincts but he makes her feel safe, like she's something worth protecting, that he wouldn't hurt her, that he would protect her, feeling secluded and hidden away from the world, but also not needing the armor? that's an ease she never expected to find.

she is probably least at ease when visiting rangers hq. she has to wear her different armor there. the outfits and the hair and the makeup and the careful smiles. trying to project this nonthreatening image, walking into a place full of danger without all the weapons at her disposal. she does a decent job of trying to cover it up, but the rangers can tell she's uneasy there.

18. What kind of person could they become in the future? What are some developmental paths that they could take, (best, worst, most likely?) what would cause them to come to pass, and what consequences might they have? What paths would you especially like to see, and why?

answered here

21. What kind of relationships do they tend to intentionally seek out versus actually cultivate? What kind of social contact do they prefer, and why?

romi has a hard time with interpersonal relationships. back in the sidestep days it was very much the introvert getting adopted by extroverts type energy. she doesn't seek out relationships. she's made the connections she's had to to achieve her goals (frosty relatoinship with mortum, distant with bo etc) but as far as actually looking to connect she just doesn't. doesn't know how. she knows she used to. that there was a time when she had friends and would laugh and want to be around them. but now it just always feels like acting. danny is the only one who starts to break through with that and a lot of it is because of his butterflies, his thoughts being so strong so she can't ignore them breaking through her shields and making her feel something besides anger and hurt and fear

if you ask her she would say she prefers more formal social contact. plenty of distance both physically and emotionally, allowing her to keep up her facade, to keep her armor intact. being vulnerable will just lead to her getting hurt and it takes a lot for her to willingly engage in that.

character development questions

#thank you 💜#aml answers #mutual ginger #oc: romi brown #character development questions

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gduncan969 · 1 year

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Taboo Topics #1 - Unanswered Prayer

There are some topics relating to our lives as Christians that never seem to come up for discussion and the reason seems to be they are too sensitive or too personal or perhaps there are simply no easy answers so we do all we can to avoid these topics altogether. The result is they rumble around in the back of our minds while we wait and hope that an answer will be revealed at some later date but in the meantime we will continue to try to be the best Christians we can. One such topic that’s been rumbling around in my mind for many years is the subject of unanswered prayer and particularly, what do I need to do about it. If that’s not a problem for you then you needn’t read any further but if you’re one of those rare Christians who gets answers to every prayer I’d sure be interested in hearing your story. However, if you are a believer who maintains God does answer every prayer but His answer is often “No”, then read on.

A minister friend once told me, anyone who regularly gets their prayers answered will quickly find themselves—willingly or unwillingly— in the ministry because people will search them out and beat a path to their door. Think about it, if you had a life-threatening illness for which there was no earthly remedy but there was someone you knew who had a reputation for success with your problem, what would you do? You would do everything possible to make contact with them, no matter the time or trouble it caused and ask them to help you. The same minister friend also related how, when he was in Sweden, he was asked visit to a hospital to pray for a Christian lady suffering from a terminal illness. When he met her at her bedside she thanked him profusely for coming and told him there were already several hundred people from her church praying for her healing. His response to her was both very abrupt and very honest: “It’s wonderful all those people praying for you but are any of them getting an answer—do you know you could die from what you’ve got?” That may sound cruel but it was meant to jolt her out of her docile reliance on hopeful prayer and bring her to the place of faithful prayer because it’s the faithful prayers that get answers (James 5:15)! He prayed for her and she was healed. The crowds that flocked to Jesus didn’t seek him out because he looked good (Isaiah 53:2) but because he had the goods—the blind saw, the lame walked, the sick were healed, the dead arose and the demonized were set free. There’s no record that Jesus ever advertised His meetings, He didn’t need to because His reputation as one “who speaks like no other man” and “with an authority that even the demons obey him” was way out in front of Him. The “unclean” woman with the issue of blood squeezed through the crowd to touch the hem of his garment knowing that she would be healed (Matthew 9:20), the man born blind shouted over the heads of the everything-decent-and-in-order crowd, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me”, knowing that he would receive his sight (Luke 18:38) and the father pleaded with Jesus for his demonized son, knowing that he had the power to set him free—note, however, that Jesus first rebuked the father for saying to him, “If you can do anything..” (Mark 9:22). That rebuke applies to all of us today when we pray hoping for an answer rather than in faith receiving the answer. (Lord, we believe, help our unbelief). Jesus didn’t teach the Gospel in word only because “the Kingdom of God is not in talk but in power” (1 Corinthians 4:20), He preached it and proved it by demonstrating its power so it is no wonder that people simply showed up in their thousands wherever He was, even in the desert places with no hotels, restaurants or rest-rooms nearby. Indeed, Jesus’ problem was often how to shake off the crowds so that he and his disciples could get some rest.

So, what about your prayers? Are you getting answers?

Jesus urges us again and again to pray and not to give up (Luke 18:1) and we all agree that prayer is an essential activity in the Christian life but what about the answers to our prayers? Are these more or less important? I’ve lost count of the number of prayer meetings I have attended where a multitude of people prayed a multitude of prayers but extremely few came away (including me) with an answer! Most Christians readily admit they don’t pray enough but could the reason be that we don’t get answers enough and so we become discouraged and stop praying? This is a thorny question and the most common excuse used to calm our unease about our lack of prayer is the false notion that God does in fact answer our prayers but His answer is, “No”! Unfortunately, this excuse falls flat when we realize the same God that urges us to pray has also guaranteed that all His promises in Christ are YES, and in him AMEN” (2 Corinthians 1:20), not “No, Maybe or Perhaps”. I can’t find anywhere in the bible that God simply says “No” (please let me know if you can). Rather, like the perfect parent He is, any denials of our requests to Him are always framed in a way that lets us know His care for us and our need to trust Him—and therein lies our answer. Our problem is not with unanswered prayer but with un-repented doubt. For example, Job was probably the most denied believer that has ever lived, having lost everything except his nagging wife but God didn’t say “No” to his many questions, rather, He simply showed Job his questions were based on his anger toward God, not his desire for God! God wanted to show Job first, that his puny brain wouldn’t understand the answers even if God gave them and second, He wanted Job to trust Him with his life. He did this by turning the tables on Job, telling him that before He would answer Job’s questions, He wanted Job to answer a few of His. If Job was so puffed up to believe that he was capable of debating with God why God did the things He did then perhaps they could discuss simpler things like (Job 39: 1 - 5):

“Do you know the time when the wild mountain goats bear young? Or can you mark when the deer gives birth? 2 Can you number the months that they fulfill? Or do you know the time when they bear young? They bow down, They bring forth their young, They deliver their offspring. Their young ones are healthy, They grow strong with grain; They depart and do not return to them. Who set the wild donkey free? Who loosed the bonds of the onager, Whose home I have made the wilderness, And the barren land his dwelling?”

Basically, God was saying to Job, “OK, how would you run the universe since you think you are so clever?” God’s questions to Job were so profound and so far-reaching that Job immediately realized he was way, way out of his depth in demanding anything from such a holy God. So are we! The questions God asked Job pulverized his self-righteous stance to a powder and to such tears of repentance that Job put his hand over his mouth and declared in agonizing sorrow “I have heard of You by the hearing of the ear, But now my eye sees You. Therefore I abhor myself, And repent in dust and ashes.” (Job 42: 5-6). Oh, how we need to know such a Holy God as this before we dare question Him? A lifetime learning about Him can never substitute for a moment of knowing Him, of standing in His Presence overwhelmed by His Majesty and His intense love for us—warts and all. Another minister friend once told me that being a Christian is not about WHAT you believe but about WHO you know. Telling others what you believe about God is OK but it is no substitute for telling them about how well you know Him and all He has done for you. In an earlier posting I emphasized the difference between our beliefs and our convictions. Our convictions are those beliefs we are willing to stake our lives on. Without them, our beliefs may reside only in our heads but not our hearts. It’s easy to pray and ask questions when all we bring to our prayers is what we have read about God in the bible or what we have heard about Him through the “hearing of the ear” from others. Both of these are learned and received by our natural minds and constitute what we know about Him but we must go deeper into our (intimate) knowledge of Him so that our spiritual eyes are opened to see Him standing there in our presence, loving us and wanting us. That’s when our prayers immediately changes from, “Lord, why is this terrible thing happening to me?” to Peter’s “Lord, depart from me for I am a sinful man” (Luke 5:8) and Job’s “I abhor myself, And repent in dust and ashes.” Have you ever demanded an answer from God and been met only by silence? Do your prayers too often bounce off the ceiling and drop to the floor leaving you confused and disheartened and maybe a little angry at God? How can He promise us in 1 John 5: 15-16: “Now this is the confidence that we have in Him, that if we ask anything according to His will, He hears us. And if we know that He hears us, whatever we ask, we know that we have the petitions that we have asked of Him.” and not answer us? Read that verse again and grab the key it contains to your struggle with unanswered prayer: “IF we know that He hears us..” It’s not about, “Lord, why don’t you answer me?”, its about, “Lord, how do I know that you are listening to me?” We don’t need to question Him about our unanswered prayers, we need to question ourselves about our inability to know if God is hearing us as we pray. Having an answer to that question would revolutionize any prayer meeting.

There is no such thing as unanswered prayer, only unheard prayer!

James 1: 5 - 7 gives us the missing component in our problem with unanswered prayer:

If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask of God, who gives to all liberally and without reproach, and it will be given to him. But let him ask in faith, with no doubting, for he who doubts is like a wave of the sea driven and tossed by the wind. For let not that man suppose that he will receive anything from the Lord; he is a double-minded man, unstable in all his ways.

It’s our lack of wisdom that hinders us in our prayers because we fail to discern God’s will in a matter and we don’t know what His will is because we don’t know Him well enough to know what He wants in the matter at hand. Yet, we can have the wisdom we need just by the asking but our asking has to be by faith, not hope. Faith is always in the now while hope is always in the future and the motor that drives our hope to become our faith is reversed when it gets connected to doubt.

What’s the answer?

In the midst of all that’s going on in a world that has abandoned any connection to its creator, the problem of unanswered prayer for those of us still connected to Him has become much more pressing (perhaps depressing) and the need for answers, much more desperate. As believers in Christ, what do we say to ourselves and to each other about the earthshattering changes happening all around us both locally and globally as we watch the very foundations of society, things like Decency, Equality and Integrity transformed into woke-ism’s parody of Diversity, Equity and Inclusion (“DEI”) . As Christians, how do we deal with drag queens flaunting their perversions before toddlers in our public libraries; of gender mutilations of our young children in our public hospitals; of women and teenage girls sharing dressing rooms with the biological males who have just defeated them in sports events, all with full government approval? How are we to deal with churches sanctioning and blessing same-sex marriages and supporting the murder of innocent children in the womb? The list goes on...and on and the corruption and deceit continues to overwhelm many!

The immediate answer to all these questions is, of course, for Christians to pray, to ask God to intervene on all our behalf and to change the direction in which we are headed before it’s too late. But that’s only half the answer. The other more important half is to know that our prayers are heard and that we have received the answer to what we have prayed so that when we rise from our knees we go with the conviction that God has heard us and has already answered our request. The same friend I mentioned at the beginning tells the story of arriving at the airport in London, England for his flight to New Zealand where he was due to preach in several churches. The ticket agent checked her computer only to find the plane was over-booked and there were no seats left and there wouldn’t be another flight for a day or two. So, what did he do? He walked over to a seat in the lounge and asked the Lord if He wanted him to preach in New Zealand as scheduled to which, by faith, the Lord said “Yes”, so he walked back to the ticket counter and asked the agent to check again for a seat which she did after rolling her eyes and sighing loudly. “Oh, there’s been a cancellation”, she said and off he flew! He let all of us know that he didn’t go back to the counter for a seat but with a seat. He got that seat by faith while sitting in the departure lounge talking to his savior. That’s our faith challenge as we face our own struggle with unanswered prayer and it’s a challenge that can only be overcome by practice.

In my many years of studying and teaching chemistry in university and working as a consultant, I was taught that “Theory Guides but Experiment Decides”. Every time my professors taught me a new concept in chemistry it was quickly followed by him sending us into the lab to prove if the concept was, in fact, true or false. It wasn’t enough to know the theory, we had to put the theory to the test and prove it was true by experiment because that was the best way to have confidence in what the theory proposed. It’s no different for the Christian who serves the God who said, “Prove me now herewith, saith the Lord of hosts, if I will not open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it.” (Malachi 3:10). God was referring to us tithing our (precious) income and the only way we could prove His promise was to do it—to put our money where our mouth is! Nothing has changed! Only by risking it through doing it will we ever discover that God is faithful to His word to perform it. In my life as a chemist, I’ve had lots of experiments that didn’t work out the way I thought they should but the fault was never with the tried and true theory, only with the untried chemist! So I tried again until I succeeded.

We must not simply ignore the question of unanswered prayer or rage against the Lord in anger but accept the challenge to continue experimenting by getting into the lab and putting what we know from the theory (the Bible) to the test. God expects nothing less of us and that is the cause of His apparent silence to so many of our prayers to Him. Maybe you think you don’t have enough faith to complete your experiments but of course you do, because all you need is that mustard-seed-full and a laboratory where you can work it into your prayer experiments and watch it produce the magnificent fruit it bears— the fruit of answered prayer. But remember that fruit is not picked when you see the fulfilment of what you have prayed. It’s picked when you know God has heard you.

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wkemeup · 3 years

Text

Graveyard

summary: As the unofficial healer for the Avengers, you pride yourself on the ability to mend heroes with the touch of your hand. Only, your gift comes at a heavy price — one you keep secret from your friends —and when Bucky asks you to do the impossible, they’ll discover why your gift is called a sacrifice, too. pairing: bucky x healer!reader word count: 10k warnings: canon level violence

As a child, you were told it was a gift; placed upon a pedestal above the quaint suffering of a rural town and removed of your innocence for the good of strangers. You’d been made to be revered – honored – for the touch that could mend the broken.

It began with a cut upon your father’s finger – a slip of a kitchen knife that had left a small bead of blood in its wake. Curious eyes glanced up at your father as he hissed at the sting of it and you’d reach forward to place your infant hand upon the cut, a grip so mall it barely wrapped around his finger. He stilled as a soft glow began to emit from your palm. When you removed your hand and began to cry, your father was stunned to find his skin perfectly intact – no trace of a scar in its place.

They told you it was a gift, celebrated you as if you were a blessing from Heaven itself. But they were cruel in their rejoice, selfish in their praise. They had not considered your gift was not a gift at all – but a sacrifice.

Like energy, pain could not be destroyed— but it could be absorbed. It could be transferred. Your father’s cut had not simply disappeared, but instead manifested on the finger of an infant for a few short moments before it faded into your skin; laid to rest amongst a sea of foreign injuries that did not belong to you.

“Look sharp, kid! We’ve got incoming,” Banner’s voice startled you from your thoughts as he stood at the doorway to your lab. Arms folded over his chest, an amused smirk upon his face, he must have caught sight of the quinjet landing in the hanger from the windows overlooking the loading dock.

You nodded, setting down the drill beside the stun absorption pad you were engineering for Stark’s newest suit. You didn't have to wonder long who was on the latest mission and currently on their way to your office, because a familiar bickering began to carry down the hall and into the lab, forcing a smile onto your face.

For a mechanical engineer, you saw more of the Avengers post-mission than the med wing did these days. You’d been hired for your multiple PhDs and borderline genius IQ, but once you’d rushed across the room to spare Stark from a rather unpleasant laceration on his palm from an experiment gone haywire, your lab had quickly become a rotating door of injured Avengers.

Sure enough, Barnes and Wilson stumbled their way into the lab, Sam draped over Bucky’s shoulder, barely able to put any pressure on his left leg. While Sam tossed you his charismatic grin and those big, round, puppy dog eyes, Bucky favored to dispose of his partner on the lab table with an aggravated grunt.

“What do we have today?” you smirked, rolling up the sleeves of your coat as Bruce shook his head in amusement.

“Broken ankle, I think,” Sam replied, gesturing to the mess of bandages and improvised splint.

You nodded as you stepped closer, examining the injury before you brushed a hand over the swollen joint. Sam whined at the contact, the pain clearly breaking through the lighthearted grin upon his face though he tried to suppress it. His hand curled into a fist.

“You know I’m not a medical doctor, but I’d have to agree,” you nodded, planting your hands on your hips.

“You could just get the x-rays and go through PT like a normal person,” Bucky grumbled off in his corner of the room, narrowing his eyes in warning upon his partner. “She’s not here as your personal healer, Wilson.”

Bucky was always hesitant of your powers. He never said why, but you wondered most days if he was still seeking penance for the evils he’d committed under Hydra, if maybe he felt as though giving you his pain absolved him in a way he was not worthy of.

Or perhaps it was a degradation of his pride. Men often found strength in their ability to withstand pain. Though, it seemed to bother him when the others would come to you for injuries like this, too, almost as if he worried they were taking advantage of you.

