#I man Of Course I first made the tub and the curtain and then all the tiles and then more tiles and then I

[mu-mumie]

[ID: A sketch made with an orange marker. Harrier Du Bois from the game Disco Elysium is standing in a bathtub behind a shower courtain. Even though only his head and an arm are peeking from above the courtain, the sexy pose he's striking is clearly apparent from the shadow he casts. End ID]

I could not resist the temptation and had to draw Harry from this wonderfully hilarious fic by @brainrotdotorg. No, he isn't a professional stripper, he just suffered a shot wound and the 24 assholes in his head won't let him rest :'3

(Yes, it's orange because it's Kim's POV.)

[becauseicantthinkwritings]

An Altar For Our Sins

Chapter 2 // Masterlist

Demon!Billy Russo x Reader

Warnings: ummm, period, suggestive themes, porn watching? Ohhh shit manipulation too, but he's a literal demon so themes are dark.

This is for @outlawadvocate to read when she gets better.

Read part 1 here

Moodboard done by @thatbritishactor

It's the same dream. It's always the same dream. It gets worse when he's on Earth, the reminder of what he did all those years ago.

The difference now, is that he's screaming at himself to stop.

He was a killing machine then, hoping to rise through Rawlins' ranks, hoping to keep his favour. The first man in his life to give him a taste of power, a real idea of the man he could become. He could leave his past behind. No more digging through trash and eating the first piece of bread he could find. No more looking over his shoulder to see if someone was following him. He was almost a made man, all he had to do was shoot wherever Rawlins pointed.

He can't pinpoint the exact place he began to lose himself, but he knows when he realises it. It's when he's cleaning Lisa Castle's blood of his hands that the realisation takes him, he's lost every sense of the person that he used to be.

It's like he's back there again. On that night, but this time, he doesn't have a gun. This time, he has to use his bare hands.

Billy's screaming in his head. At the top of his lungs, as he watches another version of himself squeeze the life out of Maria.

She doesn't deserve this, he hears himself roar, get your hands off of her.

Maria's struggling, trying to fight, trying to save her children, begging him to stop. Billy's begging him to stop too.

You deserve this, Billy shouts in his head, you deserve what you're about to get.

He wakes when he feels your distress. Sitting up from his place on the couch, he goes to you.

You're in pain, he can tell even before he opens the door.

"Mistress?" He calls, pushing the door open slowly, "Are you alright?"

He senses the pain worsening, and when he finally sees you, you're sitting up, one hand gripping the sheets, and the other pressed against your lower stomach. The morning sun streams through your curtains, catching your messy hair in a halo of light, and Billy thinks you may be the prettiest thing in creation.

You suck in a breath, looking up at him.

" 'm alright Billy," you say, trying to breathe through the pain, "just...my period, coming early." You didn't have the mental capacity to feel shy about the topic with that much pain searing through your system.

You're sure you've stained the sheets below you, and you give a mental sigh at being seen this way.

You shut your eyes and groan as another cramp spears through you. You hear his footsteps, before feeling the back of his hand trace over your cheek.

"I prepared a bath for you. Can you walk?"

You nod, taking the hand he's offered and slipping off the bed to stand. Immediately you double over in pain, and the next thing you know, you're being picked up.

"I can-" you begin to protest.

"Of course you can," he responds easily, "but I'd like to help."

You don't argue, trying to grow accustomed to his helping hand. It had been a month since- since-

It had been a month since you met him, since you'd found yourself in a situation you'd never expected. In that time, you'd developed an easy... friendship with him- if you could call it that.

What did you call an unwilling summoner, and the demon bound to serve her?

Certifiably insane, if the first word that comes to your mind, but as he rests your body against the edge of the tub, and tells you to call if you need him, before disappearing, as you tug your clothes off, and slip into the deliciously warm water, another word comes to mind.

Nice.

The steam curls with hints of purple- the evidence of his influence- something that only you and him could see. You sigh, leaning back in the tub, resting your head against the waterproof pillow, feeling the warm water soothe your aching abdomen.

A knock before he's entering, eyes averted to give you privacy.

"Better?" He asks, facing away from you.

"Yeah," you say breathlessly, "Thank you."

"You should take the day off from work." He suggests.

"No, I- I can't, I took those few days last month-"

"Mistress, please? I can just make everyone think you were there today."

"Then, the work won't get done." You argue.

"I'll get someone else to do it for you."

"That's not-"

"Then I'll do it."

You give his back a doubtful look.

"Do you know how?"

"I learn fast, please?"

You give a relenting sigh, "Alright. You win."

A nod of his head.

"All done?" He asks.

"Yeah." You say, and you watch him turn, eyes closed, as he materialises a towel in his hands. It glows purple for a second, before the aura fades.

You stand, taking the towel from him, it's warm in your hands and you sigh as it wraps around you. The minute you stand, the pain begins inching back. You let out a long sigh, already exhausted at today.

You groan, your head buried in your pillow as the pain won't stop- even after you've taken the recommended dosage of painkiller.

You'd been surprised to find clean sheets on the bed when you'd returned to your room, unaccustomed to the kindness. It jolts you, then, lying face down in bed, that it's more an obligation than a kindness.

"Your painkiller isn't working." You hear him say from the entrance to your room.

"Yeah." You agree with a grunt, pressing your hand into your stomach, "Got any other ideas?" Hopeful for a supernatural remedy.

"Yes." He says, footsteps drawing nearer. You raise your head in curiosity.

"It means we'll have to get close. Is that okay?"

Your heart would pick up speed if you weren't in so much pain.

"I'll try anything." You murmur, looking up at him.

He nods, pulling back the covers on your bed. You watch as he settles in, placing another pillow behind his head so that he's more upright. Your stomach flutters, watching him make a space in your bed and you think he looks more at home there, than anywhere else in your apartment.

"Come," he says, crooking his fingers at you, and you don't bother to hesitate, crawling towards him. He helps situate your body against his, your back pressed into his side, with your head resting on a pillow over his arm. He turns his body to yours, pressing his chest to your back and you realise that you've just become a little spoon.

You gasp in surprise when you feel his large hand move under your shirt, his pinky sliding under the waistband of your shorts.

"Relax, mistress." He murmurs into your ear, you shiver at the proximity.

Another cramp begins to overwhelm you, and your hand covers his in desperation.

"Shhhhh," he soothes, "You're alright, breathe for me. That's it..."

His thumb presses down gently, rolling slow circles over your angry uterus, his breaths puffing gently against your ear.

The pain eases from a sharp spear to a dull ache, and finally, you breathe a sigh of relief.

Your body sags against his, keeping his hand on that spot, daring him to pull away. When your eyelids droop, your body going pliant, you finally murmur a praise of thanks.

"You're the best, Billy." You murmur, before you drift asleep.

He has no reason to lie to you. If you were asking the right questions, perhaps he'd come clean. Maybe he'd confess that the painkillers he'd given you weren't actually painkillers at all.

What does it matter anyway? You're not in pain anymore, and there's the added benefit of finally being in bed beside you.

Your skin is so soft, and he has to try his best not to let his hand wander. He thinks about moving it up, until he's got the plump edge of your breast in his hand, or maybe he could move lower, and press against your clit through your panties. He imagines the sweet sound you'd make.

You let out a small murmur, before turning in his arms, facing him now, tossing one of your legs over his hip. He has a sudden hate for clothing. The corner of his mouth lifts as he looks down at you, sleeping soundly beside him.

You're quite the pretty thing, even asleep with your face smushed against his shoulder, your hair wild around your face. He understands why someone would have offered you up as a sacrifice, with your beautiful skin and soft body. Any man, or demon, or even angel, would be lucky to have you. He can't resist, his tail wraps around your thigh, keeping your body as close as possible to his. You murmur more incoherence, stretching your arm over him, burying your face into his chest. The urge to give you everything you need, increases.