He was a good man; certainly, more concerned with your consent in healing his friends than your parents and the town who spent your childhood exploiting you ever were.

“I don’t mind, Bucky,” you told him, smiling encouragingly back at him until he started to relax his shoulders and uncrossed his arms, softening under your gaze. “If it means less time on the bench and more time out there saving lives and having your back, I don’t mind at all.”

“Yeah, Barnes, who’s going to watch your back if I’m held up in a cast?” Sam teased, chuckling under his breath until Bucky stepped forward and not so subtly bumped his hip to the side of the lab table. The sudden disruption of the table moved his ankle just enough to instantly wipe the grin from Sam’s face.

“Try to relax for me, Sam,” you eased, stepping forward as you started to remove your gloves. You leaned over the edge of the table, slowly removing the splint and the bandage surrounding the swollen muscle. You handed it off to Bucky as you examined the dark purple and blue discoloration on his ankle.

He hissed as you laid your palms on his leg, clenching down on his jaw.

You closed your eyes, concentrating as you felt for the break beneath the surface. A crack splintered through the bone, the surrounding tissue swollen and aching.

A gentle glow began to emit from your palms, a warmth that spread from your hands and directly onto Sam’s skin, through the muscle, and deep into the bone. You could feel the subtle fragments as they began to mend, the swell in his joint as it shrank, the slight movements as he regained feeling.

Exhaling a tense breath, you shifted your stance onto your right leg as the pressure started to build in your ankle. It wouldn’t last long, just a few minutes in comparison to the weeks of treatment and months of physical therapy Sam would have endured – an easy trade for a man who spend his days so selflessly on the line in the service of strangers.

You could sense Bucky watching you and you were careful not to let the pain show on your face. There was a privilege in healing the Avengers like this. It gave your life meaning beyond the injuries of your hometown; of careless teenagers falling off skateboards or angry men in bars who took an argument a drink too far. You’d happily take on a few moments of pain in service of heroes.

Not that you’d let them know.

“You should be good now.” You held your hands up, the soft glow fading away from your palms as you tucked your hands into your pockets. Careful of the momentary break in your ankle, you took a cautious step away from the table to lean on the chair at your desk. No one noticed the wince in your expression as you put the slightest pressure on the fresh injury.

“I will never get tired of that.” Sam looked down at the foot in awe, rolling at the ankle and amazed to find the swelling and bruising disappeared completely. He jumped down from the table, bounding on his feet just to test out the freedom in his mobility.

“Alright, Wilson. Enough,” Bucky rolled his eyes. “You’re going to hurt yourself again and Y/n’s not going to be so generous next time.”

Sam smirked, pausing for a moment as he contemplated. “Nah, my girl will always take care of me. Won’t ya, sugar?”

It didn’t slip your notice when Bucky tensed up at the pet name. You started to laugh, the teasing smile dropping from his face as his hands curled into fists. Sam really knew how to press his buttons and it seemed, surprisingly enough, you were one of them.

“Bucky’s got a point, you know. Fancy healing powers are reserved for field injuries these days.” You were only teasing, both of them knowing you’d have healed a papercut if they’d ask. Still, Bucky smirked, taunting Sam over your shoulder as if he’d won.

You eased yourself off the chair as you started to regain feeling in your ankle, giving more pressure to the heel to find it barely noticeable. You rubbed at the joint with your right shoe to find the swelling had disappeared as well.

A few moments to spare him weeks of pain. Easy trade.

“What about you, Sergeant?”

Bucky paused, raising an eyebrow at you.

You took a step forward, glancing over him in search of injuries. Nothing more than a few cuts that his own advanced healing would take care of overnight. Still, there was one injury you’d been trying to convince him to allow you to heal in the year since you’ve known him.

“You going to let me work on your shoulder yet or are you still being a masochist?”

Sam snickered under his breath as he crossed the room to watch what Banner was doing over his shoulder. Bucky gave you that knowing smile of his, the one that pushed up into his eyes and left behind beautiful creases and lines on his face; an exhale of a laugh on his breath.

“It’s not necessary, doll. I’m fine.”

A frown tugged at your lips. “You always say that, and yet...”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Bucky shrugged. He was watching you with those sweet eyes of his, creating a warmth that spread in your chest entirely independent of the powers in your hands.

“You shouldn’t have to handle it in the first place,” you pressed, a pain in your voice as he placed a hand on your shoulder, letting it slide down your arm. It was an intimate gesture, more contact that he had with most people, and he offered it willingly. You tried not to let the shivers show in your spine as he pulled away.

It looked as though he wanted to say more, but Steve suddenly appeared in the doorway, causing Bucky to take an abrupt step away from you. You hadn’t realized how close you’d been standing to one another.

“Debrief in five,” Steve ordered, eyeing Sam and Bucky, though paused as he saw you, offering a short smile in acknowledgement before disappearing down the hall.

“I’m not letting this go, just so you’re aware,” you teased, pointing at Bucky’s shoulder as he started to wave Sam towards the door. He smiled, keeping his back to you until Sam was clear of the room and he leaned into the open frame, one quick glance back at you.

“Wouldn’t expect anything less, doll.”

***

The next month saw another broken leg, a fractured clavicle, two minor lacerations, a sprained wrist, and a number of superficial cuts – all from various members of the team. Though there was always the one exception who wouldn’t accept your offer no matter how badly he was favoring his right arm.

The clavicle was certainly a challenge to get through, but the world needed Natasha Romanoff in the field, not strung up on a gurney and a brace for a handful of months. It took longer than some of the other injuries to heal, but you’d managed, even if you had to excuse yourself to the restroom as soon as you’d finished, even if you had to shove a towel into your mouth to keep from screaming as it mended itself together under your skin.

The truth was you liked being useful. You liked the stunned smiles on their faces and the appreciation in their eyes. You liked seeing them run a hand over perfectly smooth skin where an open wound had just been. It gave you a purpose.

And sure – your work on SHIELD tech was important and perhaps not all of the injuries in your hometown had been a waste of your abilities, but there was something exceptionally gratifying in mending someone who was untouchable, in healing the people who saved the world.

You’d take a dozen broken clavicles for them.

It was late after your evening shift and you’d taken to running a few laps on the indoor track around the gym. Blow off some steam, use the state-of-the-art equipment Stark spent thousands of dollars on, give your mind something to think about beside how you were going to rewire Sam’s wings to expand in a more fluid motion.

You’d just started to break into a sweat when you noticed Bucky setting up at the row of punching bags. The gym was otherwise empty as the sky favored the stars over the sun, and you started to smile as you watched Bucky shrug off his jacket and drop the bag at his feet. He rolled back his shoulders, concentrating on the bag as he readied his fists. But as the first punch hit the bag, the smile quickly fell from your face.

It echoed up into the rafters, startling you enough to still your sprint abruptly. He let out a grunt as he pummeled at the bag; left jab, right hook, kick, until it broke at the seams and split open to spill sand in heaps upon the ground. He moved on to the next one.

You clasped a hand to your mouth, looking around the gym to confirm you were in fact alone with him. He’d been on a mission as far as you were aware for the last week. You’d missed him hanging around the lab, asking questions as you worked on new advancements on the stun guns for field agents. He must have gotten back a few hours ago and something clearly went wrong.

“Bucky?” you called, voice far too soft to be heard across the gym and above the thunderous clash of his knuckles to leather. You jogged a few paces closer, wincing as he threw the entirely of his momentum into a hit that would have broken an ordinary man’s hand. “Bucky? Are you alright?”

But he didn’t hear you. You took a cautious look back at the doors, wondering if you should go find Steve, or maybe even Sam – someone who might know what happened, someone who might be able to talk him down. But you were the only one around. You cleared your throat, stepping up just behind him.

“Bucky?”

You hit the ground before you knew what had happened.

A blinding pulsing in the back of your head, the wind momentarily knocked from your lungs, you opened your eyes to find Bucky hovering over you. He held a closed fist in the air, the other digging sharply into your shoulder between his grip, pupils blown wide and dark. It took a moment before he seemed to realize who was laying under him.

“Y/n?” He blinked, confused. His stare flickered to the fist held above your head, knuckles dripping red and bloody, and he pulled away instantly, a flash of horror written over his features. “Shit-- I didn’t... What are you doing here?”

You rubbed at the back of your head, brushing over a slight bump that would certainly mend itself within a few minutes. Slowly, you sat up, careful of the sudden darkness that swept over your eyes, though something cool grabbed onto you before you could fall back against the floor.

“Hey, come lean against the wall, okay?” Bucky urged, carefully guiding you to adjust your position until you could press your back to the chill of the plastered walls. You sighed in contentment, the pain in your pain already dissipating. Bucky swallowed nervously. “Did I hurt you?”

“I don’t stay hurt for long, Buck,” you told him with a teasing smile, though he did not return it. You set a hand on his forearm, squeezing it lightly before returning it to your lap. “I’m alright. I promise. Are you?”

Bucky narrowed his eyes.

“You were beating that punching bag within an inch of its life,” you clarified, chuckling as you gestured to the exploded bag on the floor, and then to the one still hanging with sand streaming down the seams.

“Rough mission,” was all he said, his eyes downcast.

You nodded. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head.

The two of you sat in silence for a while, listening to the soft buzz of the air conditioner and the faint chirp of crickets outside the windows. You didn’t expect him to say anything. Bucky was a man of few words, but you hoped the company was enough. He didn’t make an effort to move away, not even when your thigh brushed against his.

He was trying to close his fist when you heard him hiss in pain. His right hand was coated in dried blood and fresh, open wounds on his knuckles. They’d barely started to crust over and with every attempt to close his fist, they cracked open, drawing a painful sting in their place.

“Will you let me heal your hand?”

Bucky paused, setting his hand down on his leg. “Y/n, it’s not necessary. I won’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering,” you countered. “Besides, it is necessary, actually. How are you going to punch the bad guys if you can’t close your fist?”

“I’ve got another,” Bucky argued back, though a smile had etched its way onto his face. He raised his left hand, making a show of it as he curled his fingers into a fist one by one. “This one’s pretty indestructible so...”

“Please, Bucky.” You turned towards him, folding your legs as you held out your left hand for him to take. “Just this once. Let me do this.”

A stormy array of ocean blue and thunderous skies stared back at you, unsure. His eyes flickered down to your hand. Always so hesitant to ask for help, always so reluctant to accept the good things when they were offered. But as he watched you, searching for signs to run, to back out, something softened.

He swallowed and slowly, placed his right hand into yours.

You smiled, adjusting your grip gently on his hand. You placed it to lay on you knee as you hovered your left hand over his knuckles. The warm glow illuminated from your palm and Bucky’s breath hitched as he must have felt the sudden rush of energy it produced.

The scars began to mend before his eyes and just as you felt the stinging prick on your own knuckles, you quickly pushed your right hand into the pocket of your jacket to hide the scars as they formed.

“That’s incredible,” Bucky exhaled, withdrawing his hand as soon as you were finished. He held it out in front of him, examining the dried blood coated around perfectly intact skin. He shook his head in disbelief. “You’re incredible.”

A rush of heat burned in your cheeks as you looked away, a smile breaking onto your lips. It was enough to distract you from the stinging in your hand tucked away in your pocket.

“Do you want to watch a movie or something?” you asked, biting on your lip nervously. “Think you could do with the company and I’d like to keep you from breaking more of these expensive punching bags.”

Bucky laughed at that, nodding. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

He stood and offered you his hand, thinking out loud about which one of the movies on his list he wanted to try out next. You pulled your hand from your pocket and took his as he offered it to you; the knuckles already clean and healed.

***

“You should see it, Fitz! It’s a goddamn stroke of genius.” You held up the ventilator no bigger than the pad of your thumb up to the light, admiring your work.

“I’m sure Stark will be thrilled,” a thick Scottish accent crackled through the speaker on the com beside you. “Send me the schematics, will you?”

You pursed your lips, a smile etching through. “Think you can one-up me?”

“No never,” Fitz laughed. You could hear him tinkering in his own lab on the quinjet, the small clicks of metal and the buzz of a drill humming over the speaker. “Just want to see if I’m still head of our class or not.”

“Pretty sure we both know that title belongs to Simmons.”

There was a slight pause, then, a dreamy, “yeah, you’re right.”

A sudden knocking at the edge of the lab startled you as you spun around in your chair, nearly dropping the ventilator for Stark’s suit. Bucky stood in the doorway, clutching at his left shoulder as fingers dug into the muscle. He wore a sort of guilty look upon his face though he pushed out a smile and waved.

“Hey, Fitz, I’ll call you tomorrow, alright?” you said over your shoulder to the speaker, waited a moment for his response and ended the call. You turned back to Bucky as a smile grew upon your face. “What can I do for you, Sergeant? I didn’t miss movie night, did I?”

“No, you’re in the clear,” Bucky chuckled, though it was tense. He stepped further into the lab, relaxing a little as he noticed no one else was around. It was pretty late for you to be working, but you were so close to finishing the ventilator, and well, time easily got away from you with Fitz on the other end of the phone.

“Coming to keep me company then?” you teased. “I’m actually about done anyway, so we could set up the next movie on your—”

“No, I— um...” Bucky started, losing his nerve rather quickly. He exhaled a tense breath, eyes casting down to the floor. “I was, um, wondering if you could work on my shoulder?”

You raised an eyebrow. Even after that night in the gym, Bucky was still hesitant to your offers to heal his various injuries from the field. He’d give you that sweet smile of his, a soft pink in his cheeks, and tell you that he’d be fine on his own. You never doubted that, but it didn’t mean you couldn't spare him just a few hours of that pain.

“The, um,” Bucky winced, gritting his teeth as he pushed his hand deeper against the tissue, “the nerve endings are acting up. Shuri said it’s to be, uh, expected given how Hydra butchered my arm all those years ago, but...”

“Come here.” You were already removing the files and paperwork from the table, gesturing for him to take a seat.

His whole left arm was slack at his side as if he could barely tolerate to move it. Shallow breaths hitched in his lungs as he leaned against the table, settling against the hard, metal surface.

“Can you take this off?” you asked, nodding to his shirt. Bucky’s cheeks flushed and you cleared your throat nervously, playing with the ends of your hair. “It’ll be more effective if I can touch the area directly.”

He removed his right hand from the muscle at his shoulder and gripped at the hem of his shirt. Slowly, he started to pull it over his head, though you could tell from the harsh exhale in his breath that it was causing him considerable pain.

“Here, let me help you.” You stepped forward and helped ease the fabric up his torso and gently guided it off his right arm, over his head, and eased it down his left. He seemed more at ease with the shirt removed, but a chill swept up his spine in the cool air of the lab.

You kept your eyes on his, determined not to let your gaze fall to the hardened muscles on his chest and stomach.

“I won’t be able to heal the scars,” you told him as you moved around to stand behind the table. “Just try to relax for me, okay? I’ll do what I can for the pain.”

Bucky nodded, his hands clenched into the lip of the table, enough to warp the surface. He could barely muster out a response.

“My hands are a little cold, so...” you muttered out nervously, rubbing your palms together in an effort to warm them.

Then, you set your hands against the mess of scar tissue surrounding his shoulder, starting at his shoulder blades as the glow illuminated bright enough to light up the corner of your lab. Bucky gasped, the first breath in a long time completely filling his lungs as he felt the relief within your touch. You could practically feel the tension melting off his shoulders.

It didn’t take long before the pain made its way to your body. Starting out slow, in numbing aches, until it was so sharp, it felt like a dozen edges of sharp blades puncturing into your shoulder. You clenched your jaw, held your breath, thankful that Bucky couldn’t see your face when you bit down on the inside of your cheek and tears sprung into your eyes.

“God, that... shit...” Bucky sighed, his grip releasing on the table. You could hear the smile in his voice, the relief, and it helped to push aside the pain as it manifested in your body.

You moved your hand up his back, sliding along the scars where his skin met metal, taking as much of his pain as you could. Bucky was exceptionally strong, able to withstand far more than you could without passing out completely. You couldn’t take it all, especially if you wanted to keep him from knowing how your gift truly worked, but you took enough.

You swallowed back the lump in your throat, preparing yourself as you moved around to face him. There was more on his chest, by his clavicle, you couldn’t reach from behind him. You'd had years of practice, learning how to keep the pain from displaying on your face. You could get through this for him.

As you stepped in front of him, keeping a steady hold on his shoulder, you could feel his eyes watching you. The glow under your palms was bright enough to illuminate the lab, but it was a gentle light, as soft as the burn of a candle or the golden rays of a sunset. Bucky watched you with a kind of awe that made your stomach twist into knots.

You guided your hand along the scar tissue on his chest, doing your best to ignore the goosebumps as they rose in your wake. Your heart was stammering, louder than the pain radiating in your shoulder, though it lessened the more you worked. The pain had nearly left him entirely as he started to take in more even breaths, relaxing his muscles as you felt them soften under your touch.

You exhaled a tense breath through your nose, concentrating on gathering as much of the pain as you could, on mending the broken nerve endings as they misfired and frayed under the torn appendage. You barely noticed as Bucky crossed his right hand over his chest and laid his hand palm against your hands.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his fingers curling around the undersides of your hands until he gently tugged them away. The glow faded until the lab was only lit by the soft light of the lamp at your desk and the reflection of the moon peering in through the window.

You met his eye, the pain still prominent in your shoulder though you forcibly softened the clench in your jaw as he looked over you. His eyes flickered down to your lips for only a second, but it was enough. Your heart skipped.

Bucky slowly released your hands, letting them fall gently against his thighs, as he leaned forward to cup the sides of your face. Fingers tangling into your hair, you stepped closer, pressed against the table between the parting of his legs.

You wondered if he could feel how fast your heart was racing, or if he could hear it, because you were certain it was going to beat straight out of your chest. The fading pain in your shoulder you’d taken for him was nothing but a forgotten memory as he pressed his forehead to yours, just waiting.

The moment his lips touched yours, you lost your breath; fireworks and butterflies, twists in your stomach and clamoring in your heart. You could feel his smile as it spread into his cheeks, your hands seeking more of him as you slid them up the sides of his bare chest. He was beautiful and perfect and so incredibly wonderful, you’d take hours of his pain, years even, if you could keep kissing him like this.

“Hey, Y/n, I thought you were already done for the—oh, sorry!”

You jolted away from Bucky, restless and a little disheveled, Bucky’s cheeks flamed red, as you turned to find Banner standing awkwardly in the doorway. His hand was shielded over his eyes, his back quickly turned to you as papers littered the floor at his feet. You started to laugh, hand clamping over your swollen lips as you looked over at Bucky.

“It’s no worry, Bruce,” you giggled, quickly skating over to the door to help him pick up the files. Bucky meanwhile shrugged his shirt back on, fixing the flyaways in his hair.

“So sorry,” he mumbled again, clearly embarrassed by his intrusion as he glanced over at Bucky apologetically. He gathered the papers into his arms. “I’ll be going now and, um, I won’t come back, okay?”

You couldn’t help but laugh as Bucky’s eyes blew wide in Banner’s quick escape.

“Still want that company?” you offered with a smile, extending your hand to him. The pain was long gone from your shoulder as he shook himself from the flush in his cheeks and nodded. He took your hand and led you down the hall to the living room. There was another movie on the list to get through.

***

You couldn’t remember the last time you were this happy. Your cheeks began to hurt from how often you were smiling, as if it were a permanent fixture on your features. You’d even caught yourself humming along to the radio as you dusted the surfaces in your lab the morning after Bucky had kissed you goodbye on the landing dock in front of at least a dozen agents.

He’d been away on a mission for the last few days, but he called when he could. You’d spend whatever spare minutes he could get on the satellite phone with him, distracting him from whatever was going on in his end of the world with talk about your latest project with Stark or old stories from the academy with Fitz or what the next movie on the list was going to be.

He wasn’t a man of many words, but you liked knowing he was on the other end of the line. You could picture his smile perfectly in your mind, the way he chewed on his lower lip, how his eyes fell downcast to the floor by your shoes, the flush of pink in his cheeks. It was enough.

“So, things are really heating up with you and Barnes,” Natasha commented as she sipped the top of her steaming coffee before it could spill over the edge. You shrugged, though it was hard to contain your smile. Natasha grinned. “I think it’s good for him. You, too. Don’t know the last time I’ve seen him this happy. He seems more relaxed. Like maybe he’s not carrying the whole world on his shoulders anymore.”

“Helps when he’s not in excruciating pain on a daily basis,” you added, tapping at your left shoulder. He’d let you work on it a few times since that first night. It always took some convincing, but the pain was never as bad as it was that evening. You could take it. You’d do it a thousand times for him without question.

Natasha nodded, a pleased look upon her face. She parted her lips to say more, but a sudden commotion at the end of the hall stole the words from her tongue. You set your coffee down on the counter, peering out around the tables to find agents jumping out of the way of an oncoming train.

“Y/n!” Bucky shouted, voice breaking in the effort as he sprinted down the hall and slammed into an unsuspecting agent. Papers flew into the air as he sprinted towards your room. “Y/n!”

“Bucky?” you called stepping out into the hallway where he could see you.

He skidded to an abrupt stop, his hair flying over his shoulder as he turned in your direction.

“Y/n! Thank God.”

It wasn't until Bucky stood in front of you that you realized he was covered in blood; soaking into his hair, caked under his finger nails, drenched into his suit, and stained to his skin. Your eyes widened, breath all but leaving your lungs, as your hands clutched against his jacket. He tried to pull you back towards the stairs, but you couldn’t budge, not with that much blood all over him.

“What-- What happened? Are you hurt?” You started seeking out exposed skin an effort to draw away any pain you could, even if you couldn’t see any exposed wounds.

Bucky's hand slid over yours, pulling it away. He softened, though you could still see the frantic rise and fall of his chest.

“It’s not my blood. It’s Steve’s.”

Your stomach sank; relief mixed into an ugly shade of guilt and grief. Natasha was already sprinting down to the med bay, coffee mug cracked and spilled upon the tile floors. Her footsteps echoed through the hallway, the sudden clanging of the double doors startling you from your daze.

“Please, I—I need you,” Bucky begged, his voice shaking. Tears were burning in his eyes. You’d never seen him this afraid; this shaken and helpless. “It’s not good, Y/n. He’s-- He’s--”

“Okay.” You pressed a hand to his cheek, brushing your thumb sweetly across his face and smeared the tears as they cleaned the dried blood away. You didn’t need to hear anymore. All you wanted was to take his pain, even if your gift couldn’t touch it as it nestled deep into his heart.

By the time you reached the med bay, a storm of chaos had already barreled through. Lab equipment was knocked over on its side. Dozens of agents frantically running around, shouting orders at one other. Papers and schematics lined the floor with imprinted of boots damaging the print. But it was the trail of blood that drew your attention.

Droplets trailing from the loading bay of the jet to down the med wing to the surgical room. Dark red and oozing. Taunting. Far too much for any ordinary man to have lost. You tried to stifle the gasp as it hitched in your breath the moment you saw him.

Steve was strung up on a gurney, suit cut down the middle and flayed open, exposing his chest and the three bullet holes expelling pints of blood. The hands of several agents were pressing down onto him, trying to keep pressure on the wounds, deep red slipping out from between their fingers. The look on their faces said enough – he wasn’t going to make it.

“Where’s Helen?” you gaped, staring at Steve.

“Ten minutes out.” Tony stumbled into the room as he rounded the corner, holding a stat phone in his hand. “She’s in the chopper.”

“He can’t wait ten minutes.” Bucky gripped tight to you hand and you could feel the tension radiating in his muscles. You wanted to take it for him but he pulled his hand before you could, turning to face you. “You’re all we have. Y/n, please. I can’t lose him.”

Bucky had never once asked you to heal someone like this. He could barely muster the will to ask you to heal his own wounds, to ease the constant stream of pain in his shoulder, and the open wounds on his hand. But with Steve’s life in the balance, he didn’t have room to be hesitant anymore. He couldn’t risk his best friend’s life.

But he didn’t know it would risk yours in the process.

You swallowed, glancing back nervously at Steve. “I’ve never healed anything this bad before, Buck. I don’t know if I can--” survive this.

Could your body heal fast enough to take on his injuries? Could you do them one by one? Would he live long enough to even try? Would either of you?

“Y/n, please. He’ll die without you,” Bucky begged, his voice wavering. Tears reflected in his eyes; gentle pale blue obstructed by a swarm of fear and guilt and desperation, a redness straining into the surrounding white until his cheeks were wet. The dried blood cleared in streaks as they traveled down to his jawline.

You watched him as he bit down onto his lip, shielding his face from the others as he waited. The frantic beeping of the monitor strapped to Steve’s chest was growing frantic, irregular, and you knew there wasn’t much time left.

The worst you’d ever attempted to heal before had been the stabbing of a stranger. You’d found her clutching stomach in an abandoned alleyway in Queens, contents of her purse spilled to the pavement, jewelry torn from her neck. You'd knelt down beside her and took her pain without so much as a second thought.

As her wound began to close, your skin split open, blood soaked into your shirt, your vision grew dark and hazy, until it was nothing at all.

The last thing you remembered of that night was the horror in the woman’s eye as she scrambled away from you and ran back to the safety of the open streets. You woke in a pool of your own blood hours later – longer than it had ever taken to heal before.

A scar remained on your stomach from that night. The only one on your body. A warning.

Test the limits of your gift again and learn why it’s called a sacrifice.

But as you looked back at Bucky, at a man who never dared to ask you for anything until it was unbearable, who wore his own scars and healed his own injuries in fear of exploiting your gift, who was impossibly gentle for the evil he was surrounded in for decades – you couldn’t find it in yourself to say no. You didn’t want to.

Bucky must have noticed the change in your expression because his shoulders softened immediately, a heavy sigh sinking through his body. He pushed forward and pressed a quick kiss to your lips; short, chaste, and still—filled with a world of emotion, of gratitude, of relief. It gave you the courage to do what needed to be done.

Tony began to shout for the room to clear the moment you approached the table. You stared down at Steve, whose skin had grown nearly translucent, the monitor above displaying his heart beat as it evened out to a nearly thin line. He was fading fast. You wouldn’t have much time.

Everything around you became muted, distorted, as you channeled your focus; the huddled whispers of the agents hovering over Steve with their hands pressed to open wounds sounded as if they were miles away.

Bucky stood at your side, watching anxiously though he tried his best to remain stoic and unaffected, though you knew he was splintering apart at the seams. Natasha and Sam were huddled in the far corner, talking quietly amongst themselves as they tried to put the pieces together as to what happened out in the field. Tony was shooing away stay agents with the threat of force, while Banner did his best to remotely disengage the power on Tony’s glove.

None of it registered. Not beyond the flow of blood coating Steve’s chest and dripping onto the floor, your shoes stepping into the pool below. It was a miracle he was still alive at all. The serum was the only thing tying him to this Earth.

You stretched out your hands, hovering over his chest and the agents quickly dispersed. You didn’t dare steal a glance in Bucky’s direction as the glow began to emit under your palms, afraid he might see the goodbye in your eyes or the apology for what he was about to witness. There wasn’t time.

The pain was sudden. Sharp. Like you’d felt the bullets rip straight through you as if you stood on the battlefield in Steve’s place. You cried out at the impact of it, nearly thrown from your stance as you clutched into Steve’s body.

Bucky jolted beside you, startled as you cried out again, desperate to choke down the screams before they passed your lips. He stared at you, wide eyed, as you clenched your jaw.

“Y/n? Are you—”

Another scream tore through you and Bucky visibly flinched. You didn’t have the energy to hide the pain from him, not with three bullets tearing through you. You had to save Steve; put the full force of your power into healing his wounds before they consumed him whole. Damn the consequences. Damn the sacrifice of your gift.

Your body was always meant to be the host of broken bones and bullet wounds and bruises. Made to be broken and mended. A host to others. A graveyard of injuries that did not belong to you.

It was what your parents had told you from the time you were a child; that you were a gift to others, that you were a vessel to better the world. But it came at a price; one, it seemed, you’d soon enough pay.

Your legs began to shake as a wave of darkness cast over your vision, tunneling, consuming the space around you. You could only vaguely make out Bucky’s voice calling your name, his tone laced confusion and concern, but you blocked it out. Daring to look in his direction now would only hinder your resolve and you needed to save Steve’s life.

Concentrating your power, a scream ripped through your lungs as the glow illuminated the entire room, enough that Bucky was forced to shield his eyes.

The wounds were taking hold on your body. One at your stomach. Another along your ribs. The third, just above your chest. Exit wounds opening on your back. You could feel the drip of blood as it slid down your skin; thick and unrelenting.

You were growing light headed as the pain started to dissipate. But the wounds were still fresh on your body, still open and bleeding; the pain shouldn’t have faded so quickly.

The steady beep of the monitor indicated that Steve was stabilizing, the flesh had nearly closed, and you barely registered Helen’s voice as she rushed into the room, ordering her team to take over.

“Hey, hey, you did it, sweetheart. You did good,” Bucky exhaled. He had the most beautiful smile on his face; filled with a sense of pride an awe, stunning and handsome beyond belief, even with traces of concern still evident in his eyes.

But you were stone. A statue. You couldn’t move without fear of collapsing completely.

“He’s stable now, Y/n,” Bucky eased, trying to pull you gently away from the table. “Come here, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

Bucky hand set against your stomach when you didn’t follow and he froze; the sticky wet residue of fresh blood on his hand. He stared down at his palm in horror as the blood began to seep through your shirt in three distinct spots, all perfectly aligning with the ones on Steve’s chest.

Bucky darted forward, pushing up your shirt to find the wounds he’d seen healed on his best friend moments ago littered over your stomach. His mouth went dry, throat lined with sandpaper, rocks shoved down into his lungs. His hand trembled as it reached out and touched the bullet wound on your ribs. His breath hitched as he felt the warmth of blood and the tear of flesh in your skin.

He couldn’t breathe.

“Is Steve alive?” Your voice was barely a whisper and you wondered if Bucky could even hear you at all. His eyes were glossed over in fresh tears, lips parted in shock as he stared back at you. You could hardly keep your eyes open.

Before he could respond, your legs gave way and you stumbled back out of Bucky’s hold. Your vision was closing in, a dark cloud of black swarming around you as your foot caught on the edge of toppled lab equipment. You were in Bucky’s arms again before you made it to the floor.

You didn’t hear him screaming for help, didn’t hear the shattering crack in his voice, or the crash of equipment behind you as Simmons raced into the room. You didn’t feel his hands as they desperately pressed onto the open wounds, or the heat of his breath as he begged you to ‘stay with me, sweetheart’. But you felt the warmth of his embrace.

It was comforting as the darkness pulled you under.

***

A heaviness draped over you. Soothing. Pressing you into the soft cushion below. A repetitive chime rang above; even in tone, consistent. It drew you back from the kind embrace of shadows, calling you toward a flicker of light.

Pressure squeezed at your hand. Cold and warm at once. Solid and soft.

You listened for the chime; allowed it to guide you as the rest of your senses awakened.

The chatter of voices in the distant too muffled to distinguish. The distinct smell sterilizing alcohol that burned in your nose. The heat of a thick blanket tucked around your legs. The chill of a breeze streaming from the humming vent above. Scratchy bed sheets and laundry fresh clothes a few sizes too big for your frame.

You groaned, trying to adjust to the influx of light as you opened your eyes. It was a room you recognized. White. Clean. Far too bright. You’d been within the walls dozens of times before, but never laid upon the bed. It was a strange view.

Glancing down, you found yourself dressed in a dark grey t-shirt that didn’t belong to you. The logo was faded on the chest but it was still recognizable. Vintage. An eagle at the center of a circle, it’s wings remarkably similar to the symbol of the Howling Commandos. Around the edge: Strategic Scientific Reserve. You’d seen Bucky wear it until the hem frayed. Sure enough, as you reached for the bottom of the shirt, you found the split seams.

A slight squeeze on your hand again drew your attention to your right. There, you found Bucky hunched over the side of the bed; both hands encasing yours, his forehead rested on the very edge of the mattress.

A smile tugged at your lips until it started to ache. Unused muscles, must be. You wondered how long you’d been out this time. Must have been longer than a few hours. Bucky’s back would need your attention after the way he’s been sleeping.

“Bucky,” you tried to call, but found your voice was nothing more than a breath of air. You winced, testing it again. “Bucky?”

He only hummed in response. The sweet vibrations nestled against your arm. It took him a minute as he lifted his head, stretched out his upper back, matted hair fallen down into his face, before he caught your eye; glancing around the room, checking the door, the heart monitor above, like it had become routine, until he realized you were watching him.

He froze, eyes wide. “Y/n?”

You nodded sleepily, pushing out a smile. “What’d I miss?”

Bucky didn’t laugh. His hands were still gripped tight to yours, squeezing at them as if he were checking to make sure you were real.

Your smile began to fall the longer he stared at you. “How long was I out? Is Steve okay?”

Bucky cleared his throat, nodding, though it seemed strained. “Y-yeah, Steve’s fine. Doc said he’d make a full recovery thanks to you.”

“That’s good,” you replied, but Bucky couldn’t so much as force a smile. He couldn’t seem to look at you, his hands playing with the lines in your palms. It was then you started to notice the dark circles under his eyes, the wrinkles in days old clothing, the hallowed look upon his face. Your stomach sank. “How long was I out?”

Bucky’s paused for a moment, his movements stilling as he traced your lifeline. He sighed, resuming again. “Six days.”

“Oh.”

A silence swept over the room. You’d never been under that long before. Frankly, you were a little surprised you woke up at all given the extent of Steve’s injuries. Your fingers dipped under the hem of Bucky’s old t-shirt and grazed over the bullet wound on your ribs, feeling for the raised edges of a fresh scar. It didn’t heal, as you suspected the others hadn’t; laid to rest next to the knife wound from the woman in the alley. Injuries you were never meant to survive.