Billy's not sure how much of that urge is his own, and how much is the summoning spell used. All he knows is that the thought of killing you turns his stomach, and the thought of serving you, makes him feel good in a place that he's never felt before.

"Lunch time, mistress."

Your head hits the table in annoyance.

"Bill, please, five more minutes."

"You said that twenty minutes ago. You promised you'd take it easy."

A groan from your lips.

Being doted on wasn't all its cut out to be.

Who are you kidding? You ask, raising your head to an expectant demon, holding a box of delicious food. The things he's doing are actually nice... aside from the fact that he's being forced to do it.

"Okay," you agree, closing your laptop and moving it aside, looking up at him and waiting for him to place the food on your desk.

He raises his eyebrows.

"That wasn't the agreement."

Grumbling, you stand, moving to the small couch in your office. With a wave of his hand and a flash of purple, the small uncomfortable couch turns into something soft and plush and fit for two. He sits first, getting comfortable against one end, stretching his legs out and widening them.

You don't wait for his prompt, crawling between his legs and settling against his front. There's a moment when you feel his hand, untucking your shirt from your skirt, and you give a little jump, still not used to the proximity and touch. A small grunt of pain as your uterus makes itself known.

"Door." You gasp, when you feel his hand tug at the zipper on the side of your skirt.

"Locked." He responds quickly. You sigh against him.

His warm hand smooths over your womb and you look down as a purple light simmers under his hand. The pain eases gradually.

You let out a long breath.

You feel his chest move against your back.

"I'm sorry that you're stuck with me." You say, looking up at him. The angle is awkward, but when he looks down, you see his eyes flash red for a moment.

"Could be worse." He says, his voice rumbling right into your ear.

"Easing my period pains and bringing me food isn't monotonous enough?" You ask with humour in your voice.

The hand on your abdomen twitches, and he waits a long moment before speaking again.

"The men that summoned me before were pathetic. One asked for immortality, one asked for money and power, one wanted me to kill his wife and her lover. They were boring." Billy grabs the boxed meal and places it in your hands. You take your time opening it, listening to his words.

"You would think, eternal punishment meant that I would be helping people, making lives better, righting wrongs. Instead I was being summoned by the worst fucks of all."

You nod along to his words, taking a bite of the delicious chicken and rice he'd gotten you.

"And you killed them?" You ask, curiously.

"Yeah." You can hear the smile in his voice and the sound of his bliss from such a sinister topic should not make your body this warm.

"I like killing. I like taking powerful men by the necks and making them piss themselves in fear."

You gasp in disbelief.

"I'm a demon of wrath, mistress. There's nothing I love more than serving vengeance."

When your meal's finished and your pain's all gone, you tuck your shirt back into your skirt and take your time righting your clothes so that you can resume your work.

Billy saunters up behind you, under the pretense of helping you. He smooths some of the wild strands of your hair away from your face.

"I'm also a demon of something else." He says, leaning into you so that you're wrapped in his smoky scent.

"Yeah? What else?" You ask, looking down to smooth over your skirt.

You don't expect him to lean in, hover his lips over your ear precariously and whisper one word.

The word he utters forces you to press your thighs together, body aching for the release its been denied since the start of your cycle. The deep timbre of his voice makes your brain imagine dangerous scenarios of being locked tight in his embrace, with no hope or want of escape.

Your mouth parts, and you look up at him, catching the way his eyes move down to your lips.

"Call my name if you need me." He whispers before he disappears into air with a hint of purple.

You let out a long sigh, shaking your head before getting back into work mode, trying your hardest to ignore the echoes of his voice in your head.

"Lust."

You've discovered that living with an emotional support demon requires a bit of ground rules. Naturally, it's not easy having someone in your space, and rules are always a good way to establish boundaries.

The very first rule you'd made with Billy, was that he was not allowed on your work outside of lunch time, unless there was an emergency and you needed him. You discovered early on, that Billy had the ability to be invisible to everyone around beside you, and it was difficult to ignore his comments during meetings.

"I think this man wants to fuck you, mistress. Shall I kill him?"

You whip around to look at Billy, earning a confused glance from your coworker. You stiffen with realisation and turn back to the table slowly. A minute passes where you look at your boss and nod along to his words.

"Yes, he definitely wants to fuck you. I can have him dead in seconds from natural causes. Blink once for yes."

You freeze. Keeping your eyes as wide open as possible, your heart jumping in fear.

You hear him rise, and come to stand directly behind you. Your eyes begin to sting.

"Oh? Was that a blink?" He teases in your ear, and you finally realise that he's just joking with you. You let out a sigh of relief, your eyes watering when you finally blink.

"Relax mistress," he whispers, and you resist the urge to grind your hips into the chair beneath you. "I was only joking."

His 'joke' meant you had to sit through the rest of the meeting with your panties uncomfortably damp.

Lust personified, wrath incarnate, you could imagine what that would mean for anyone lucky enough to spend a night with him. Too bad you were too afraid of the intimacy, only comfortable with the thoughts of him to get you off.

Which brings you to the second rule. He had to leave you alone in your apartment for two hours every day. Some days you'd use the time to just laze around, take a nap, watch TV. Other times you would tug your vibrator out of the special place at the back of your drawer and rid yourself of all the sexual frustrations of the past few days.

With William Asmodai Russo around, you were using the sodding toy more than usual. Thinking about his hair and his lips and his wicked grin. That time you accidentally walked in on him in the shower and had gotten the best view of your life. The way the droplets of water had raced down his naked torso, the way his cock had looked- soft- but still so tempting.

The way your tongue aches to trace the muscles of his biceps, the tendons in his neck, that one beautiful vein that pops out when he's focused. The way his tail wrapped around your thigh that one time you slept beside him. Maybe if you were naked, his tail could have drifted higher... touched you...

Your eyes snap open when the vibrations stop.

You sit up in bed, giving the small vibrator a little shake. You'd just charged it.

You turn it off, and back on and nothing.

A small huff of frustration, and you throw your body back in bed, groaning.

So, your vibe had stopped working. It had been a few days since then, and orgasms had become a gentle fleeting memory to you.

The very worst thing is that you'd accidentally walked in on Billy exploring porn on your TV.

You'd awoken in the night to strange high pitched moans, that your sleepy brain had mistaken for screams. Barging out of your room, you worry that Billy was killing someone in your living room.

Only to find-

Well, to find a six foot tall demon, naked as the first day you met him, stroking his very, very large cock on your couch.

"Oh my god!" You'd gasped, turning away when everything had finally clicked in your sleepy head.

"Is everything okay, mistress?"

"You- you're naked on my couch watching porn!" You peek a look at him to see that he's turned to look at you, but has made no attempt to pause the screen or cover himself.

"I thought someone was screaming." You gasp. He turns back to look at the screen, a tilt of his head.

"I suppose she is screaming, it's quite annoying, I drowned it out until now." He takes a breath, turning back to look at you, your hands covering your eyes.

"Do you sound like that, mistress?"

"What? N-no? That's- her moans are exaggerated."

Billy looks back at the screen, another tilt of his head.

"Why?"

How is this conversation happening?

"Why don't I leave you be and we'll talk about this tomorrow-"

"No." Billy interjects, "Tell me now."

You press your head to the wall in embarrassment.

"Her moans are designed to enhance male pleasure. The entire video is made to play into male fantasies, things men find attractive and want to see."

He doesn't say anything, but the volume of the TV decreases till it's no more than background noise.

"Oh. So there are better ones out there, then?"

This was actual hell.

"Depends on what you like."

"What about what you like?"

"I would like. To go back to sleep. And forget this ever happened."

"Please? I'd really like to learn."

You had a soft spot for him saying please and you think he knows that.

"Fine," you sigh, knowing you're going to be a million times more sexually frustrated after this.

"Put some pants on."

"Done." He says, and you can hear the leashed excitement in his voice.

You turn back to him, and sure enough he's got pants on his lower half. You try not to focus too much, worried you'll see the outline of his very, very big-

Get a hold of yourself, you say mentally.

You sit at the end if the couch, a decent space between you, trying to focus as best as possible.

You reach for the remote, scrolling back to the menu, explaining some of the genres to him. You try to keep your voice steady and informative, showing him some more amateur videos with much more realistic and genuine reactions.

When you catch sight of something especially erotic, you swallow, heart pounding in your chest and you try to move along without stopping.

"What about that one?" Billy asks beside you, and you hope he's not pointing at the video that just made your lower regions pulse.

You hum curiously.

"Which one."

"Here-" he says, sliding his body closer to you, his hand brushing yours as he takes the remote.

Sure enough, he clicks the exact video you'd been eyeing.

His arm is on the back of the couch behind your head, his body pressed lightly into your side as the video plays.

The build up is a bit slow, and you can't help but acknowledge that the height difference between the actors on screen is very similar to the height difference between you, and the sinful demon beside you.

They move with a passionate rush on screen, tearing at each other's clothes. You let out a swift rush of air when the guy dips his head to lave his tongue over the woman's nipples.

Billy doesn't give a fuck about what's happening on screen. He's too busy looking at you in his peripherals. He doesn't think you realise that you've got your bottom lip trapped between your teeth, your hands curled into fists in your lap.

"This is quite nice, mistress. Thank you." He says.

Your eyes dart to his, and he watches your eyes drift to his lips.

"It's no problem, Billy." Your voice shakes.

You're both distracted by loud slaps on screen. She's riding him, and lifts one hand to slap him across the face.

You hear Billy let out a low hum of appreciation, and you think the sexual frustration is going to kill you.

You watch the man on screen manhandles his costar onto her back, grinning at her as he begins railing her into the bed. A rough hand on her cheek and a gruff command to open her mouth.

You don't think you can watch any more as you watch the man dribble saliva into his co-star's mouth. You jerk to a stand.

"Okay, have fun, I'll answer any questions you have tomorrow, goodnight."

Billy doesn't get a word in before you've skittered away like a frightened mouse.

The corner of his mouth lifts.

[maginxlia]

Starring Nanami, Gojo, Toji And Sukuna Ryomen In a Romantic evening with you the Headcanons

Rated R

Contains Foul Language And Suggestive themes

❤️‍🔥Director's commentary❤️‍🔥 Hello Babes! I hope y'all have a Happy Valentines and the your day be filled with L o v e ❤️‍🔥 This like my gift to you all and I hope y'all like it❤️‍🔥 Thank you for all the love and Support❤️‍🔥 I love all of y'all and I Appreciate you! No pronouns in this bih

Nanami Kento

♡ Nanami planned for this day in January

♡He wakes you up gently with a gourmet breakfast in bed

♡After breakfast, he surprises you with an Appointment to get your hair and nails done

♡While you're away he gets to work

♡Nanami is the type of man that rather just spend your entire romantic evening privately

♡This doesn't Mean the Man is slacking or being cheap, He has the ability to go all out at home or in the public eye

♡He buys the best of wine and ingredients for the dinner he's cooking for you

♡Cleans the house up and set the scene for when you make it back

♡When you finally arrive back home from your appointments; you walk into dimmed lights, lit candles, and soft jazz

♥︎Imagine♥︎ A box of forever roses on the table with a card that reads "A day isn't enough to celebrate my love for you, I need more than just 24 hours to show you how much I dedicate my life to you and the joy you bring to me. I can only hope that this will suffice for now and put a smile on your beautiful face" And a trail of rose petals for you to follow and at end of them is a hot relaxing (Ph safe) bubble bath for you with a glass of Chardonnay sitting on the side of the tub. After your bath a brand new designer outfit awaits you and it compliments your body all so well, Rose petals cover your bed and Nanami is sitting there greeting you with a smile and the words "you are gorgeous" falling from his lips; He then takes your hand and leads you to the dining room where all your favorite dishes are before you including your favorite desert

♡This is the first time y'all made love on a of bed of Rose petals

Gojo Satoru

♡Forget what you Heard! It's what ya hearing; Gojo is romance or so he says

♡He knows that he needs to plan everything perfectly if he wants to make this day beautiful

♡He's been down bad before after buying lingerie as a present for an important day once and he went bootyless for a week (Please babe, a crumb of booty for the bootyless- Gojo Satoru 2021)

♡So his plans have to be on point to make up for the off year

♡He texts you saying to put on that Pretty number that he loves and that he will be picking you up at Five pm

♡He's pulls up on time and dressed to the nines looking sexy as hell

♡Complimenting how beautiful you look right when you open the door

♡Of course, he has a dozen roses mixed in with your favorite flowers for you in his hand

♡Gives you a box with a piece of Jewellery that you always wanted in it and a bottle of your favorite scent

♡He opens the car door for you when you're getting in or out and he pulls out your chair at the restaurant

♡The restaurant he takes you to is the fanciest scene you have ever seen and the complimentary Bread is the softest Bread you ever put in your mouth

♡The food is so delicious and the portions all so filling, it's easy to get the most pleasant of food comas

♡After your dinner, Gojo takes you back home and give you 100/10 good piping

♥︎Imagine♥︎ You're wrapped in the arms Of Gojo his chest firmly pressed to your back, the both of you are spent after the adult activities his pretty eyes illuminated by the moonlight that is pouring in thru the slight crack in the curtains and he calmly but softly whisper into your ear “Thank you for giving me a reason to open my heart and for putting up with me, I truly love you and I feel like there is no one for me but you"

Fushiguro Toji

♡Mister Thick thighs take lives is chaotic to say the very least

♡He's battling the cheapness that dwells within him and the need to make you happy

♡So he's gonna try to give you Romance but Introverted budget way

♡On the day of your romantic experience, You wake up to the smell of burning food

♡He tries his damn best but the Breakfast he cooked for you would... um get his face slapped by Gordon Ramsay

♡He's Pissed so don't talk about the quality of the chum Food he cooked

♡Change of plans! he's going to have to order some 5 Star take out for this to be a good day for the both of y'all

♡He comes back home with food and a bouquet of Lilies?? That look somewhat familiar?

♡The day is filled with him kissing on you and him struggling with being romantic

♡He even watches whatever movie you pick out while fighting the temptation to knock everything off the table and give it to you right there (Daddy Chill)

♡Right, when the movie ends Toji Gets up and hands you a Gift Bag, Inside is a small Squishmallow, a box of candies, and a pandora bracelet with charms he thinks represent his love for you

♥︎Imagine♥︎ After opening your presents, Toji hoist you up and kisses you so deeply he takes your breath away he's Firm yet soft and his touch warms your soul. After he pulls away from you he laughs and says " I really care for you know that? You bring a man like me so much happiness and you overlook all my imperfections all the while supporting and loving me. You make me a better man and the impact you made in my life is astounding"

♡Toji proceed to carry you into the bedroom and y'all commence rolling in the sheets until you hear your neighbor screaming "WHO RIPPED UP MY FUCKING LILIES?" oops

Ryomen Sukuna

♡What the fuck is Valentine? Why do Mortals celebrate their love for one day? Brat Explain!