“Were you ever going to tell us?”

You looked up, startled by Bucky’s voice as it wavered. He brushed at his eyes; red and glossy.

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

“No,” you admitted and Bucky’s shoulders slumped. He sank back further into his chair and you could read the disappointment on his face. You gritted your teeth, preparing to deliver the same speech you’d been telling yourself for years. “My body could handle it, Buck. It was only a few minutes of pain to trade for weeks or months of your own. It kept you in the field and off the bench. The world needs you guys. It was worth it for me. I could handle it.”

“Until you couldn’t!” Bucky snapped, startling you as he tugged his hand from your grasp and began to pace around the room. His fingers raked into his hair, gripping at unwashed strands. “You almost died, Y/n! You almost died because I fucking begged you to use your powers to save Steve and I—Jesus, Y/n — if I had known what it does to you, I never would have asked you to do that!”

“That’s why I didn’t tell you,” you replied gently, wanting nothing more than to ease him. Bucky shook his head, unwilling to accept your answer. “Bucky, if you knew that healing a papercut hurt me, you wouldn’t let me do that either.”

He paused; arms folded over his chest though he wouldn’t look at you. “No, I wouldn’t.”

You softened, sitting up in the bed, though a dull pain rushed made it rather difficult, leaving you to clutch at your stomach. It ached as you moved, an unfamiliar feeling, and the tension quickly faded from Bucky’s shoulders when he heard you whine.

You pushed through the pain in your stomach, holding up a hand as Bucky started to step forward to help you. It would fade. It always does. You’d heal and move on, until the next injury came through. It was routine. It was your life.

So, you told him as much.

“I’d do it again.”

Bucky frowned. He looked like he wanted to just lay on the bed beside you, curl up against your chest and sleep. He was exhausted. And still—he couldn’t let it go.

“You almost died—”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

“A sacrifice?” Bucky’s face contorting in horror. “Are you insane? You're not a sacrifice, Y/n!”

You nodded, determined; the words of your parents, the village elders, ringing in your ears. “That what this gift is, Bucky! I can’t actually heal anyone other than myself, but I can transfer the injuries and the pain to my body. That I can heal. It’s what I was born for! It’s my purpose. I was made to be a sacrifice.”

“Not for me!” Bucky held his ground, voice firmer than you’d ever heard it. “Nothing is worth that to me! Do you understand that? I won’t trade your life for anyone’s, not even Steve’s, and I sure as hell don’t care how many bones I break or how bad the nerves in my shoulder misfire. I won’t put that on you again. The team won’t either.”

You clenched your jaw, heart starting race. No one had ever challenged you on this before. No one had ever questioned whether your gift should be used at all. No one ever seemed to care of the effect it had on your body, never thinking to look past the extraordinary abilities to the mutilation under the surface.

No one until Bucky.

You curled your hands into the thin sheets at your waist. “Bucky, don’t be ridiculous. I’m saving you all from weeks of unnecessary healing. I can handle the pain. It’s an easy trade for—”

Bucky’s fist met the wall. “You’re worth more than just a vessel for our pain, Y/n!”

“What the hell is going on in here!?” Helen Cho rushed into the room, eyes darting between Bucky standing by the corner of the room, shaking out his hand, and you as you laid in the bed at the center, the heart monitor above pulsing far too quickly.

Bucky seemed to notice the frantic beeping of the monitor and the anger quickly drained from his face.

Helen glared at him as she stepped closer to you, beginning to check your vitals. “You should leave,” she shot over her shoulder. Your stomach twisted to knots as Bucky nodded defeatedly and walked to the door.

“No, don’t--” you called, voice small, nervous. He paused in the frame, glancing back at you with a raised eyebrow. “Please, Bucky. Stay.”

Helen set a hand on your shoulder as if to ask if you were sure. You nodded.

“You may be able to heal yourself, but you’re still recovering,” Helen advised, tapping on the IV drip. “Take it easy, alright?”

Bucky remained stoic by the door after Helen left. He didn’t say anything for a while, his eyes focused on the tile floors at his feet, waiting until the heart monitor chimed in even, steady counts.

“Will you sit down? You’re making me nervous,” you chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. It got him to look at you, at least. While he couldn’t muster a smile, it was clear he was drained of the anger that had quickly taken hold of his body; anger that was never once reserved for you, but for the voices in your head that deemed you unworthy of more than a body to be used by others.

Bucky sank into the chair at your bedside.

“When’s the last time you slept, Buck?”

He stayed silent. It was enough of an answer. You didn’t dare ask the last time he left this room, not with the shiny reflection at his roots and the red strained in his eyes. Six days at your bedside, hunched over on a cold, unforgiving chair, clutching your hand. It ached deep into your bones.

“I mean what I said,” Bucky mumbled, slowly brining himself to meet your eye. He reached out for your hand, letting the comforting chill of solid metal lay below as the warmth of flesh and muscle laid on top. He brought your fingertips to his lips and gently kissed at your knuckles.

You sighed at the feeling. “Bucky, I...”

“You’re more important to us than your abilities,” he pressed, a sincerity behind his words and laced delicately into sweet shades of blue. “You do a lot of good to keep us safe with the tech you’ve been building and the adjustments to the suits. You’re incredible at what you do, Y/n. Your worth isn’t based on how many injuries you can heal or how much pain you can handle. We care about you. I care about you. Isn't that enough?”

You didn’t know.

You’d never known anyone to prioritize you over your gift. You parents had exploited it from the moment it was discovered your ability; showing you off, treating you as an idol to be worships and adorned. They put their child through broken bones and lacerations and asthma attacks. They sat back and watched as you healed strangers of arthritis and sprained ankles and migraines. Their child cried as they collected their winnings.

Were you afraid it would happen again? Is that why you kept it from the team? From Bucky? You’d convinced yourself it was noble to silently suffer in their place, but you started to wonder if it amounted to little more than your parent's words whispered into your ear: your ability is a gift to the world, a sacrifice unto yourself.

“Would you ask any of us to suffer in your place?” Bucky questioned, drawing you from the mess inside your head with the gentle vibration in his voice.

“I just want to help you...” you murmured, tears slipping past your cheeks.

Bucky reached forward and brushed the tears as they fell, sliding his hand against your cheek and nestling against your hair. You leaned into the touch.

“So, we find a middle ground, okay?” Bucky offered, smiling enough to push into his cheeks, though his eyes were still heavy. “No trivial injuries. No life-threatening injuries. We take the stuff in-between case by case.”

“Your shoulder,” you added, determined. Buck started to shake his head but you pressed harder. “Five minutes of pain to spare months of yours, Bucky. No lasting damage. Don’t argue with me on this one.”

It brought the smile back to Bucky’s eyes as he eventually nodded. You knew he had no real authority to decide what injuries you could and couldn’t heal, but you’d never had anyone who dared to put you first. You trusted him to do that; you trusted him more than yourself, anyway.

“We decide the rest together,” you told him. “I get the final say but... I need you to tell me if I’m pushing it too much, but I won’t be too cautious, either. No discriminating against Sam.”

“No promises,” Bucky chuckled, playing with the ends of your hair dreamily. “The other stuff I can deal with.”

“Okay,” you exhaled, relief sweeping through your body.

“Okay.”

“Think I’ll be lucky if anyone on the team even lets me touch them for a few months after this ordeal, though, huh?” You laughed and though it ached in your stomach, it was considerably less than it was moments earlier. You didn’t mind the dull pain. It was familiar, almost a comfort. Steve was alive because of it.

“Yeah, can’t say anyone was thrilled to find out how your powers actually worked,” Bucky chuckled. “But they’re happy you’re alright. I’m sure Steve will be, too. He was pissed when he woke up and learned what you did.”

You clenched your jaw. “Never good to be on Cap’s bad side...”

“No, it’s not,” Bucky agreed, wide smile pressed to the back of your hand, his lips touching over exposed skin. “He doesn’t like when anyone else pulls a self-sacrificial move. It’s kinda his thing. Diving into the Atlantic and all. We don’t really need two of you running around...”

“Alright, alright,” you laughed, swatting Bucky away. Your cheeks hurt from smiling, the pain in your stomach long forgotten, or maybe it had finally healed. You supposed it didn’t matter.

They were scars that would never heal. Like the knife wound. Like mesh of hardened tissue around Bucky’s shoulder, stretching out onto his chest and back. Reminders of when you were too both close to the edge, to the brink of darkness. Reasons to push back towards the light.

read the sequel here!

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader

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starrconch · 3 years

Note

Hi! Can I request a Zhongli (back to when he was still Rex Lapis) x fem!Hydro Archon reader? Thanks in advance, can't wait to see what you come up with!

HYDRO ARCHON READER

★ Includes: Zhongli, female reader

★ Word Count: 1745

★ Master List

★ Notes: thank you for the request! I'm loving the archon readers lately, it's been fun learning about some lore :D Also exams who? Zhongli is too tempting and I may have gone a little overboard...

★ Edit: part two is here >:)

ZHONGLI

★ The archon war was just under a century ago and the water could still remember it. That’s what you loved about the water, it could remember anything it pleased and for as long as it desired, as it was almost as eternal as you were, being the hydro archon and all.

★ You were most renowned for your Oceanid spies that could submerge themselves into the water and listen in to anyone’s conversations. Whether it be a small puddle or an entire lake, they could do it.

★ You had sent one of your finest spies, Rhodeia, to the nation of Liyue being built from the ground up by the god of war. It was a place supposedly filled with prosperous trades and a currency called mora, which you wanted to find more about.

The waterfalls in your throne room gushed and spluttered as Rhodeia emerged from one of them, making her way over to you and kneeling before you. “My queen,” she began, “I’m sorry I have failed you.”

“Failed me?” You chuckled a little nervously. “You have done no such thing. Now, what do you have to report to me from Liyue?”

Something was wrong, you could feel it. The water outside of the room felt strange. It weaved through the air back to you, holding whispers of an intruder located nearby. It urged you to eliminate the possible threat and keep your people safe.

“I-” It pained your spy to utter her next words. “I got caught by the geo archon. He’s waiting outside to speak with you.” Tears formed in the Oceanid’s eyes. She’d failed you, her one job to serve as a spy and go unnoticed was gone.

“Hey!” You got off of your throne and knelt before your spy, wiping the tears from her already water-like body. “There’s no need for tears, you did as I asked and I am thankful to you for that. Everyone makes mistakes every once in a while. I will not punish you for it.”

“Thank, your highness.” She lowered her head and sank into the floor, becoming one with a puddle that sat below her.

Sighing, you got back onto your throne and called out to your guards, “bring him in!”

Rex Lapis was a sight to behold indeed. He wore a long white cloak with the hood up, adorned with several symbols in bronze that represented geo and war. Underneath, he wore a skin-tight black shirt that also acted as gloves, covering his fingers and the majority of his neck. Golden glowing veins trailed up his arms, a similar hue to his amber eyes which glowed almost as fiercely.

“Y/N, the goddess of justice, how very nice it is to meet your acquaintance.” He did not dare kneel, for he was in his own right just as powerful as you were.

“As is it to also meet you, Rex Lapis. What brings you here today without any notice of your arrival?”

“Well, you see, I found an Oceanid in the reflection of one of the ponds around Liyue Harbour and so I returned her to you. What I came here to ask was what information you needed.” He crossed his arms. His swaying motion gave you a chance to see his hair in a rat-tail flowing out of a hole in the back of his cloak.

“And you want to give this information to me willingly?” You raised a brow, tapping your fingers against your throne. Rhodeia was still in the room listening in, you could feel her in the water beside you. You could only hope that he didn’t want your best spy publicly punished in exchange.

“With a trade perhaps, if you’re willing. I shall give you the information you desire in exchange for a favour to Liyue if my nation should ever need help. Is that a deal?”

You paused for a moment to think the trade through. It seemed genuine enough, but it was strange how he didn’t want anything to do with Rhodeia. Maybe it was just his way of ruling, but you were thankful nonetheless. “Alright, we have a deal.”

Stepping down from your throne, you held out your hand for him to shake to confirm the exchange, which he accepted. The closer you got to him, the more you realised how good he looked from up close, making butterflies appear in your stomach.

“What would you like to know about Liyue?” A smile formed on his lips, forcing your cheeks to heat ever so slightly.

★ You asked how such a basic, lowly nation had suddenly become so successful and prosperous. Rex Lapis returned with the answer of everyone pitched in to make Liyue the way it currently is. It hasn’t just been him, the archon, putting in all the work.

★ When you had nothing left you could think of to ask, he left, warning you to not send any more spies his way and to just contact him instead to see him and ask him more information. But why would you do it when that way he could easily keep secrets from you?

★ After a few weeks of waiting, you sent a different spy into the grounds of Liyue with the intention of finding out more about this thing they called mora. Soon enough, they returned.

“Mora are small circles of gold that the citizens carry around with them to use in trades. This is so they don’t have to use personal belongings anymore and they can get food easily.” The Oceanid knelt deeply before you.

“And you didn’t get caught, correct?”

“Correct, my queen.”

Then who was standing outside, one foot in a puddle, waiting with your guards? Using your vision, you called a stream of water back to you to give you more information. From the whispers of knowledge you received, you concluded that Rex Lapis was the one visiting you once again.

“So, you know nothing of the man standing outside?”

Your spy looked up, confused. “No, my queen. I haven’t got any information on that.”

Humming in suspicion, you leant back on your throne. “We shall talk later, for now, have the guards bring in Rex Lapis.”

“Yes, my queen.”

The geo archon crossed his arms, more annoyed than the last time you two saw each other. “If you’d like to see me so much, perhaps we should make a proper contract to exchange information on a regular basis?”

“Perhaps,” you agreed. “You can start with this: how do you keep finding my spies?”

“It’s simple.” Rex Lapis began to pace back and forth as he spoke. “I made a contract with them.”

Your eyes widened in shock. Your spies had betrayed you? No, not all of them surely. Rhodeia would never dare. She was loyal. They were all loyal, weren’t they?

“When they get to Liyue, they seek me and tell me of your plans. In return, I will give you the information you require and they may leave my nation intact.”

How dare he. All you had wanted was information and the slight chance of seeing him again. You had to admit, your thoughts had lingered on him throughout your time apart, now you could do nothing but chide yourself. This was how you were rewarded.

“And for mora, why are you so concerned over my currency?” You watched as he outstretched his arm, a small coin-like shape appearing in his skin before dropping. He caught the circle that he no doubt recognised as mora.

“It’s not much of a concern, merely curiosity.”

After a moment of silence, the god of war spoke again, “if you’d like, I could integrate it into Fontaine. I’ve been dreaming of this invention to spread across Teyvat to make trades and contracts much easier.”

You were in no place to deny as he already had a firm grasp on your spies, but did you even want to deny him? How better to learn about this currency than to bring it into your home?

★ The two of you discussed back and forth what bringing mora into Fontaine would require, leaving you unknowing that you were indeed the first step for mora becoming a worldwide currency.

★ Years went by of Rex Lapis coming back and forth every month or so to replenish your stocks of mora. You loved to watch as he did so, the coins appearing in his body and then falling to his feet, letting you notice how exhausted it made him.

★ Always afterwards you invited him to dine with you to help replenish his strength and also exchange information about your nations. As the two of you grew closer, you began to realise that you were falling for him.

It was getting too much, your admiration for him, your desire to see and touch him. You needed it all and it was getting unbearable without his presence, but you had no idea if Rex Lapis felt the same way about you.

Your Morax. It was a little nickname you had given him from watching him produce all those coins, a mixture between Rex and mora. You began to imagine what he would look like if you ever called him that, so entranced with this thought that you didn’t hear him calling you name.

“Y/N?” He called a little louder, reaching out for your hand that had been swirling your tea in its cup. The geo archon had brought some along with him from Liyue for you to try. According to him, it was his favourite

You jumped at the contact, suddenly looking up into his amber eyes. “Oh sorry, yes?”

He chuckled at your flustered appearance, taking another sip of his tea. “It seems that another contract is in order.”

“Another? What for this time?” Had you done something wrong? If you had, surely he would voice his concerns.

“Would you be inclined to forge a contract together to be each other’s partner? I’ve heard it’s quite the custom among mortals.” He turned away, nervousness running through his body.

Your heart felt as though it dropped from its safety in your chest. Did you hear him correctly? Were you zoned out again and just hearing what you wished to hear?

You shot up from your seat and wrapped your arms around his chest, burying your face into the crook of his neck.

The vibrations of his deep laugh reverberated through you as he replied, “I shall take that as a yes.”

#genshin impact #zhongli #genshin zhongli #zhongli x reader #zhongli x you #hydro archon #genshin hydro archon #genshin headcannons #genshin scenarios #starrconch #genshin x reader #genshin x you

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vhenanshiral · 3 years

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On the Topic of Seiya Kou.