♡After Yuuji Tells Sukuna The basics of the day, Sukuna still don't understand why he should participate or show a solidarity Fuck

♡He shows you how much he loves and cares for you every time you're near him, one day is simply not enough for his love for you

♡Sukuna put some thought into it and decided if mortals can bring happiness to their lovers on a menial day it's only right he should do the same for you

♡After all, You are his and it's only right A King should treat his significant other like royalty

♡He doesn't even celebrate the same "Valentines" as the simple minded mortals, He picks out a day just for the two of you and he will let you know this

♡On the date of y'all special "Valentines", He's busting Yuuji balls to get everything perfect

♡He makes Yuuji prepare a nice meal full of savory food for the two of you

♡Sukuna battle is to plan a Very intimate evening on a budget fit for a peasant

♡He pesters Yuuji into borrowing candles from Nobara and Megumi

♡After cleaning, Cooking, and Being pestered Yuuji is tired and his resolve is weakened

♡Sukuna takes to this opportunity to take control of Yuuji and use the magic money card for so much needed Shopping

♡When Sukuna is satisfied with his shopping he invites you over and the Scene you walk into is quite beautiful

♥︎Imagine♥︎ The place is lit with only candles and His beautiful scarlet eyes shining at you. Your night is filled with good food and being wrapped in the strong arms of Sukuna. While you're resting upon his lap Sukuna starts to stare intently into your eyes like you're ancient scroll he's trying to read, He ever so gently trace small circles into your skin before embracing you into his big strong arms ever so softly as he deeply said " I truly never been so captured by one like I am by you. I'll sacrifice everything for your happiness and this world would know true fear if something were to happen to you. You have my undying love" The kiss he proceeded to capture you in was passionate to say the very least after the kiss Sukuna hands you a box and inside is a Solid gold Rose that as he put it is "eternal like his love for you"

♡ The rest of the night is spent with Sukuna and you being one

♡ Your legs? Shaking. Yuuji wallet? Quaking.

Comments, Likes, Reblogs and Requests is Hella Appreciated and Loved❤️‍🔥 Please don’t Steal My Shit

[itsapeterthing]

Falling for You || Bucky Barnes

pairing: bucky barnes x avenger!reader

summary: when you slip in the shower and dislocate your shoulder, the only person in the compound left to help you is your least favorite teammate, bucky barnes

word count: 1.4k

warnings: none, fluff

masterlist || request || taglist

It had been a long day.

Everything just seemed to be working against you from stubbing your toe on the dresser when you first got out of bed to getting your ass kicked by your least favorite person during training. So when you were finally able to take a nice, hot shower at the end of the day- you were relieved. 

What could go wrong?

You were regretting asking yourself that question as soon as you went to pull the shower curtain closed only to discover that the rings of the curtain were looped together. Tugging on the curtain to no avail, you groaned, climbing onto the edge of the tub to separate the rings.

“Stupid fucking thing.” You grumbled to yourself, stretching the curtain across after unlacing the rings. “Why can nothing in this stupid-”

Just as you went to step down from the tub’s edge, you miss your footing, slipping on a bar of soap that had been sitting on the bathtub floor below you. Grasping the shower curtain to no avail, you slipped and fell backwards onto your side, a shooting pain spreading throughout your shoulder.

“Shit!” You shouted, glancing at your shoulder.

It hurt like hell.

“Is everything alright, ma’am?” You heard F.R.I.D.A.Y ask.

Gripping your shoulder, you shook your head, speaking up over the rushing water. “No, F.R.I.D.A.Y I think I dislocated my shoulder. Shit. Can you call Nat in here?”

“Agent Romanoff isn’t in at the moment.” 

Of course she wasn’t.

“What about Wanda?” You asked.

“Wanda Maximoff is also out at the moment.”

You closed your eyes and took a deep, long breath.

“Who is in at the moment, F.R.I.D.A.Y?”

“Sergeant Barnes is the only one in at the moment, ma'am.” F.R.I.D.A.Y stated. “Would you like me to call him for you?”

“No!” You shouted as fast as you could.

You would rather crawl to the hospital yourself than have Bucky Barnes find you naked in the shower with a dislocated shoulder.

You didn’t hate each other, but you didn’t particularly get along either. It was always a competition between the two of you and when you weren’t physically fighting each other in the training room, one of you would tease the other throughout the day. The last thing you wanted was more fuel for Barnes to use against you... and for him to find you in this position.

Attempting to push yourself off of the floor of the tub, a sharp pain shot through your arm and you couldn’t help the scream that escaped your mouth. Not a moment later you heard a knock at the door.

“Y/n?” Bucky asked from the other side of the door. “You alright?”

Of course he heard.

“I’m...” You said, through huffs and puffs trying to subdue your pain. “fine... Barnes.”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, what’s wrong?” You heard him ask.

“Miss Y/l/n fell and believes she has dislocated her shoulder, sir.” F.R.I.D.A.Y informed him.

“Traitor.” You mumbled under your breath.

Hearing the fiddling of the doorknob, Bucky called to you through the door once again.

“Really, Y/n?” He asked. “F.R.I.D.A.Y unlock the door.”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y do not unlock that door!” You shouted again, gripping your shoulder.

“Why do you always have to be such a pain in the ass?” He asked from the other side of the door. “Just let me drive you to the hospital, Y/n.”

You knew he was right. You turning him away wouldn’t help anyone- least of all yourself. As much as you hated the situation, you knew there weren’t any other options.

Sighing, you asked F.R.I.D.A.Y to unlock the door.

When she did, you heard the lock click and the door open, Bucky making his way into the bathroom. As soon as you heard his first step in the room, you shouted.

“Hey!” You called. “Close your eyes and hand me the towel!”

As much as he loved to tease you, he was a man born in 1917 and he wasn’t about to cross that line. 

Squeezing his eyes shut he reached out for the towel, tossing it on top of you. Wrapping it around yourself, you reached your free hand up.

“You can open your eyes now, Barnes.”

Opening his eyes, he stood there and gazed at you, not a single word coming out of his mouth.

“Quit staring.” You said.

Snapping himself out of the moment, he shook his head, leaning over the tub and reached his arms out for you.

“You wish.” He scoffed.

Rolling your eyes, you wrapped your free arm around his neck, pushing yourself to your feet. When you did, however, you felt another burst of pain shoot out from your ankle. Falling into Bucky’s arms you swore.

“Shit!”

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asked, holding you up.

“I- I think I messed up my ankle too.”

“How many missions have you been on that the shower’s the one thing to take you out?” He chuckled.

“Shut up!” You groaned, nudging him with your good shoulder. “This really hurts. I don’t think I can walk.”

Without another word you felt as one of Bucky’s hands wrapped around your back, the other beneath your knees. Before you could protest what he was doing, you gasped as he picked you up into his arms, your arm wrapped tightly around the back of his neck.

“Oh!” You exclaimed, looking up at him. “You uh... you didn’t have to do that, Buck-”

“It’s fine, Y/n.” He said cooly. “Relax.”

Taking his command to heart, you bit down your complaints, allowing yourself to relax in the man’s arms. Grabbing your fresh clothes off of the countertop, he carried you out of the bathroom. Resting your head against his collar, you watched as he effortlessly carried you out of the Compound.

You had been close to Bucky plenty of times- more times than you could count actually- but as he carried you out of the building you couldn’t help but admire him. Did the scruff on his jawline always look so good? Were his eyes always that blue?

Squeezing your eyes shut, you shook your head focusing your attention instead of the car in front of you. Stopping in front of the vehicle, he pulled on the handle, kicking open the passenger door with his foot. Lowering you inside the vehicle, you situated yourself in the seat, wrapping the towel tighter around you.

“I gotta go get my keys.” He said, tossing you your clothes. “Try your best to get dressed while I’m gone.”

As soon as he left you tried your best to get dressed, groaning as you pulled your bottoms on. Grabbing your sweatshirt, you pulled it over your head with your free hand, but as the bottom hem reached your midsection, you struggled to get your head through the opening at the top. Just as you were beginning to feel frustrated with not only the sweatshirt, but the weight of the day you just had, you felt Bucky’s fingertips brush your skin, pulling the article of clothing down over your torso.

When you pulled your head through the hole and your eyes met his, a small smile played on his face.

“You all set?” Bucky asked, his face inches from yours.