This is a Sailor Moon post rather than a Dragon Age post. Shocker, I know, but Sailor Moon is another one of my loves. This will focus on the 90s anime adaptation of the manga. So do not come at me with “but in the manga,” because the 90s adaptation and the manga were incredibly different in multiple ways. Seiya will be referred to as she/her because the male form was a disguise. That being said, any interpretation of Seiya’s gender is valid and I love them all! Anyway. I see a lot of shit talking about Seiya and it’s honestly ... super tiring. So many of the “negative” points against Seiya are misinterpreted, misunderstood, and misrepresented for the sake of making her look like a dumpster fire. 1. “Seiya is creepy towards Usagi and stalks her.” Except ... she doesn’t. They meet by accident numerous times, and in fact Usagi even seeks Seiya out. They develop a friendship, and it’s normal and natural for friends to seek each other out. Usagi and the girls actually, literally stalk the Three Lights more than once during the season. 2. “Seiya thinks Usagi is weak because she told Mamoru to take care of her when they left.” This honestly makes no sense to me. It is repeatedly shown that Seiya admires Usagi’s strength, both as Usagi and as Sailor Moon. It is natural to want the people you love to be protected, and that does not mean that you think they’re weak and incapable of protecting themselves. Seiya knew Usagi was capable and strong because she had seen her demonstrate these traits multiple times. Throughout the season, Seiya repeatedly lifts Usagi up with her confidence in her capabilities. This is even before she knows she is Sailor Moon. Let’s not forget that when Galaxia kills all of the Inners, they ask the Starlights to protect Sailor Moon, so saying that Seiya telling Mamoru to take care of her means she thinks she is weak ... that must mean everyone else thinks she is too, right? It’s absurd. 3. “Seiya can’t take ‘no’ for an answer, always hits on her, and is constantly pressuring her into a relationship.” It is true that Seiya repeatedly quips about “having a chance” with Usagi. It’s also true that Usagi repeatedly reminds Seiya that she has a boyfriend. But it isn’t true that Seiya repeatedly attempts to coerce her into a relationship. It also isn’t true that she does it all the time. While she shouldn’t have done it even more than once (when she was unaware of Usagi’s relationship status,) it’s obvious from the context that she isn’t being serious. Seiya repeatedly making quips is an issue, and while those kinds of situations can and often do mean someone is being a “Nice Guy,” a predator, an abuser, etc., we know from everything that we see that it is not the case with Seiya. Let’s take the “date,” for an example: Seiya throws it out there (literally, just time and place and walks off) and Usagi willingly shows up the next day and is even irritated that Seiya is late. Usagi is not forced or coerced into the date; she retains all of the power regarding whether or not she shows up. She would not have gone if she didn’t want to. Actually, let’s look at these instances of Seiya hitting/making a move on Usagi. - In the “date” episode, Usagi thinks that Seiya is going to make a move on her. Some suggest that Usagi thinks she is going to kiss her, but the language, Usagi’s expressions, and her reaction to the truth seem to imply that she thinks Seiya is suggesting something more intimate. - In the episode with the beach monster when Chibi Chibi opens up the door and pushes Seiya over on to Usagi, Usagi is the one who, again, assumes Seiya is up to No Good, despite it being a complete accident and innocent on Seiya’s part. - In the episode where Seiya spends the night at Usagi’s because she’s alone and Seiya very nearly confesses who she is to Usagi while they’re in her bedroom, it is Usagi who believes that Seiya is going to confess to having a crush on her. - Later in that same episode, when they are hiding in the cabinet and Seiya again thinks about confessing her true identity to her, it is Usagi who thinks Seiya is about to suggest something intimate. In fact, throughout the season, it is everyone from Usagi, to the other girls, to single-episode characters, to even Luna who think that Seiya is going to suggest or attempt illicit activities with Usagi, and not Seiya. It is all but explicitly stated that Usagi is attracted to Seiya. Not just because of the implications of her assumptions, but also because she is scolded over it. In fact, Rei tells her that she needs to sort her feelings out. Haruka and Michiru forbid her from seeing Seiya because she has Mamoru. She may not love Seiya the same way, but she is attracted to her and she does love her (and Usagi being attracted to other people is not a new thing.) Let’s look at the softball episode, because it’s ... pretty problematic and people often point to it as being one of the episodes that paint Seiya as some creepy stalker who can’t just take a hint and tells everyone that Usagi is her girlfriend. It is Rei who thinks that Seiya training Usagi in softball is inappropriate (let’s remember that it is Ami who thinks that something illicit is going on with Seiya and Usagi in the bodyguard episode...) because Mamoru is Usagi’s boyfriend, not Seiya. It is Sonoko who insists that Seiya’s “relationship” with Usagi isn’t acceptable, and it is her that places the bet that if Seiya’s team loses, she’s not to associate with Usagi anymore. Seiya agrees because she’s competitive, hates to lose, has confidence in herself and Usagi, and knows that Sonoko is wrong. When Usagi tries to interject about the actual nature of their relationship (that they’re not dating,) it’s the girls who shush her because they’re expecting Seiya’s team to lose and that will give them the opportunity to make Seiya feel better. I want to touch on the “Seiya knows Sonoko is wrong” part. I think what a lot of people don’t think about is that when Sonoko placed this bet and openly stated her disapproval of Seiya spending time with Usagi, Sonoko was attacking Usagi’s worth as a person. She was openly saying that Usagi wasn’t good enough to be hanging out with Seiya in any capacity. Seiya took issue with this because she obviously believes and knows differently. She values Usagi as a person. Who is Sonoko to decide who is and isn’t good enough to spend time with her? Seiya is not approaching the situation with entirely selfish motives, unlike the girls who fed into the Seiya/Usagi romance for the hopeful eventuality of them being able to comfort Seiya after a loss when she’ll be forced to stop hanging out with Usagi. She uses this situation to help bolster Usagi’s confidence in herself. That doesn’t change the fact that the bet is stupid to begin with, but it is what it is. Oh, additionally ... Seiya doesn’t tell the school that she and Usagi are dating. Them dating is an assumption that Seiya simply doesn’t correct. It’s worth noting that if she did correct that assumption, it would feed into Sonoko’s declaration that Usagi isn’t good enough to be with Seiya. 4. “Seiya tried to make the rooftop scene about herself and used it as a way to try to take Mamoru’s place in Usagi’s life.” This whole entire scene is consistently misinterpreted and has all of the context ripped from it, because that is not what that scene is. No, it 100% was not the best time for Seiya to ask that question (and no, it is not “can I take his place?” that she says,) but people tend to forget that Usagi is not the only vulnerable person in this scene and it isn’t just about her. It is Seiya who triggers Usagi’s emotional breakdown on accident, and in these moments she is watching the person she loves crumble into pieces. The rooftop scene is about both of them and the context makes that clear. Up until this point, the only person who knew that Mamoru wasn’t keeping in contact with Usagi was Seiya. None of the girls knew, none of them. Imagine the amount of trust Usagi had to have in Seiya in order to share that incredibly sensitive information with her and with no one else, not even her closest friends. Usagi had told Seiya a whole 13 episodes before this one, and since finding out Seiya tried her best to make Usagi happy and to keep her mind busy. It isn’t until a few episodes after this that everyone including Seiya finds out that Mamoru is dead. So Seiya spends all of this time believing that Mamoru ditched Usagi when he moved overseas and that he’s a horrible boyfriend who obviously doesn’t care about Usagi. This is naturally hurtful to Seiya, who grows to genuinely like and love Usagi through the season. She cares for her and doesn’t want to see her in pain, which is why she does her best to help Usagi feel less alone. There is no point in the season where Seiya’s intentions are to maliciously shove herself into Mamoru’s place in Usagi’s life. She has no idea who Tuxedo Mask is. She had no idea that throwing the red rose - her own personal trademark - was going to trigger such an emotional response from Usagi. So here they both are on this rooftop in the middle of the pouring rain. Usagi’s breaking down over how alone she feels, and Seiya’s suddenly faced with the realization that not only did she cause this breakdown, everything she had been trying to do to help her wasn’t working and she failed again. She couldn’t save her system/planets, 99.9% of her people are literally dead because she wasn’t strong enough to save them, and she and the other two members of her team had no idea where their princess was or even if she was okay until the episode before this one. Immediately after the destruction of everything they knew, the Starlights had to flee to an alien planet with alien people, disguise themselves, and pander to a bunch of complete strangers that salivated over, stalked, and harassed them, all while searching for their princess and fighting the minions of the person who ctrl+a ctrl+x’ed their home system. She had no time to process any of the unimaginable loss and failure she had suffered through. When people talk about the rooftop scene and about how Seiya “makes it about herself,” this is everything they’re forgetting. When Seiya is asking Usagi if she isn’t good enough, it isn’t Seiya trying to weasel her way in, it’s Seiya both coping with her own numerous losses and trying to remind Usagi that she’s there for her. In the end, Seiya is the one that Usagi credits with being able to get herself through everything she was dealing with.

#sailor moon #sailor star fighter #eternal sailor moon #seiya x usagi #seiya/usagi #seiusa #bssm #bishoujo senshi sailor moon #90s sailor moon #pretty soldier sailor moon #usagi tsukino #tsukino usagi #seiya kou #kou seiya #sailor stars #sailor starlights

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absoluteindulgence · 3 years

Text

Imagine being that couple that breaks the bed during... y'know🥴 pt.2

A/N: Hey Y’all, I’m back at it again with the back at it again lmaooo Part 2 is here and I hope y’all like it.... This one is a little bit more vulgar (Characters are aged up 18+) Here’s PT. 1 for those who haven’t/or want to read it. And thank you guys so much for OVER 1K NOTES ON THE FIRST ONE. I DIDN’T KNOW IT WAS GONE GO OFF LIKE THAT 🥺. AND I’M GLAD I MADE Y’ALL LAUGH AND FEEL THE SECONDHAND EMBARRASSMENT LOL

🌋KIRISHIMA🌋

On your way there, you wonder if his honesty is going to be the result of another flustered mess that you can't see your way out of

You get to the store, and immediately everyone greets you; your face is welcoming, but on the inside, your grieving.

Kiri goes up to a clerk focusing on curtains and asks where to find a bed frame.

Willing to help, they show you where to acquire them. Kiri asks about different sets doing his best to seek out more superb quality. The clerk is understanding, looking to please their current customer, informing that they have more in the back.

He's grateful, and playfully the clerk asks why y'all need a new bed frame, and Kiri says,

"She called me “Big Daddy Riot,” and I snapped, and now we're here."

So straight to the point, the clerk blankly stares at you, but you hide your face not to make eye contact.

"A-anyway, whatever sturdy frame you have is fine, no matter the cost," pulling out his wallet, he says, "I'm ready to pay."

Now you should be embarrassed but now... You're kinda turned on. He was so serious about taking care of this that calling him big daddy was totally worth it.

No matter the purchase, he's very thorough with his expectations, the manly way.

And there’s just something so manly about a man pulling out his wallet with that "I'm willing to pay" attitude. Whether it's his tone, the way he grips his wallet, imagining it’s you being gripped like that (again)...🤤

You smile awkwardly to the clerk, “Give us your best, please?”

And so they do, not only with a complimentary warranty that you can renew anytime but with WATERPROOF SHEETS.

Heading back to the car, Kiri packs everything in the trunk and backseat, then comes to your side of the car. You get in saying, “Well, that wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”

"Well, don’t speak too soon, Princess. They just gave us some high-quality merchandise, but we don’t know how long it’ll last.” Pulling out of the parking lot, he looks at you with a quick wink, “I mean, not everything can be unbreakable like me, right babe?"

⚡DENKI⚡

This spicy, smart-ass.

It's definitely your fault, and he's gonna remind you all the way there.

Getting in the store, it’s not your first time there, so you already know where to find the frames.

Only you care that it matches the rest of the bedroom’s aesthetic, which could make the process harder.

Denki teases you, saying that it doesn't matter and that you should just choose a bed frame so that y'all can go the fuck home.

A clerk nearby sees y'all having a hard time, offering to help.

You tell them that you need a bed frame that fits your eccentric bedroom. They understand and go through the ones that you've already seen.

You say that you need something more robust than what's been displayed.

They nod, telling you they have the perfect set, disappearing to the back. They come back, and the set is perfect, but Denki is a skeptic.

"Hold on, babe, I'll handle this" He inspects the box looking at the weight of it, leaving no word on the damn box unread. He finishes and says, "Sorry, just had to make sure, wouldn’t want a part 2 of Pew Pew now, would we?"

Your eyes dart to him, the clerk is confused, "What's Pew Pew?"

Imitating a prince-charming tone, he says, "The weakness my true love bestows upon me it is strong and keeps me on edge."

The clerk waits for you to explain, but you say nothing.

Breaking out of character, he says, "Basically, she got on top of me and wanted to spell out my name, resulting in...... yeah."

He shows a photo, and your stomach drops to your ass, "WHEN DID YOU TAKE THOSE?????"

"When your fine ass was taking a shower, you're crazy if you thought I would keep this to myself!"

Y’all get the set, and buy more towels and get complimentary candles. You put Denki on WAP suspension too 😔 , lmao.

📼SERO📼

No offense but y'all a goofy-ass couple lmao

Y'all just be doing anything in the bedroom and now y'all at the store looking GOOFY-HYUCK

"Well, it started with how high could she jump onto me, and it resulted in a WWE match...."

Sero showed pictures of the private handy work that led you two to go shopping for something more sturdy...

Why the fuck does the room look like discount Cirque Du Soleil? His tape is all over the fucking ceiling, on the floor, and most importantly the bed frame because you dizzy, one brain cell together having asses tried taping the bed back together just to keep on fucking

Resulting in the frame FALLING TO SHREDS

The clerk has never seen no chaotic shit like this in their life!

It is so fucking bad they have to use EYE DROPS, just to confirm WTF they're looking at

"I know it looks bad, but at least we're not hurt" He smiles so earnest it’s almost as you weren't sexually destructive beings.

The clerk disappeared, coming back after 10 minutes with 3 other clerks as they carried a set filled with steel, metal chains, and high-quality leather.

The clerk said, "This is a one of a kind set; if you manage to break it, we will personally build you a steel cage so that your wrestling match can continue."

Sero looks at you, excited, "Wow, Babe, let's buy it."

Y’all buy the bed set and get a lifetime coupon of high-quality sex toys sent to your home, and of course, y’all try the shit out without thinking of the aftermath.

Back at square one, and the clerks are scared of y’all now

😈SHINSOU👿

Already at the store and Shinsou is doing all the talking to the clerk~

"I told her to go to sleep; she defied me, so I had to punish her..." Realizing he said it out loud, he looked at your face.

If only you could Thanos yourself

The clerk looked slightly uncomfortable, "Well, from what you are describing, I don't know how that would result in breaking the bed."

"Well, my Kitten is a little disobedient and needs many forms of... persuasion."

Putting his hand on your shoulder, he showed his wicked smirk.

I mean, was he wrong? He wouldn't even let you do the talking. If you spoke out, he would turn up the vibrator attached to your clit.

That was the challenge he placed on you before y’all left the house, and you willingly obliged until he told you his condition. Now he had total power to switch the narrative like it wasn’t him waking you up in the middle of the night after coming back from a long day of heroism.

The clerk squinted at you with a worried/ suspicious look... "O-okay, give me a moment."

They come back out with an exclusive set that was just imported overseas. The box images make it look so beautiful and regal; you’re shocked, wanting to tell him how much you love it but don’t wanna say.

Knowing Shinsou, it’s a trap to punish you.

"Wow, that’s beautiful. We’ll take it.”

Sometimes his dominant side pisses you off, but it’s clearly a turn on, you want to mouth off, but you nod instead.

Shinsou pays for the bed frame along with some pillows, and the clerk offers complimentary essential oils that you can come back and get free refills.

Heading to the car, Shinsou sweetly asks, “Now that we have reinforcements, are you ready to go again, Kitten?"

#eijirou kirishima x reader #Denki x reader #sero x reader #shinsou x reader #mha imagines #mha hcs #mha x reader #absoluteindulgence headcanons

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holykillercake · 3 years

Text

Coin Stealer

Trafalgar Law x psychic!Reader

word count: 3.3k

summary: Law does not believe that you can see dead people, so you crochet him the strange-looking beanie of the strange-looking man that walks around the Polar Tang.

highlight: ¨I´ll give a chance to the uniform, and I´ll only address you as Captain when you behave as Captain.¨

warning: You are entering Trafalgar´s room.

notes: Bello, ma people! This is the 3/3 part of a lovely anon request in which the s/o makes them a thing with crochet! This time is Dr. Heart Stealer edition!! I really enjoyed writing this, and it got a little long, but I did not want to cut off important things. Anyway, I hope you like it!

𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬, 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞!

¨Hey, Bepo! Have you seen Law?¨

¨Y/N! I don´t know where he is... I´m sorry.¨

¨Oh, it´s ok!¨ you patted the mink´s shoulder, giving him a warm smile.