Glancing from his lips to his eyes, you suddenly felt as though the air was growing warmer by the second around you.

“T- Thank you.” You whispered. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s no problem, Y/n.” He said. “I uh... I like seeing your face.”

Trying to process the words that had just came out of his mouth, you didn’t know what to say.

“Oh.”

As soon as the word slipped out of your mouth, you regretted it.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said, rushed, a blush rising to his cheeks as he backed away. “I don’t know why I said that. I just made everything weird-”

Before he left your reach, you quickly grabbed his hand, pulling him back towards you. When he turned around, his eyes met yours.

“No, Buck, I’m sorry.” You apologized. “I just didn’t know what to say. I... I like seeing your face too.”

A silence hung between the two of you for a moment, both of you staring at the other, figuring out what to do next before Bucky leaned in closer, his face so close to yours that you could feel his breath against your lips as a smile crept across his face.

“If you wanted to see me in the shower so bad,” He said. “You could’ve just asked.”

“Oh shut up.”

And as his lips met yours, your free hand grabbing his collar to pull him closer- he did.

[mcmansionhell]

Underground, Part 1

[Author’s Note: A year ago, when waiting for the DC Metro, I came up with an idea for a short story involving two realtors and the infamous Las Vegas Underground House, typed up an outline, and shoved it away in my documents where it sat neglected until this month. The house recently resurfaced on Twitter, and combined with almost a year of quarantine, the story quickly materialized. Though I rarely write fiction, I decided I’d give it a shot as a kind of novelty McMansion Hell post. I’ve peppered the story with photos from the house to break up the walls of text. Hopefully you find it entertaining. I look forward to returning next month with the second installment of this as well as our regularly scheduled McMansion content. Happy New Year!

Warning: there’s lots of swearing in this.]

Underground

Back in 1997, Mathieu Rino, the son of two Finnish mechanical engineers who may or may not have worked intimately with the US State Department, changed his name to Jay Renault in order to sell more houses. It worked wonders.

He gets out of the car, shuts the door harder than he should. Renault wrinkles his nose. It’s a miserable Las Vegas afternoon - a sizzling, dry heat pools in ripples above the asphalt. The desert is a place that is full of interesting and diverse forms of life, but Jay’s the kind of American who sees it all as empty square-footage. He frowns at the dirt dusting up his alligator-skin loafers but then remembers that every lot, after all, has potential. Renault wipes the sweat from his leathery face, slicks back his stringy blond hair and adjusts the aviators on the bridge of his nose. The Breitling diving watch crowding his wrist looks especially big in the afternoon glare. He glances at it.

“Shit,” he says. The door on the other side of the car closes, as though in response. 

If Jay Renault is the consummate rich, out-of-touch Gen-Xer trying to sell houses to other rich, out-of-touch Gen-Xers, then Robert Little is his millennial counterpart. Both are very good at their jobs. Robert adjusts his tie in the reflection of the Porsche window, purses his lips. He’s Vegas-showman attractive, with dark hair, a decent tan, and a too-bright smile - the kind of attractive that ruins marriages but makes for an excellent divorcee. Mildly sleazy.

“Help me with these platters, will you?” Renault gestures, popping the trunk. Robert does not want to sweat too much before an open house, but he obliges anyway. They’re both wearing suits. The heat is unbearable. A spread of charcuterie in one hand, Jay double-checks his pockets for the house keys, presses the button that locks his car. 

Both men sigh, and their eyes slowly trail up to the little stucco house sitting smack dab in the center of an enormous lot, a sea of gravel punctuated by a few sickly palms. The house has the distinct appearance of being made of cardboard, ticky-tacky, a show prop. Burnt orange awnings don its narrow windows, which somehow makes it look even more fake. 

“Here we go again,” Jay mutters, fishing the keys out of his pocket. He jiggles them until the splintered plywood door opens with a croak, revealing a dark and drab interior – dusty, even though the cleaners were here yesterday. Robert kicks the door shut with his foot behind him.

 “Christ,” he swears, eyes trailing over the terrible ecru sponge paint adorning the walls. “This shit is so bleak.”

The surface-level house is mostly empty. There’s nothing for them to see or attend to there, and so the men step through a narrow hallway at the end of which is an elevator. They could take the stairs, but don’t want to risk it with the platters. After all, they were quite expensive. Renault elbows the button and the doors part. 

“Let’s just get this over with,” he says as they step inside. The fluorescent lights above them buzz something awful. A cheery metal sign welcomes them to “Tex’s Hideaway.” Beneath it is an eldritch image of a cave, foreboding. Robert’s stomach’s in knots. Ever since the company assigned him to this property, he’s been terrified of it. He tells himself that the house is, in fact, creepy, that it is completely normal for him to be ill at ease. The elevator’s ding is harsh and mechanical. They step out. Jay flips a switch and the basement is flooded with eerie light. 

It’s famous, this house - The Las Vegas Underground House. The two realtors refer to it simply as “the bunker.” Built by an eccentric millionaire at the height of Cold War hysteria, it’s six-thousand square feet of paranoid, aspirational fantasy. The first thing anyone notices is the carpet – too-green, meant to resemble grass, sprawling out lawn-like, bookmarked by fake trees, each a front for a steel beam. Nothing can grow here. It imitates life, unable to sustain it. The leaves of the ficuses seem particularly plastic.

Bistro sets scatter the ‘yard’ (if one can call it that), and there’s plenty of outdoor activities – a parquet dance floor complete with pole and disco ball, a putt putt course, an outdoor grill made to look like it’s nestled in a rock, but in reality better resembles a baked potato. The pool and hot tub, both sculpted in concrete and fiberglass mimicking a natural rock formation, are less Playboy grotto and more Fred Flintstone. It’s a very seventies idea of fun.

Then, of course, there’s the house. That fucking house. 

A house built underground in 1978 was always meant to be a mansard – the mansard roof was a historical inevitability. The only other option was International Style modernism, but the millionaire and his wife were red-blooded anti-Communists. Hence, the mansard. Robert thinks the house looks like a fast-food restaurant. Jay thinks it looks like a lawn and tennis club he once attended as a child where he took badminton lessons from a swarthy Czech man named Jan. It’s drab and squat, made more open by big floor-to-ceiling windows nestled under fresh-looking cedar shingles. There’s no weather down here to shrivel them up.

“Shall we?” Jay drawls. The two make their way into the kitchen and set the platters down on the white tile countertop. Robert leans up against the island, careful of the oversized hood looming over the electric stovetop. He eyes the white cabinets, accented with Barbie pink trim. The matching linoleum floor squeaks under his Italian loafers. 

“I don’t understand why we bother doing this,” Robert complains. “Nobody’s seriously going to buy this shit, and the company’s out a hundred bucks for party platters.”

“It’s the same every time,” Renault agrees. “The only people who show up are Instagram kids and the crazies - you know, the same kind of freaks who’d pay money to see Chernobyl.” 

“Dark tourism, they call it.”

Jay checks his watch again. Being in here makes him nervous.

“Still an hour until open house,” he mutters. “I wish we could get drunk.”

Robert exhales deeply. He also wishes he could get drunk, but still, a job’s a job.

“I guess we should check to see if everything’s good to go.”

The men head into the living room. The beamed, slanted ceiling gives it a mid-century vibe, but the staging muddles the aura. Jay remembers making the call to the staging company. “Give us your spares,” he told them, “Whatever it is you’re not gonna miss. Nobody’ll ever buy this house anyway.” 

The result is eclectic – a mix of office furniture, neo-Tuscan McMansion garb, and stuffy waiting-room lamps, all scattered atop popcorn-butter shag carpeting. Hideous, Robert thinks. Then there’s the ���entertaining’ room, which is a particular pain in the ass to them, because the carpet was so disgusting, they had to replace it with that fake wood floor just to be able to stand being in there for more than five minutes. There’s a heady stone fireplace on one wall, the kind they don’t make anymore, a hearth. Next to it, equally hedonistic, a full bar. Through some doors, a red-painted room with a pool table and paintings of girls in fedoras on the wall. It’s all so cheap, really. Jay pulls out a folded piece of paper out of his jacket pocket along with a pen. He ticks some boxes and moves on.

The dining room’s the worst to Robert. Somehow the ugly floral pattern on the curtains stretches up in bloomer-like into a frilly cornice, carried through to the wallpaper and the ceiling, inescapable, suffocating. It smells like mothballs and old fabric. The whole house smells like that. 

The master bedroom’s the most normal – if anything in this house could be called normal. Mismatched art and staging furniture crowd blank walls. When someone comes into a house, Jay told Robert all those years ago, they should be able to picture themselves living in it. That’s the goal of staging. 

There’s two more bedrooms. The men go through them quickly. The first isn’t so bad – claustrophobic, but acceptable – but the saccharine pink tuille wallpaper of the second gives Renault a sympathetic toothache. The pair return to the kitchen to wait.

Both men are itching to check their phones, but there’s no point – there’s no signal in here, none whatsoever. Renault, cynical to the core, thinks about marketing the house to the anti-5G people. It’s unsettlingly quiet. The two men have no choice but to entertain themselves the old-fashioned way, through small talk.

“It’s really fucked up, when you think about it,” Renault muses.

“What is?”

“The house, Bob.”

Robert hates being called Bob. He’s told Jay that hundreds of times, and yet…

“Yeah,” Robert mutters, annoyed.

“No, really. Like, imagine. You’re rich, you founded a major multinational company marketing hairbrushes to stay-at-home moms, and what do you decide to do with your money? Move to Vegas and build a fucking bunker. Like, imagine thinking the end of the world is just around the corner, forcing your poor wife to live there for ten, fifteen years, and then dying, a paranoid old man.” Renault finds the whole thing rather poetic. 

“The Russkies really got to poor ol’ Henderson, didn’t they?” Robert snickers.

“The wife’s more tragic if you ask me,” Renault drawls. “The second that batshit old coot died, she called a guy to build a front house on top of this one, since she already owned the lot. Poor woman probably hadn’t seen sunlight in God knows how long.”

“Surely they had to get groceries.”

Jay frowns. Robert has no sense of drama, he thinks. Bad trait for a realtor.

“Still,” he murmurs. “It’s sad.”

“I would have gotten a divorce, if I were her,” the younger man says, as though it were obvious. It’s Jay’s turn to laugh.

“I’ve had three of those, and trust me, it’s not as easy as you think.”

“You’re seeing some new girl now, aren’t you?” Robert doesn’t really care, he just knows Jay likes to talk about himself, and talking fills the time.  

“Yeah. Casino girl. Twenty-six.”

“And how old are you again?”

“None of your business.”

“Did you see the renderings I emailed to you?” Robert asks briskly, not wanting to discuss Jay’s sex life any further.

“What renderings?”

“Of this house, what it could look like.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Jay has not seen the renderings.

“If it were rezoned,” Robert continues, feeling very smart, “It could be a tourist attraction - put a nice visitor’s center on the lot, make it sleek and modern. Sell trinkets. It’s a nice parcel, close to the Strip - some clever investor could make it into a Museum of Ice Cream-type thing, you know?”

“Museum of Ice Cream?”

“In New York. It’s, not, like, educational or anything. Really, it’s just a bunch of colorful rooms where kids come to take pictures of themselves.”

“Instagram,” Jay mutters. “You know, I just sold a penthouse the other week to an Instagram influencer. Takes pictures of herself on the beach to sell face cream or some shit. Eight-point-two million dollars.”

“Jesus,” Robert whistles. “Fat commission.”

“You’re telling me. My oldest daughter turns sixteen this year. She’s getting a Mazda for Christmas.”

“You ever see that show, My Super Sweet Sixteen? On MTV? Where rich kids got, like, rappers to perform at their birthday parties? Every time at the end, some guy would pull up in, like, an Escalade with a big pink bow on it and all the kids would scream.”

“Sounds stupid,” Jay says.

“It was stupid.”

It’s Robert’s turn to check his watch, a dainty gold Rolex.

“Fuck, still thirty minutes.”

“Time really does stand still in here, doesn’t it?” Jay remarks.

“We should have left the office a little later,” Robert complains. “The charcuterie is going to get –“

A deafening sound roars through the house and a violent, explosive tremor throws both men on the ground, shakes the walls and everything between them. The power’s out for a few seconds before there’s a flicker, and light fills the room again. Two backup generators, reads Jay’s description in the listing - an appeal to the prepper demographic, which trends higher in income than non-preppers. For a moment, the only things either are conscious of are the harsh flourescent lighting and the ringing in their ears. Time slows, everything seems muted and too bright. Robert rubs the side of his face, pulls back his hand and sees blood.

“Christ,” he chokes out. “What the hell was that?”

“I don’t know,” Jay breathes, looking at his hands, trying to determine if he’s got a concussion. The results are inconclusive – everything’s slow and fuzzy, but after a moment, he thinks it might just be shock.

“It sounded like a fucking 747 just nosedived on top of us.” 

“Yeah, Jesus.” Jay’s still staring at his fingers in a daze. “You okay?”

“I think so,” Robert grumbles. Jay gives him a cursory examination.

“Nothing that needs stitches,” he reports bluntly. Robert’s relieved. His face sells a lot of houses to a lot of lonely women and a few lonely men. There’s a muffled whine, which the two men soon recognize as a throng of sirens. Both of them try to calm the panic rising in their chests, to no avail.

“Whatever the fuck happened,” Jay says, trying to make light of the situation, “At least we’re in here. The bunker.”

Fear forms in the whites of Robert’s eyes.

“What if we’re stuck in here,” he whispers, afraid to speak such a thing into the world. The fear spreads to his companion.

“Try the elevator,” Jay urges, and Robert gets up, wobbles a little as his head sorts itself out, and leaves. A moment later, Jay hears him swear a blue streak, and from the kitchen window, sees him standing before the closed metal doors, staring at his feet. His pulse racing, Renault jogs out to see for himself.

“It’s dead,” Robert murmurs. 

“Whatever happened,” Jay says cautiously, rubbing the back of his still-sore neck, “It must have been pretty bad. Like, I don’t think we should go up yet. Besides, surely the office knows we’re still down here.”

“Right, right,” the younger man breathes, trying to reassure himself.

“Let’s just wait it out. I’m sure everything’s fine.” The way Jay says it does not make Robert feel any better. 

“Okay,” the younger man grumbles. “I’m getting a fucking drink, though.”

“Yeah, Jesus. That’s the best idea you’ve had all day.” Renault shoves his hands in his suit pocket to keep them from trembling.  

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[wkemeup]

Vengeful Spirits┊By Any Other Name

summary: A year after the fire and the end of Hydra, Brock Rumlow's ghost is still haunting you. pairing: bucky x reader chapter word count: 10.7k warnings: PTSD symptoms, nightmares, canon level violence, angst angst angst!!, it's a revenge story babyyyy a/n: This is an alternative future that you can chose to include in your own version of BAON canon or consider as a 'what if' timeline. It was really fun to explore this side of the story and jump back into this world again so I hope you enjoy! ❤️

🌹 series masterlist <- catch up here first! 🌹

You couldn’t breathe beyond the stench of gasoline and cigar smoke. With wrists bound and tied to an old, wooden chair through frayed electrical wires, the exposed copper dug into your skin, leaving behind thin lines of ruined flesh in their wake. Blood dripped down your fingertips and onto the carpet at your feet. Tiny red dots marked into the pattern.

Along the walls, you could hardly make out the distorted image of near empty shelves, broken pots, and your books discarded amongst the soil and ruin. Pools of gasoline leaked into the hardwood floors, soaked into the pages of century old novels; ink bleeding through the paper.