You were never a big fan of his constant apologetic personality, but you couldn´t deny that you missed it during your time apart from the crew.

The Heart Pirates had parted ways a long time ago when your Captain decided that the time to put his life-long plan in action had finally come. The crew split into three parts, and each one followed a different path.

After the sudden disappearance of the Strawhats, the Paramount War, the Rocky Port Incident, and Law obtaining his title as a Warlord of the Sea, you were the first to depart, remaining in Sabaody Archipelago, waiting for the owners of the Thousand Sunny to return. You fought alongside a fishman called Hacchin, a weird guy that reminded you of Black Leg and other allies to protect the ship.

Next to leave was Law, who sailed to Punk Hazard, where he formed a partnership with a crazy scientist bastard. Then the rest of the crew went on their own towards the island where you would meet once the plan was concluded.

The trajectory was not smooth by any means, but you did it, all of you. And now you feasted along with the Strawhats, celebrating whatever it was that you did not understand. Maybe they were like that, or maybe they didn't understand the risks you would take from now on.

Anyway, the crew seemed to be in need of some music and fun, and you were too busy looking for your Captain to care about that.

In the midst of the evening breeze, the crackling of the fire, and the barrels of beer crashing in celebration, you saw the answer you were looking for.

Of course.

¨If I didn´t love you...¨ you growled as you made your way out of the island to reach the Polar Tang. And let´s face it, that was a detour.

You went straight to your room, where Law would probably be sipping coffee, napping, or just running from the crowds. And just like you, it has been months since he stepped on his own ship and slept in his own bed.

So maybe you could cut him some slack.

However, as you approached the room, there was no smell of coffee. No smell of coffee and no light snoring. Just a stillness carried with heavy emotions and your boyfriend, sitting in the dim light holding tight the crochet piece you gave him years ago. You swayed in place, expecting that thing you made to provoke him to be at the sea bottom.

¨Wondering why I kept this?¨ he asked.

¨Not really.¨ you replied. ¨But I am surprised. Am I disturbing?¨

¨You never do.¨

You jumped on the bed, sitting beside him and resting your head on his shoulder.

¨YN-ya... do you know how he...¨ the question struggled to come out.

¨Peaceful.¨

¨Hm.¨ he nodded.

¨I don´t like when he smiles, though. It creeps me out.¨ His body bounced slightly as he joined you in a chuckle.

¨Remember when you gave me this?¨

¨Of course, you almost kicked me out of the ship!¨ you giggled with the memory.

¨You were really annoying back then.¨

¨Hey! Objection!¨

¨Objection rebuffed.¨ he smirked and moved on the bed, pulling you to lay down on his chest.

You told him to shut up before cuddling in, not falling asleep immediately. None of you said much. Instead, you enjoyed the calming and comfortable silence of each other´s company.

It has been a while since you had that.

You remember every moment of your early days as a Heart Pirate. You and Law hadn´t started on the best terms, but he needed you - well, your skills - and you were given a good deal.

The pivot of your history together began on a chain of coincidences. The first one being both of you docking on the same island. The second one was him finding a rare coin for his collection, the same one you would later slip into your pocket.

You wandered around towns using the beautiful art of distraction to get anything you wanted from anyone. Watches, necklaces, wallets, and, well, coins? It was all he had in his pocket, and since it was a cute one, you decided to keep it.

Some called you a thief. Some called you a burglar, and some may even have called you a big son of a bitch. But the thing they all had in common was that none of them knew exactly who they were calling those names.

The thing is, you messed up the first rule and made eye contact with him. Well, it was more of you not being able to take your eyes off of him. He stood out in the crowd, and you had gotten cocky. So when he later found out about the missing coin, it did not take him long to connect you to it.

A lot of things went through his mind. He felt frustrated because his Haki failed him, annoyed for the trouble he would have going after you, and intrigued by the touch so light he did not feel at all.

Or that is what he kept telling himself.

Yes, he was interested in someone with skills like yours, but maybe there was something else he would not admit. The way you looked at him as if you had deciphered his entire life and found the missing pieces of his puzzle. Even the ones he tried to hide.

That night he went out for your head. Or better, your heart, literally.

You were enjoying the comfort of your hotel room, eating some snacks, and playing with your new commemorative coin when he materialized himself by the bed. You instantly knew something was about to go down.

Oh, fuck.

That situation got pretty tense pretty quickly, both ends asking things, and no one willing to offer any answers. The stakes were high, glares cutting the air like blades. It did not help to ease the mood when in the sway of his hand your heart popped out of your chest.

Long story short, his plan was never to drag you to the Polar Tang. Law wanted you to go willingly, joining his crew in exchange for your heart. However, the unfortunate variable he did not consider in the equation was that you would not go down without a fight. So by the time he reached the ship, he noticed the gentle fresh breeze ruffling his hair.

You know, since his hair was usually covered by the hat.

...

THE FREAKING HAT!

The next morning when he returned, you were waiting for him with a satisfied smirk bending your lips, the hat on your head, and the coin dancing between your fingers.

At some point, you had stolen it, and once again, it passed unnoticed by him. That was not a good night for the Heart Pirates. And that was also the night Trafalgar Law realized a couple of things. The first, he needed you on his crew. And the second, you were going to be the death of him. Or maybe the aneurysm of him, he would not give you such credit.

¨You´re late.¨ you said, amused, and his grip tightened around the sword.

¨What´s your name?¨ he repeated the question you dodged several times during your last encounter.

¨What´s with the dog?¨ you pointed at the tall, white polar bear wearing a uniform. Law pursued his lips, breathing heavily through the nose.

¨I am B-¨

¨Bepo-ya don´t talk to he-¨

¨Your name is Bepoya?¨ you ignored the man, bumping into his shoulder as you walked towards the mink ¨Hi, I´m Y/N! Nice meeting you.¨

The polar bear looked back and forth at you and his Captain, not knowing how to behave in this situation, so he apologized and stepped farther back.

¨Alrighty, now that we are all introduced, shall we go?¨

¨What?¨

¨Come on, Law, focus.¨ you snapped your fingers multiple times, teasing him. ¨You came here to pick me up, right?¨

¨No. I want my hat back.¨ He tried to grab it, but you ducked in time, holding the hat on your head with both hands. It was so soft.

¨How about a trade? The coin for the hat.¨

¨How about my hat for your heart? Do this, and I won´t...¨ his words died in his mouth as he clutched his pockets.

¨Looking for this?¨ You held your heart, wrapped in a cold and gelatinous box that you retrieved when you bumped into him minutes earlier.

How could you fool him again? He kept seeking answers that explained why it was so easy for you to outwit him, and his expression showed.

¨You´re getting close, Law. Put your little trash can to work.¨ you tapped your temple, smiling mischievously at him.

¨YN-ya, you know I can kill you, right?¨

¨Yeah, but you won´t.¨

¨How do you know?¨

¨I got a sixth sense for these things.¨

The rest of the conversation did not take long to come to an end. Amid sarcastic comments and threats to each other's lives, what should have been the pinnacle of the moment became a random passage in the Heart Pirates´ logbook.

¨So, YN-ya, do you want to join us? You´re gonna have to wear a uniform and address me as Captain.¨

¨I´ll give a chance to the uniform, and I´ll only address you as Captain when you behave as Captain.¨

Law sighed, giving himself a carotid massage ¨Ok. Let´s go.¨

He walked a few steps ahead of you and Bepo, wondering why he spent so much effort on an arrogant thief that wouldn't even call him Captain.

You quickly became friends with the polar bear, even apologizing for calling him a dog. He strangely apologized for your apologies, culminating in what would almost make the notorious Surgeon of Death suffer a stroke.

¨What the hell is that?!¨ you shouted when the Polar Tang entered your field of vision ¨That´s not a ship!¨

What if I am claustrophobic?

The ya thing is a schtick?

Death? That´s a little borderline controversial for a doctor.

Trafalgar more like Trafraude!

On occasions like that, Law wondered how peaceful and quiet would be the sixth level of Impel Down. From a current perspective, your initial interaction served as a vaccine, creating the necessary antibodies Law would need to deal with future pirate alliances.

The crew got attached to you very quickly. Your adventurous spirit, your stunts, and street trades fascinated them. Losing bets against you seemed acceptable, your card tricks and the thing of guessing the numbers they thought was like fuel for a good day at work.

Law didn't seem to mind that much. After all, you wouldn't get him on his nerves if you were busy with them. However, one day, you let slip something that caught his attention.

¨YEAH! That´s exactly what she looked like! How did you do this?!¨

Law heard Shachi´s roar, followed by a wave of surprised ´ooh´s coming from the kitchen, where the majority of the crew hunched around the dinner table.

The doctor leaned against the door, silently observing what could possibly be more important than keeping the ship working. He had been drowning in files all night, and now he decided to have a coffee break. That mess early in the morning did not make him happy.

No one seemed to be too intimidated when he cleared his throat, announcing his presence. Everyone greeted him with smiling 'good mornings' and turned their attention back to you.

¨What is going on here?¨

¨Captain did you know Y/N can see dead people?!¨

The coffee left a bitter aftertaste on his mouth.

¨What?¨

¨Yeah, Captain!¨ Shachi yelled on Law´s face, earning a death glare ¨She just described my mom!¨

¨Really, Y/N-ya? Now you´re a magician and a psychic?¨ he asked, taking the seat across from you.

¨The perks of being me.¨ you shrugged.

¨Do you see more dead people here?¨

Yes

¨No. But you sound a little skeptical, Law.¨

It was way too early for that discussion, but your biological clock didn't seem to care. Whenever Law came with his teasing, you would be ready to strike back.

He gave everyone a lecture about empathic accuracy and how good you were reading cues communicated by words, emotions, and body language. Or some crap like that.

¨Ok, let me see if I got this right.¨ You shifted in the chair, hands moving in the air ¨You can pull organs out of people´s bodies, cut them in pieces without killing, switch their souls, but you do not believe that I can see dead people?¨

He tilted his head, but not giving you an exact answer.

¨Do you wanna know what I think?¨

¨No.¨

¨I´ll tell you anyway. I think you have something you don´t want people to know, like a soft spot or a tragic past.¨ you sought the answer in his eyes ¨I´m guessing a loved one who died?¨

Overall, he was not wrong. You were a master in reading people´s body language, but you were not a jackass. So when the slight twitch of his mouth cleared up your doubts, it was time to stop.

You knew how it felt, soft spots, tragic pasts, or late loved ones. There was no need to go further and throw more salt on his wounds. Hopefully, that taught him a lesson.

An awkward silence ensued while everyone watched the scene, uncertain how to act, fearful that an extra spark would make everything explode into massive destruction.

¨Whatever.¨ he sighed ¨Show´s over. We´ll be reaching land in a few days, and we should be preparing to dock.¨

When everyone left the kitchen to go about their businesses, you remained alone with the figure that constantly wandered the submarine. He didn't do it in a creepy way. Despite his extravagant makeup and the intimidating aura, he was not a bother.

And it wasn't like he was there all the time, definitely more than anyone else. His passages were guaranteed on the days when Law was more sensitive. For bad or for good. He would look after him from the distance like a parenting figure.

¨Who are you?¨ you murmured under your breath.

For the next few days, Law made sure you were too busy to foster discussions about dead people or paranormal abilities.

When your services stealing rare supplies or getting answers to your Captain's questions you weren't required, you would help him with mountains of paperwork.

Only this time, he had outdone himself.

He managed to assemble the annual check-up of the crew, the inventory packing list, and the update of the logbook at once. This last one could easily wait until after you docked. But that freaking workaholic sadistic surgeon would not let this opportunity slip. So you pulled several all-nighters writing, signing, and stamping, all without exchanging a single word.

When you emerged, a few miles from land, you barely enjoyed the fresh breeze and sunlight. The crew hopped around, getting ready to put their feet on the continent as you sat in the kitchen profusely grouchy.

Your brain was fried, burnt, carbonized.

¨You´re not coming?¨ Penguin asked, and you shook your head. ¨It´s been a while, Y/N, you should come.¨ you shook your head again. ¨I guess you´re not buying anything for the Captain´s birthday as well.¨

An incohesive question came out of your exhausted being. Penguin couldn´t help but feel sorry for you. ¨By the time his birthday comes up, we will be underwater, so everyone is preparing.¨

¨Do I have to?¨

¨No!¨ he chuckled ¨He doesn´t really like it, but we still buy him something.¨

¨Why?¨

¨´Cause he is a good Captain!¨ he said and sprunt out by the voice of someone calling him, waving goodbye at you.

It wasn't that you didn´t think Law was a good Captain. It was just an inherent nature of yours to clash every time you looked at each other.

But on such occasion, you could combine the useful with the pleasant. After all, you were grateful because he gave you friends. Of course, he was the unfortunate by-product that came with them, but you could handle him.

So fighting against your will to stay and sleep, you forced your way out to the solid ground, hoping to find the most random store someone could wish for, a haberdasher.

Much to your delight, you did it. You picked a burgundy color wool and the first hook you put your eyes on and returned to your soft bed.

The chances of you having scared your crewmates by staring at the blank for hours were high. In reality, you wanted to memorize and come up with a pattern for the strange-looking beanie that man wore.

It had no pompom at the top like Penguin´s. Instead, two long pieces of fabric ran down from each side with heart-like things hanging.

When the sixth day of the tenth month arrived, Law´s desk was cluttered with presents. You had decided to wait until you were done with work and heading to bed to give it to him.

After conquering that task, you locked yourself in your room, where you stayed until you had it finished. For some reason, you bothered to buy a box to put it in. Whatever.

On the sixth day of the tenth month, Trafalgar Law could not focus on work. Every slight movement of yours, every bathroom break got him jittery, rehearsing words that wouldn´t make you hate him more.

Not that you ever hated him, but you didn´t talk, so he didn´t know. After some time starting small talks and being ignored, you just gave up trying.

By the end of that night, he had given up too. So when you placed the golden-yellow box on his desk, he couldn´t vocalize his feelings. It became just another silent night.

Chests tight and hearts clogged with unspoken words.

Law did not work for the next couple of days, and if he left his room, no one saw. The gifts on his desk were not even opened. Everything was left the way it was.

Maybe you had crossed a line.

As you marched up to the room at the end of the hall, several paths popped into your mind. You could act like you didn´t care, so what if you left? You had been alone for so long, it wouldn't make any difference! Still, something was begging you to apologize. To ask to stay, because being there was good, everything you never knew you wanted.

You were ready to pack your bags and have your title as a Heart Pirate retracted when you woke up one morning, finding a note on your desk telling you to meet him in his room. Your nails dug into your sweaty palms. Where did this tightness in your chest come from?

When you set foot in the room, your eyes hovered around. It was the first time you saw Law's room. It was exactly how you thought it would be.

Keeping your gaze locked on his was more difficult. He was sitting in an armchair near the foot of the bed. From afar, his appearance remained neat, as always, but as you approached you saw the circles under his eyes even darker. A thing you didn't think was possible.

For the first time, you didn't know how to read his expression. And seeing him vulnerable like that made your stomach drop. So you prepared yourself for the worst. However, to your surprise, all he did was ask you questions.

No snarky remarks. You just talked.

That day something changed. And from that day on, Law had found someone to help him carry the unbearable weight he had on his shoulders, and you found a place to call home.

...

¨Y/N-ya.¨ he called you, who was a cuddle away from sleeping.

¨Hm?¨

¨Before you left, in Sabaody...¨

¨Uhm.¨

¨You stole the coin again, didn´t you?¨

You giggled and pulled the commemorative coin from your back pocket, snuggling closer to his body and feeling the vibration of his chest as he chuckled.

Extra notes: I hope you had enjoyed it! It came out a little too long, but I have been feeling like I´m limiting myself when it comes to the number of words... I don´t know, I´m confused.

Anyway, is that pink and red that I see on the horizon?

#one piece #one piece x y/n #trafalgar law #trafalgar d law x reader #law x reader #law #surgeon of death #heart pirates #bepo #penguin #shachi #worst generation #corasan #polar tang check-up #sabaody archipelago #warlords of the sea

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ahloveisboo · 3 years

Text

point of view (m)

pairing: kwon soonyoung x fem!reader

genre: 18+, friends with benefits!au, smut (mentions of choking, mirrors, alcohol consumption, swearing, implicit condom use. always be safe, kids!)

wc: 1.6k

summary: you just can’t seem to quit soonyoung.

a/n: this soonyoung is system!soonyoung but you don’t need to read one to understand the other as these are just in the same timeline, happening simultaneously. (also, ALWAYS make sure you have discussed any kind of choking with your partner beforehand bc it needs to be consensual and not something to be taken lightly or done inexperienced)

"She's going to fucking kill me."

Soonyoung giggles against your neck, his hand under your skirt as you try very hard not to think of the repercussions of ditching your best friend and focus on his teeth scraping over your sensitive skin. "All the more reason to make this one worth it," Soonyoung notes, tilting his head to capture your lips.

You groan into his touch, as you have done many times before. It's not like you didn't try to fight it—you really did, because you're not the meaningless flirt type of person, but something about Kwon Soonyoung just keeps pulling you in, over and over and over again. The first time you blamed it on the alcohol, the second time on the way his hips swayed in time with yours, his breath fanning over the back of your neck, but there was no excuse for the third time (or fourth or fifth).

Soonyoung has you in a figurative chokehold and a part of you relished it. To be in someone else's mercy and not have to think for a few blissful moments. The buttons of his jeans are already popped, his shirt loosely hanging over the front where you pulled it free. His tongue tastes like Redbull, the sickeningly sweet tinge of it mixed with vodka evident as he laps into your mouth.

You suck on his bottom lip, gently letting your teeth graze along the skin until he hisses, licking his lips to ease the sting.

"We really should get back to the party," you say, unbuttoning your blouse as Soonyoung casts his hooded gaze downwards, where his hand still lingers on your thigh. "I don't want people getting the wrong idea."

"Oh, darling," Soonyoung's voice is low and sultry, his tongue thick in his mouth. "That ship has sailed a long time ago." He accentuates his words with another kiss. "I think people expect us to fuck at every party we go to by now."

"You're gross," you say, unable to bite back a smile. You allow your blouse to fall from your shoulders. "Now take off your shirt."

Soonyoung complies willingly, notably flinching when your cold palm comes up to rest against his chest. "You know I like it dirty, baby," he says in response to your first statement, and this time you laugh out loud. You swat at his chest, covering your mouth to hide your laughter as you dip your head back. There’s a goofy grin on his face as he watches you, your eyes squeezed shut and cheeks rising.

“We’re literally in a bathroom, please don’t talk about dirty right now,” you plead before he moves to grab your ass and lifts you to sit on the sink, pushing up your skirt with his thumbs.

“Still beats Mingyu’s bedroom closet,” he reminds you, hands roaming over your exposed skin as he re-attaches his lips to your throat. You move your hand to his neck, fingers playing with the hair at the nape. You hum at the memory, gently tugging at the locks to pull him away from you. “Yeah,” you muse, breath ghosting over Soonyoung’s lips as you move closer. “Why can’t everyone have a private beach house like Minghao?”

Your tongue flicks out to tease his upper lip, leaning back when he chases your mouth for more. He swallows, adam’s apple bobbing in this throat, and his fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs in frustration. His gaze finds yours, temporarily robbing you of your breath. He’s so beautiful, even without the visible flush now painting his cheeks, but in this state - eyes hooded and throat adorned with angry red marks - he looks to die for.

Soonyoung must’ve thought the same thing because he inhales sharply, as if he suddenly realises something. Brushing a lock of hair out of your face, he smirks. “Fuck, I wish you could see yourself right now. You’re so hot.” You can feel the heat rising to your cheeks, something stirring in the pit of your stomach at his words. He brings you in for a kiss, deepening it with a determination that leaves your head spinning. With his hands on your ass, he pulls you against him, letting you feel how needy he is for you. “Do you-” he breathes between kisses, “do you want to watch?”

You still at the question, unsure of what he’s asking. “Hm?”

But Soonyoung is not looking at you, you realise. His eyes are trained on the mirror behind you, his fingers nimbly working to push your skirt up enough to get a full view of your ass in the reflection. Jeonghan’s bathroom isn’t necessarily big, but it’s big enough to have a double sink with a big mirror that’s lined with tiny light spots, perfect for putting on make-up or your daily skincare routine. You bite your lip, mulling over the implications of his question in your head. “You look so pretty when you cum,” Soonyoung continues, his tongue trailing over your exposed collarbones. “I want you to see how pretty you are when I fuck you.”

With a jerk of his hips, the last of your hesitation crumbles, and he almost misses the way you nod before letting yourself slip off the vanity top, pressing your bodies together impossibly close. Soonyoung winds his fingers in the strands of your hair, gently tugging at them as he breathes you in. At last, his hands fall to your hips, turning you around in one swift motion. The action causes you to topple forward, your hands seeking support on the cold marble top. For a second you pause, feeling Soonyoung’s cock brush against your ass from behind, his hands still firm on your hips as he waits for you to make the next move. You slowly raise your eyes, locking with his in the reflection and he smirks.

It’s exhilarating, the way Soonyoung never breaks eye contact—not when he moves to cup your breasts, playing with your hardening nipple as he sucks at the sweet spot behind your ear. Not when he finally pushes your skirt down and his jeans with it, a hand dipping into your panties to rub between your folds. Not when his fingers wrap around your throat, gently squeezing as he bucks into you, until you’re no longer able to indulge him; your eyes fluttering shut as you feel the muscles in your thighs tighten. A strangled moan forms in the back of his throat as you push your hips back to meet his and his knees almost buckle, making him collapse against your shoulder. The obnoxious sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mixing with Soonyoung’s heavy breathing and the rapid succession of his name spilling from your lips, increasing in pitch as you get closer to release.

"You're so fucking hot," he breathes, voice ragged when he speaks. "And so wet." He tilts your chin up with two fingers, using the ones holding onto your hip to give it a little pinch. Your eyes widen at the sudden pain and Soonyoung smiles as he soothingly rubs the skin. "Do you see?"

Your eyes reconnect in the mirror, the look he's giving you shooting straight to your core. You tip your head forward to catch his fingers in your mouth, licking around the digits slowly. Soonyoung almost climaxes right there and then, but his pride doesn't allow him to cum until you do.

You're close, though and it only takes a few extra flicks to your clit for you to come undone. Your jaw slacks in a final, drawn-out moan as you throw your head back, your back bumping into Soonyoung’s sweaty chest. He follows soon after, placing idle open-mouthed kisses against your shoulder to muffle his own sounds.

A moment passes, Soonyoung’s arm wrapped around your torso to keep you steady, both of you catching your breath. He lets out an airy laugh, his eyes locking with yours again over your shoulder. You reciprocate the sentiment, a chuckle escaping you before you allow his fingers to guide your head sideways enough for Soonyoung to plant a kiss to your mouth. This one is softer, laced with content and satisfaction. You curse Soonyoung for being so damn intoxicating and you know, no matter how hard you try, this will happen again next time and again the next time over.

Maybe you’re okay with it, though. You watch him with curiosity as he gets dressed, smoothing out the crinkles in your own blouse in the process. Something stirs inside your chest when he leans over to peck you on the lips. The corner of his mouth quirks into a smile before pushing the bathroom door open, glancing at you over his shoulder. The previously muffled music washes over you in loud waves, and you allow Soonyoung to take your hand.

“Let’s see what stage of murderous your bestie has reached by now and if she needs any rescuing.”

You laugh at his comment, internally hoping you didn’t fuck up too much by leaving her to herself in a house full of people she hardly ever spoke to. The thought gets put on hold as you’re met with the sight of her pressed against Joshua—the Joshua Hong, who she’s been crushing on for months in secret—his hand in her hair and lips locked. You hear Mingyu and Seungcheol hooting loudly, but she seems unbothered by the ruckus they’re causing.

Soonyoung pushes through the crowd, grabbing a red cup with a mysterious content from the table as he passes his friends. He bumps into Joshua’s shoulder with a smug grin. “Do you guys ever breathe?” he yells over the music.

Joshua visibly tenses, your best friend pulling away from him with a look he can’t quite read. Her fist raises threateningly in his direction, and Joshua laughs heartily before stopping her.

“Soonyoung,” he says, patiently but a tone to his voice that implies he’s not joking around. “I’ll give you a headstart if you start running now.”

#kwon soonyoung #caratwritersclub #svtwritersnet #hoshi #soonyoung smut #soonyoung scenario #soonyoung fanfiction #soonyoung drabble #soonyoung x reader #soonyoung imagines #hoshi smut #hoshi imagine #hoshi drabble #hoshi scenario #hoshi x reader #seventeen #seventeen soonyoung #seventeen hoshi

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downywrites · 3 years

Text

Bird is back, baby.

Phil owns a speakeasy, and the Dream Team needs some information he picked up from his shenanigans.

Dream gritted his teeth, the feeling grounding him in the cacophony of the speakeasy. The bar sounds equally overwhelmed him and drowned out his thoughts, the smell of raw booze burning in his nostrils. He grunted in annoyance, trying to avoid as many people as possible. Even so, a good amount of people looked at him questioningly. He longed to bring in the rest of his team, but he knew that it would cause much more of a stir if he did so. Sapnap never did well with crowds (and especially not in wooden buildings), and George turned heads left and right. He sighed, exasperated. All this just to find that stupid little fox informant that double-crossed them.

He weaved through the swaying crowd with the ease of a warrior, searching for the bar. Spotting the wooden structure, he moved towards it with purpose, pushing people to the side. The man working the bar frowned slightly. His wings fluttered slightly behind him, adorned with small wingclips and gems that sparkled in the warm lightbulb rays as he moved. Dream looked at him up and down, confirming to himself that yes, this was the man that Techno talked about all the time. The bartender stood his ground, pupils flicking up and down in the same manner. A warrior, he presumed, based on the way he held himself. His kimono shifted as he poured out a drink, flipping the cocktail shaker with ease. He made eye contact with Dream through the eye holes of his mask, taking a bottle from the shelf and pouring out another shot without breaking his gaze.

��Can I help you?” His tone, soft and unassuming, masked the hard edges of the word’s implications. Dream’s mind translated his body language for him. ‘Who are you, and why are you here?’ “I’m here because I need some information about someone who frequents this tavern. And I’m sure you’ll answer, because this is an illegal business, is it not?” The people nearby the winged man flinched, turning away from him as if to shield their faces. Dream paid them no heed. He didn’t care about their arrests. They were small fry compared to the bird-man with the powerful aura.

The man offered him a shot. He took it with two fingers, holding it gingerly in his hand as if it were a treasured gift. He didn’t want to make him feel even more threatened, did he? He didn’t seem remotely phased by the mixed signals Dream gave off, simply continuing to serve drinks. “If you are here for information about people in my speakeasy, you’re not going to get any. Things that are said in the Roost stay in the Roost.” The people nearby relax again, many sipping at their drinks and surveying Dream and his weapons. He pulled out a small vial of a glowing purple potion, placing it on the polished wood with a hollow clatter. The bartender picked it up, swirling it around with the dexterity of an alchemist. His sky blue eyes widened. “This is..Techno’s special brew…How did you get this?” “He gave it to me. I know him, don’t you?”

His eyes narrowed. “He doesn’t give that out to just anyone. That mask looks familiar...Dream?” At the mention of his name, several people scrambled out of their seats, faces pale like the colors of the sand nearby Manberg. Whispers of his name curled around his ears, making him grin. The bartender made no move to escape nor attack, simply picking up a nearby glass and polishing it with his wing. “Dream it is, then. I saw you once, but only once.” “Then you must be Philza.”

The man- no, Philza- agreed, bobbing his head slightly. He spread one of his wings, revealing a small wing-gem that shimmered with forest-green light. The emerald’s rays bounced off of his mask, casting a green shimmer of color onto the scuffed porcelain face. “If it’s information you seek, I can give it to you. You have one of Techno’s coveted potions, so you must be of value to him. Very well.” He dug into his kimono, rifling through it and carefully pulling out a small card. He plucked a feather from his wing without a second thought, pulling out a bottle and dipping the feather. The sounds of his newly-made feather quill scratching on the card made him lean in a little. Once he was done, Philza handed him the card.

“Meet me here after hours. I’ll talk to you then.” Dream looked away from him toward the entrance for a moment. He turned back to see nothing but a small, ink-color feather greeting him. A quiet caw made him look up, eyes widening as a shimmering crow the color of high-quality ink flew around the speakeasy. If he was in any other mood, he would have attempted to find out what that was about. He shook his head. He’d ask the man later.

“What do you mean, you just accepted a card and then left?”

“That’s the whole truth, Sapnap! He owns a business, I can’t just hold him hostage during his work hours!”

“I mean, it is illegal.”

“Yeah, what George said!”

Dream was beginning to regret bringing them along to talk with the bird-man. Rolling his eyes, he continued to pace around, waiting for the sound of wing-beats to save him from the incessant blabbing that the other two were doing. Sapnap growled slightly, breathing out a small lick of fire and lightly singing George, who promptly yelped and glared at the blaze hybrid. “Sapnap, you jerk!” Dream slid the mask over his eyes, covering his face and most of his sight. He leaned on the lamppost he was underneath, eyes shutting for a blissful moment of rest.

Of course, as luck would have it, that was when the bartender arrived. The sound of powerful wingbeats and jingling gems and charms made him sit ramrod straight. Wooden sandals made a ‘clunk’ noise as he alighted, shuffling slightly as he arranged himself. Dream scrambled to pull his mask back to its original spot, waving in the general direction of the noise. A small, throaty chuckle proved his guess to be correct. Sapnap’s mouth hung open slightly, jaw slack in shock. “You’re...you’re Philza?” The winged man tipped his bucket hat, hardcore charm fallign to the side as he bowed. His wings flared out for balance, revealing the inner shades and colors of his feathers and the gems beneath his primaries. Sapnap piped up again, eyes sparkling with his signature mischievousness. “You look mighty fine. Are you single?”

George and Dream muffled their groans behind their sleeves. “Sapnap, for once in your life, try to be serious. This is a serious matter.” The blaze shot back, “Well, you always end up sleeping in during the serious matters I deal with! Seems fair to me!” Dream scoffed quietly, turning to look at Philza fully. He wasn’t wearing his bartender garb, so he assumed he gave himself some time to prepare for the rendezvous. Just another thing that might hinder their next move. Dream sighed, fiddling with the potions on his belt. They clinked together, drawing Philza’s attention. “I see you brew as well.” “Of course. How could I decide to avoid an entire brand of magic? Wouldn’t be wise, if you ask me.” Sapnap and George were still having a go at each other, so the masked man simply ignored them, deciding to make friends with the new person. “So, are you willing to give us the information we need?” The charms on his hat shifted as he nodded, glimmering and catching his eye as the light bounced off of it. “Depends on who’s asking and what information you desire.”

Slightly miffed by the behavior of his team, he clicked his tongue loudly. Although the sound of it was muffled by the mask, the bickering hybrids stopped mid-sentence, faces morphing into a more serious look upon turning to face Philza. The winged hybrid took a wary step back, wings flaring out slightly. Dream held his hands out placatingly, tilting his head as to look innocent. “We’re not going to hurt you, we promise. All we need to know is the location of Fundy and other important aspects of his flight.” Philza did not look any less frightened by them. Eyes flicking to the splash potions on their vestures, he hopped on his feet, ready to fly away. “I-I cannot tell you that. Fundy is...valuable.”

Even as he prepared to ‘escape’, his graceful movements clued Dream into the idea that he might not be intending to leave the area quite yet. He hissed under his breath. The movements that the man was using looked similar to Techno, so if he timed it just right… Philza lunged at Dream, angling himself so he could slip through the gap in between the trio. Predictable. Dream grabbed him by his kimono and threw him off balance, allowing him to fall to the floor without any extra injuries. He hopped away from the man and threw a splash potion beside his form. The fragile glass shattered, leaving the potion all over the winged warrior. Philza struggled to get up, his movements hampered by the slowness potion.

Not wanting to let him escape, he threw a weakness potion, carefully angling it so it didn’t hit either of his friends. A small gasp escaped the winged hybrid. He collapsed to his elbows, arms wobbling. “You...you tricked me, didn’t you?” Dream shrugged. “I didn’t trick you. I asked you for something, and you said no. I have to get that information, whether you tell me willingly or not. That is the manner of the world we live in. Not that you would know, saying that you have been isolated from the rest of the world in your tavern. How long has it been since you last left?” He glanced back at Philza, expecting a reaction. None came from him. “Did the potion work that quickly? Or- George.” George scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “I-I panicked. Sorry.” Sapnap scoffed, arms crossed over his chest. “You cast your stupid sleep spell whenever we don’t need it. You really are the weakest link in the team.”

“Shut up, you little-” “Enough!” Dream stomped his foot on the floor. “You two have been bickering this entire time! What if the man is a light sleeper? Then all of this is for naught!” Chastened, the two shrank back from his booming voice. “You two need to get into gear. It’s time to be serious. The war is upon us. We cannot fail.” The others nodded, quickly picking up Philza. “Interrogation room?” Dream nodded. He followed behind the other two, shooting flaming arrows at any mobs aggressive (and dumb) enough to challenge them. He muttered softly under his breath, “Philza, I will get that information from you if it’s the last thing I do.”