“You are Hydra, baby!” Brock’s disembodied voice echoed throughout the room. You flinched at the sound as if it could cut through as sharp as the wires on your wrists. Your eyes scanned the room to find it empty, and still, his voice lingered down the aisles of your library, his presence haunting you.

“No,” you choked out, throat closing under the weight of the lump building there. Tears pressed against your cheeks. Gasoline burned in your nose.

A figure emerged from the shadows – a faint outline of the man you married, the man you despised, his face hidden by the darkness clouding around him. Still, you could smell the liquor on his breath – always on his breath.

“You are not worthy of redemption.”

You tugged at the bindings on your wrists, adrenaline thunderous in your heart. You wondered if it might push past your chest and spill out onto your lap. If your blood would meet the gasoline at your feet and blend into one.

“Stop it,” you warned, though the fear was evident in your voice.

Brock did not relent as he stepped forward, the shadows clinging so tight to his body you could not make out his face. “You are and always will be Hydra to those feds...”

A sob broke through you as he approached. You had no will to fight, no source of strength to draw upon. All you could feel was the blinding terror coursing deep into your veins with his every step; with each squeak of the floor boards, with every footprint coated in potted soil and gasoline. The cigar hung loosely at his fingertips, ready to set fire to the room around you.

Brock parted his lips, his voice slippery as a viper, “...and they will leave you to BURN!”

His hands slammed down on your wrists, his face only inches away. Your heart stopped beating; eyes blown wide. A single touch of moonlight broke through the shadows on Brock’s face and what remained was a glimpse of horror. Charred skin, ruined flesh. Raw and red and bubbling at the surface. Blistered and oozing.

The mutilated scars around his lips slithered into a sickening grin, his breath hot as flame against your skin. He dropped the cigar. The room went up in smoke. In flame and fire and fury.

A world away, you jolted forward, throat raw and aching, surrounded by the cold embrace of a dark room. It took a moment before you realized that terrible, agonizing sound was your own voice – screaming. You could only vaguely hear your name called, the gentle touch of a hand running lines over your spine. The same hands that guided yours to feel for the silky sheets covering you, to the cotton of your t-shirt, to the steady thump of a heartbeat over an exposed chest beside you.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” the voice eased again. The contrast of it – the kindness and the patience laced in the words – tugged you away from the nightmare you’d escaped from. You followed his request and slowly forced air into your lungs. “Good, honey. One more, okay?”

You nodded, doing as he asked.

Pushing past the haze over your vision, you looked around the room to find the familiar ripple of curtains over the window, the pile of laundry in the corner, your Columbia badge hanging over the doorknob, Bucky’s FBI jacket slung over the armchair.

You gasped. Bucky.

Sure enough, propped up on his elbow beside you, was Bucky Barnes. He wore that same glimpse of a smile you fell in love with but it held a heaviness in it, a sadness. The sheet sat bunched at his waist, exposing his bare chest and the scars littering his skin. Your eyes drew to the mark on his shoulder, the one you were responsible for. It raised pink against his tanned skin, healed over in the last year but still visible. Still a reminder.

“You alright?” Bucky asked slowly. His hand was cautious as he reached out for you. Slow in his movements under your gaze, so that you might have the chance to pull away if you wanted to. You held steady, relief washing through your body as his hand circled around yours.

You nodded, though you weren’t sure whether it was entirely true. Bucky didn’t press you on it as he gathered you in his arms and slowly pulled you down into his embrace. He tugged the covers back up around you, holding you as you stole a glance at the clock beyond his shoulder. You only had a few hours left before the alarm would wake you for work. You didn’t expect to get anymore sleep tonight, but it was a comfort at least to know you had time to lay soundly in Bucky’s arms before morning and responsibility took him away.

“It was Brock again,” you mumbled against his chest. “The library.”

Bucky tensed. This particular brand of nightmare had been plaguing you for weeks now. It had been almost a year now since the fire but the horrors of what you endured that night had yet to leave you. They started with vivid images of Bucky’s body bleeding out in the warehouse, the bullet you shot into his shoulder finding a new home between his eyes or buried into his chest. They centered around Brock hulling Peter into his warpath and leaving him tied and bound to the flames alongside you. But lately, your mind was particularly cruel.

Brock haunted you – taunted you. His ghost made you doubt whether you were ever really safe from him at all, if he was still lurking in the shadows, if his hand could slither out from the darkness and grip tight to your neck and drag you back to his hell. They never found a body within the flames and despite Bucky’s reassurances that he put enough bullets in the man to make sure he never took another breath, it didn’t sway your fears.

“I hate that I wasn’t there for you when you needed me,” Bucky sighed through his teeth, his grip on you holding a little tighter.

“You did everything you could. You still saved me,” you told him. Still, he carried his guilt. You could feel his fingertips run over the faded burn marks on your skin. Bumps and edges over what used to be smooth and soft. He saw them as reminders of his failings despite your pleas against it.

“I should have killed him long before then.” There was no waver in his voice. He shifted under the covers, his lips pressing sweetly to your forehead in contrast to the malice in his voice for the monster who used to share your bed.

“You were trying to do the right thing by bringing him in. Doing what you do, you don’t have a choice but to believe in the system. With all the monsters you’ve put away over the years, you should believe in it but... we both know Brock was never going to tolerate a cage.” You clung a little tighter to Bucky’s chest, settling against the steady beat of his heart.

Bucky’s response was only to curl his arm around you, holding you as close as he could manage. His lips did not leave the crown of your head. You stayed there with him, curled in his embrace, listening to his heartbeat, until the sun rose beyond the mood and light beckoned you to a new day.

***

You were standing in the kitchen washing the dishes when you saw him.

You were walking through the practice your therapist explained for dealing with your nightmares. You closed your eyes and pictured the library, the wires on your wrists, the very beginning and the start of it all. But instead of Brock emerging from the shadows, you conjured Bucky. You imagined Bucky rushing through the doors, freeing you from your chains, hulling you up into his arms and whisking you away from harm. You concentrated on every detail in his face, on the dried blood you remembered he wore along his cheek, on the open scars from Brock’s rings, on the look of relief upon his face because he found you. He found you and he saved you before the flames could take hold. He carried you away from the room that had once been your sanctuary, now only reserved for your nightmares. You held onto that version of the story with all you had.

Sometimes, it helped. Other nights, you still woke up screaming and drenched in sweat. But Bucky was there and he never showed an ounce of anything but the love and patience he swore to you. He’d hold you until your heart settled and you stopped fearing the image of Brock’s burned face when you closed your eyes. Encompassed with Bucky, it was hard to think of anyone else.

Peter was sweeping up the stray shredded cheese that had found its way to the floor in the midst of another taco night. Cheddar, your sweet orange tabby, had little interest in his namesake and was purring soundingly on the armrest of the couch. Bucky had slipped out to the corner store to pick up a few tubs of ice cream in preparation for the movie Peter had been dying to see for weeks now.

All it took was a single glance to the window for the ground to vanish under your feet.

You could only vaguely catch the sound of broken glass as it shattered, the dinner plate in shards near your bare feet. Peter rushed towards you but you couldn’t make out what he was saying. No – your focus was stolen by the figure standing beyond the darkness, hanging within the shadows.

You knew that outline. You knew that face. You’d seen it in your dreams – your nightmares – for almost a year. Disfigured and burned. But still, covered in shadows like a monster within a child’s closet. Not close enough to see details of his vicious smirk but real enough to set terror into your veins.

Peter was yanking on your arm, his voice louder now. You couldn’t move. You were stone.

“Y/n?” Bucky called the second the door swung open, the paper bag quickly discarded on the floor. The panic was etched into his voice, the same way it had been in the months after the fire when you lost yourself to brief moments of fear, when the memory of his cover you’d known as James was all that could bring you back.