Philza awoke to the sound of bickering, much to his annoyance. His head spun slightly, reminding him of what type of potions knocked him out. He sighed inwardly. He shouldn’t have trusted such a shady bunch, especially not when he was weaponless and just off of a shift. Gingerly opening his eyes, he saw a blurry bunch walking around his form. Socks shuffled on the hard wood below the surface he was resting on. He tugged lightly on his arms, warning chitter bubbling up when his movement was hampered by a solid restraint. He risked cracking his eyes open a little more to survey the quality of the bonds. The weaker the bonds, the better chance he had of escaping when the time was ripe. Through the blurry circles of his lashes, he saw the dull gleam of leather binding the closest wrist in eyesight. He smiled to himself knowingly. ‘That’s not going to hold me for very long.’

His pupils followed the motion of a blue-clad figure. An assortment of tools clattered onto a metallic-sounding surface behind to the other side of him, making him start slightly. The masked man walked into his sightline slowly. “So, you are awake. Sneaky birdie.” His feathers bristled slightly at the insult. Philza’s voice rumbled deep in his throat as he spoke. “I’m not a ‘birdie’.” He snapped his eyes open, glaring straight at the eye holes on his mask. He stared right back, empty, dark shadows covering the man’s actual irises. The goggle-wearing boy and the bandana man followed suit, staring at the bound hybrid.

“Like we said earlier, we need the answers. We can’t afford to lose the man.” Dream stepped towards the table, a menacing aura emanating from his person. “So, will you tell me of Fundy’s whereabouts? Or are we going to have to do this the hard way?” Phil’s facial expressions hardened at the sound of his grandson’s name. “I can’t do that for you. I have morals. If he could have seen his face, the winged man would have seen his face harden even more. Lips pursed behind porcelain. Dream’s growl caught in his throat. He gestured towards the others. “Get the tools. Bring them to the table.”

The duo nodded in tandem, the first thing that they had done together without a squabble since they and Phil had been introduced. Phil suppressed a snarl when he felt an unknown hand caress the back of his wing, pushing against it roughly and shoving the person’s appendage off of him. “Feisty, aren’t we?” He recognized the voice as ‘Sapnap’. Metal wheels squeaked. The rattle of tools on a cart made his ears perk slightly. He strained to hear what the other two were saying behind his back. “...this…..work?” ‘Shhh…...us..” Phil turned his head away from the rather intimidating figure in front of him, refusing to meet his gaze. “Well, you know that promise I made you while we were acquiring you?” Phil nodded, squishing his face into the table’s surface to avoid looking at those empty eye holes again. “We won’t hurt you. We want that info, yes, but not at the cost of breaking a promise. No, we needed to find something that would break you without ever harming a hair- or a feather, in this case- on your head.”

If the man were anyone else, Phil would have broken the cuffs in a matter of seconds and ripped his mask off of his face. Years and years of dealing with captors can give you as much tact as a hundred-year old strategist in the late SMP wars. But, seeing that Dream was speaking about Fundy, it would be ideal to stay put for now. After all, what the hell could he do to the man? He already promised not to hurt him. He smirked to himself. They had already made the wrong move, and the game hadn’t even started yet. Foolish mortals. He felt sure of his motives, sure of his imminent win, until the familiarly unfamiliar feeling of his boots being untied by unseen hands snapped him out of his egotistic daze. Feathers fluffing, he tried his best to crane his neck and gain a better look at what the two were doing behind him. “W-what are you-?”

Another hand carded through his wings, making him squawk in annoyance and bat their hand away. “I think that torture is always a good way to force people to get info, but I don’t want anyone on my tail. Therefore, something that doesn’t leave a mark would be good, better even, on someone as willful and prideful as you. And I can think of something that I think most of your allies have in common~” His boots came off, revealing his clawed feet. The sensation of frigid air made him cross them over each other. He glared behind him as well as he could, earning a small chuckle from the blue-clad man. A single finger dragged over one of his soles, garnering a small, almost pithy chuckle. “This won’t hurt at all. All you need to do is tell us, and the tickling stops. Got it?”

The winged man struggled in his bonds. The sound of the leather creaking dangerously made the Dream Team step back a little in worry. Dream snarled behind his mask. ‘Being uncooperative, hm? I might need to take him to the more secure area if he keeps misbehaving.’ Dream turned to George. “Splash potion, George. Now.” George pulled out a potion of weakness and poured it onto the man’s form. The liquid traveled down his kimono, leaving trails of weakening fluid all over his back and chest. The struggling slowed down to a mere squirming. Philza knew better than to exhaust his strength. He folded his wings back, snuggling them against his form. Traitorous butterflies erupted in the pit of his stomach. ‘They’re going to tickle me? Out of all the different types of interrogation, tickling? Either way, they’re not going to get the info out of me anytime soon.’ Turning his head back to look at the trio, he folded his ears back, narrowing his eyes in a manner that would make most taverngoers uneasy. The only reaction he got was a smirk from Sapnap. He and George returned to their respective positions behind him, hands and fingers at the ready. Dream stared Phil down from his position above him.

“Anything you want to say before we begin?” The warrior opened his mouth to speak, voice lowered to a mere whisper. “I will not tell you the whereabouts of that man.”

“Barely a man.”

He bristled at the comment, but said nothing more. “Very well. Sapnap, George.’ Almost immediately, he felt someone scribble at his soles. He bit his lip to hold in his chuckles, unwilling to give them the satisfaction of hearing him laugh. “Oh, birdie~ why don’t you laugh for me? I’m sure your laugh must be so cute! Or, even better, why don’t you tell us the location of Fundy?”

“...ngh...n-never.” George raised his eyebrow behind him. “Oh, really? Never? I don’t think that’s true.” George traced a shape into the man’s trembling sole, wiggling his fingers over the other one as well as he could. He whispered behind him, “Sap, go for another part of him.” Sapnap grumbled quietly, but moved to the side of Phil. He dug his fingers into his sides suddenly. “You ticklish here?” Phil squeaked in surprise. He burst into quiet giggles and squirmed weakly in his bonds. “N-nohoho, Ihihihi’m nohot!” “Oh? Is the little birdie getting giggly?”

The bird warrior’s cheeks pricked with heat. “Ihihi’m nohot a bihihirdihie!” Sapnap roughly tazered the man’s sides, poking everywhere he could to keep the laughter flowing. Phil stubbornly folded his wings closed, even though the whole of his instincts told him to take to the skies. George, realizing that his feet might not be the biggest spot on him, also moved away from his feet. He dragged his fingers from the ball of his foot to the heel, travelling past the foot onto the muscle of his ankle. Grinning slyly, he traced the curve of the muscles in his calf. The resulting increase in giggles made his smile widen even more. “Seriously, your laughter’s even sweeter than I thought it would be.” He cooed at him a little, hoping that being seen as cute would harm his sense of pride just a little deeper.

The warrior’s mortification cut deep into his chest at the cooing. “Yohohou cuhuhut thahat ohohut!” He thrashed his legs as much as he could, endeavoring to make contact with the person behind him. “Oh no you don’t.” Sapnap’s hands traveled upwards to his lower ribs, scratching at the bones through the thin gauze of his kimono. Phil’s laughter squeaked slightly. “Noho-nohohono! Nohohot thehere, plehehease!” “Oh, is this a good spot, hm? That’s what you get for trying to kick him.” Phil pushed his face into the table, trying his best not to show how much the teasing was getting to him. His wings fluttered against his will, drawing attention to the soft, fluffy appendages. George smirked crookedly. “Oh? Does the birdie want his wingies tickled?” Phil’s eyes widened significantly. He turned to look at George the best he could, wincing at the slight strain on his neck from the sudden movement. “Nohoho, dohoHOn’t!” The blaze hybrid dug his fingers into the same spot again, making the warrior squeak through his laughter. “I see we have a squeaky toy here. Watch me make him squeak!” He poked it again, giggling softly himself when the squeak came out a little more indignant than he expected.

Dream stood back, watching his friends do the work for him. The blue-clad man wandered to the other side of the table, carding his hands through his shimmery wings. He felt the feathery appendages tremble from his mere touch. “You must be pretty ticklish here. Your reaction definitely sealed the deal on that. The question is, will this be enough to break you?”

Philza knew better than to answer that. George waved at Sapnap to lay off for a moment, before threading his hands carefully through the feathers. Philza shivered slightly from the sensation, dreading what was to come. The butterflies in his chest and stomach took flight again, anticipation weakening his defense for what George was about to do. He cursed his avian instincts, knowing that sooner or later, something was going to spook him into opening his wings. And if he opened his wings while a warrior like George was there….he closed his eyes for a moment, trying not to think about it.

The man ruffled the outermost feathers of the wing, admiring its glossy, healthy sheen and iridescent colors beneath their midnight exterior. “You know, your wings are beautiful. Have you ever heard about the tales of the crow? That story is told by villagers to their children. A very beautiful tale, if you ask me.”

Sapnap rolled his eyes, scoffing quietly. He folded his arms over each other, tapping his foot impatiently. He mouthed at George, ‘When are you going to be done with your stupid tale?’ He mouthed back, ‘When I’ve sufficiently flustered him. Just wait a minute.’

He continued speaking, petting the man’s wings as he did so. He rubbed a specific feather at its root, watching the man’s entire body shake from the effort of not bursting into sweet giggles again. “The original story of the crow is that, in his vainness, he put out the torch of the sun while showing off his feathers. The others did not punish him for it, as he punished himself for it by blackening his feathers when he relit the torch. But…”

He dug his hands deeper into the feathers, feeling the warm, soft muscle underneath. “I think a wee little crow like you really deserves a little more of a punishment.” With careful hands, as to not hurt him, he grabbed at the outer joint of the wing and extended it manually. Philza let him, too flustered and too weak to pull his wing out of his hands. Triumph blossomed slightly in George's chest at the same realization. Once the man’s wing was at full extension, he quickly dug his hands into the feathers, raking downwards through the feathers and reaching the sensitive skin underneath.

With a burst of energy he didn’t know he had, Philza screeched, arching his back almost violently and squirming with renewed force. He burst into laughter, squeaks and chirps mixing in with his mirthful cackling. Sapnap grabbed the bonds with his hands, making sure the man didn’t accidentally break the restraints. Dream’s eyes widened in surprise at how well it got the winged hybrid, but simply nodded in the general direction of his close friend. “N-NAHAHA, CUHUHU- IHIHI! HAhAHA!” George continued to drag his finger through his feathers, grinning widely again. “Man, wrecking you is so much fun. You’re so sensitive, too! Maybe we could keep you as our plaything if you don’t give us the info we need!” It took all of Philza’s energy to shake his head ‘no’. Tears threatened to spill, crystalline liquid blurring his vision of the table. “IHIHIHI- FIHIHINE! IHIHIHi- IHIHIHIHI’LL TEHEHELL! STOHOHOP!”

George immediately let up, glancing at the other two. With an air of victory, he walked over to the other side of the table with Sapnap and Dream, acting as if he was the cat that caught the canary. Sapnap glared slightly at him, but said nothing. “So, what were you going to tell us?” Dream’s voice sounded quiet in the absence of the loud laughter that echoed in the room moments earlier. For someone who had lived so many years, it was obvious that Philza still had the voice of a general who could yell through the howling winds of Antarctica.

Phil panted and wheezed quietly, wings fluttering, as he tried to catch his breath. The Dream Team waited patiently for the man- well, slightly patiently. Sapnap tapped his foot on the floor quickly, anxious for him to be back in the game. George cleaned his glasses absentmindedly, not too worried about the info on its own. Dream cleared his throat, trying to get the dazed man’s attention. The hybrid’s eyes sharpened as he turned to look at the group. He smiled cheekily. “Sorry, boys. The only thing I can tell you is that Fundy is someone that I care for. I cannot reveal his position, not at this moment.” Sapnap, the only one looking directly at him, growled lowly. His eyes hardened momentarily, before softening again, as if nothing had gone wrong in their plan. “Oh, you’re going to get it now, bird man.” Sapnap moved towards the man, fingers wiggling.

George took a step forward to follow him. A gloved hand on his shoulder stopped him in his tracks. “George.” Bare fingers tapped on his bicep. “Let him.” Dream leaned back, letting go of George carefully, as if he would bolt if he let go too quickly. Sapnap strode up to Phil quickly, jabbing him in the ribs quickly and darting underneath the flowy folds of his clothing. Without letting him get used to anything, he immediately plunged into tickling the man, testing spots and techniques at the speed of light. His rough palms dragged along the man’s skin, inducing chirpy laughter and squirming from Philza. “Oh, you really fucked up by saying that. You won’t get away with saying that scotch-free, you know?”

Phil replied through his laughter. “Wehehell, Ihihihi gahahahave yohohou infohohoho! Thahahat’s nohohot fahahair!” Sapnap pushed his flapping wings aside to scribble at his back. “Yes, it is! We asked for whereabouts, not why you can’t tell us!” Phil squealed at the feeling of his nails on his spine, going limp in his restraints. His body shook with laughter, vibrating underneath Sap’s nails. “Ooh, a melt spot? No wonder you kept your wings so stil earlier! This spot’s golden!” He let his hands wander all over his back and his shoulder blades, chuckling at the myriad noises the poor man made as he moved from place to place. He traced shapes on his shoulders, grinning when the man hiccuped loudly from the stimulation. “You’re already having a field day, and I’m not even using any tools! And Techno said that you were fearsome? You’re just a cute little crow!”

The indignant squawk from his remark made even Dream crack a smile. “ ‘M NAHAhat cuhuhute!” He shook his head, wing-ears flapping from a mixture of embarrassment and mirth. “Aww, but you little ears say otherwise! Just look at them go!” The blaze hybrid sing-songed, grabbing one and rubbing it between his fingers carefully. The other one shivered and went almost deathly still. A small trill of happiness escaped Phil’s mouth, a noise that immediately caused him to flush an even deeper shade of red.

He whimpered in embarrassment through his giggles, shaking his head slightly. “Aww! Look at him, he’s such a cutie. All embarrassed because he likes it when I pet his ears?” He rubbed it again, this time more firmly. Phil folded his wings shut again, relaxing inadvertently into the man’s touch. His eyes closed without his volition, pushing slightly into his hands. Confused, Sapnap looked over to Dream. He whispered quietly, “What am I supposed to do here? Should I keep going?” Dream shook his head. “Let him rest. We can mess with him after he wakes up.” Nodding slightly, Sapnap continued to rub his ear, waiting for the man’s breathing to even out into a deep and slow, obviously familiar pattern.

Once Phil was sufficiently unconscious, according to his standards, he let go of the now limp miniature wing, walking towards the group of people. “Alright, now what do we do?” Dream took off his mask swiftly, basking in the cool air and the significantly less stuffy atmosphere for a moment. He turned to the other two, grassy green eyes sharp and focused. “We take him to a more secure area, strap him down. Then, we continue to question him until he coughs it out. We don’t have a choice. If Fundy escapes, we are guaranteed to have a problem. Got it?” Sapnap nodded, his bandana bobbing. “Sounds good to me.” George didn’t look too sure.

“If Fundy is of his kin, doesn’t that mean that he may have a bit more of a reluctance to tell us? I’m not sure that questioning him will be time-effective…”Sapnap scoffed, rolling his eyes. He huffed out a cloud of steam in his eyes, making him put on his goggles to avoid getting burnt. “Look, George. Usually, your ideas aren’t that shitty. But, that’s one of the shittiest ideas I’ve heard to date. Yeah, let’s release this intelligent bird-man who is a bartender to many warriors and informants, who now know our location and what we need! He’s going to destroy us almost immediately, that’s for sure!” He threw up his hands, exasperated already. His eyes flashed with anger, a normal and instinctual reaction. “Ugh! Why don’t you ever understand? We’re warriors of high regard! We can’ just...release him!” He moved closer to the other, steam pooling in his mouth like dry ice in a tub of water.

He opened his mouth to speak again, before Dream’s mask clinking on the interrogation table gave him pause. “Enough. We wait for him to awake, and that’s an order. No arguing. If he’s awake, he’ll know that we aren’t as strong as he thinks we are. Keep your guard up.” The cold glaze of his eyes conveyed his own anger. George stepped back slightly from the two, nodding quickly. “Okay.” He turned around quickly, high-heeled boots making solid thumping noises as he walked. “I’ll get water for us.” Sapnap stayed put for a moment longer, red eyes boring into green, before he walked away as well. “Whatever.”

Dream made no move to counter or argue, simply turning to look at Philza’s peacefully sleeping form. He smiled at him, teeth sharp and yellow from countless washings with blood. “Just you wait, Philza. We will get you to break, whether or not your sanity goes with it.” After all, Dream was one to always have the last word, whether it be in an argument or an enemy’s life. That was always how the cookie crumbles, and it wasn’t as if Phil was the only immortal that he had the liberty to break. His lips curled slightly. “Techno would be proud.” He fished around in his pocket, pulling out a familiar emerald, still dangling on a bloodied chain earring. The hook slid into his own earring hole smoothly, as if it wanted to be there. It swung like a pendulum. Back and forth. Back and forth.

If you want a part 2, give me a little winky face in the tags ;)

#downywrites #lee!philza #ler!dt #ler!dream #ler!george #ler!sapnap #dsmp tickle #mcyt tickle #my writing

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