He rushed in front of you, obstructing your view of the window and snapping you from your trance. His hands were on your cheeks, his eyes quickly glancing down at the shards of glass by your feet. You could feel him trying to delicately usher you away before you cut yourself, but you couldn’t let the monster escape a second time.

“It’s Brock,” you exhaled, trying to peer around Bucky’s shoulder for another look. “He’s here. I—I saw him! Outside!”

Bucky swung his attention to the window, still holding on tight to you. But when you looked again, the darkness was all that remained. No figures hidden in the shadows. No one lying in wait, taunting you. The monster had vanished in thin air.

“Sweetheart... he’s dead,” Bucky eased. “He can’t hurt you.”

You shook your head, tears brimming in your eyes. You tried to ignore the concerned look that flashed between Bucky and Peter, how their expressions of panic quickly turned to ones of pain, of aching sadness, of pity.

“N-No, I saw him! I swear I did, James,” you argued, pushing past him and rushing out towards the window in search of what you saw. Bucky hissed as you barely cleared the broken glass in your path, though he followed you without question. “I saw him. He was looking right at me!”

Bucky indulged you by taking another look out to the empty sidewalk behind the brownstone you shared together. It was quiet where you lived, away from the rush of the city and the tourists and late-night drinkers. All that remained was the faint buzz of the streetlamp at the end of the block and an elderly couple taking their usual evening stroll. They raised a hand in greeting as they spotted the two of you looking out the window. Bucky forced a smile and returned the gesture.

“There’s no one there, honey,” Bucky tried again, urging you to look for yourself. “Maybe your eyes were playing tricks on you. You know how hard nights have been lately...”

You shook your head. “I-- I know what I saw, James. I’m not—I'm not crazy.”

His face softened. Slowly his hand moved to cup at your cheek, brushing away the tears that had started to form. “I know. I know that, love.”

It hadn’t slipped your notice that it was the second time you called him James. A name that held enormous meaning to you, a name you had promised to leave in the past in favor of the man standing in front of you. Bucky – the undercover FBI agent who saved you from the prison you’d been living in. James – the enforcer to an evil organization who taught you how to love again. One in the same. And still, sometimes calling upon the version of the man who had provided the first sense of safety you’d felt in years, was all that kept you from falling apart.

You stole a glance back to the window as Bucky wrapped his arms around your shoulders, pulling you tight to his chest. It was the same sidewalk you were familiar with, no sinister creatures lingering in the shadows. It's possible you had imagined it. You were focused on rewriting your nightmares...

“Should I head home? Let you rest?” Peter’s voice nervously called from the kitchen. He set the broom back in the closet, already having cleaned up the glass from the broken plate.

You shook your head, wiping tears against Bucky’s shirt. “No, please stay. Let’s watch that movie, okay? I’m alright.”

You forced a smile though the redness in your eyes. You felt Bucky’s hand settle against your back, his fingertips soothing small circles into your spine. His scent calming you as you listened for the steady thump of his heartbeat.

“You sure?” Peter stepped forward, that sweet hopeful look on his face though a hesitancy remained in his eyes. He wasn’t convinced of your word.

“Yes.” You hugged Bucky’s waist, tugging him to the couch. “I think I must have... I don’t know... I was seeing things, I guess.”

Nightmares bleeding into the daytime. Natasha had warned you about that early on. Enduring the type of trauma you did, surviving a home with invisible bars and nearly losing your life to it... it was bound to follow you. Bucky understood how you carried it still and he didn’t shy away in fear of it. You tried to find strength in that, in his unending loyalty and patience. You trusted his word above everything else.

Brock was dead. Four shots to the chest. The fire took his body.

It had to be true.

No—It was true.

And yet, the doubt scratched its nails along the windowpane, begging to be let in.

***

“Hey, I’m not saying that I’m a better actor than Barnes, but I’m not not saying that.” Sam Wilson picked up an apple from the pile and tossed it into the air before take a huge bite out of the center. The juice of it dripped down the edges of grin.

Bucky rolled his eyes as he handed the vendor a dollar for Sam’s snack. You giggled against Bucky’s side as he slid his hand back into his pocket. He was trying to hide his laugh through a bite in his lip, but you could see past it enough to catch the slight lift in his cheeks.

“I’d say he was a pretty good actor,” you smirked. “Fooled me, didn’t he?”

Your arms were snaked around Bucky’s, holding him against your chest as you weaved in and around the busy famers’ market, so you felt it when his body tensed. That guilt complex of his couldn’t take a little teasing, though you tried.

“If he could make me fall in love with a,” you paused, lowering your voice, “Hydra hitman,” you grinned, swatting Bucky in the arm, “then I think he’s a damn good actor.”

“Alright, damn, I concede!” Sam threw his arms in the air, smiling so wide you wondered if it might touch his ears.

“You’re terrible, you know that?” Bucky snickered, leaning into your ear. His breath was warm against your skin, his lips grazing over your hair as you felt the soft brush of his laugh.

“Hush.” You snuck up and stole a kiss from his lips. It was a wonder to be able to kiss him in the open like this, surrounded by people who had little time or patience to care for the strangers standing in love at the center of a busy famers’ market. It was surreal at times, feeling like you were lost in a dream you never wanted to wake up from. But he was real and perfect and wonderful and so incredibly yours.

“Oh! Wait, I forgot the desserts for Peter!” you pulled back quickly, glancing into the busy crowd in search of the vendor with the fresh displays of apple tarts. You’d been meaning to pick one up for Peter after he got his first acceptance letter to college. They’ve been rolling in lately and piling high enough to cover Aunt May’s kitchen table, but you did promise him a new tart for every acceptance and you were about three behind.

“Go,” Bucky laughed, shaking you from his arm playfully. “I’ll babysit Sam until you get back.”

You grinned, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek you knew Sam would mock him for the second you disappeared into the crowd. The glossy imprint of your lips against his stubble was your favorite look on him, and he didn’t much mind it himself.

Shoulders bumped into yours as you squeezed through the rush of tourists and locals browsing the fresh fruits and vegetables displays along the tents. You turned the corner at the smell of cooked apples, cinnamon, and butter. Your stomach started to growl as you approached the vendor: a charming, older man with a twisted grey mustache and a flat cap.

“What can I get for you, hun?” he grinned, hands setting on his round stomach. Flour was still dusted along his apron, little bits of crumbs on his cheeks.

“Oh, I think I’d like—” You paused, catching a glimpse of something unsettling over the man's shoulder. Just a shadow, at first, blocked by the busy hustle of people walking by. You shook your head, tearing your eyes away and forcing your attention back to the vender. He offered you an uneasy smile. “The, um, the apple tart, please. And two of the—of the—”

You lost your trail of thought as the figure appeared again. Covered in darkness amongst a busy, sunny coated street. But he stood completely still, a baseball cap obstructing most of his face, though you could feel his eyes on you. You froze as he slowly lifted a hand, the flesh of it marred and blistered, and he tilted the lid of his cap.

“No. No, that’s not—He's not—” Your breathing was coming in too fast. The distorted image from your nightmares was standing mere feet away; a monster wearing a man’s skin and even that was ruined and burned.

Your dead husband stared back at you, that sickening grin curling up on his face. Your hands were shaking so violently you could hardly grasp the dollar bills as you fumbled with your wallet.

“Miss? Are you alright, deary?” the vendor called, extending a hand towards you but you had already backed out of his reach. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from Brock, from the burns on his skin or the murderous look in his stare; the gleeful expression of anticipated revenge. You were stone and marble and ice until—he stepped forward.

“James!” you screamed, leaving behind the money and the pastries as you sprinted in the opposite direction; shoving your way through the crowd, but it felt like you were swimming against the full force of a current. Your legs were shaking, your heart threatening to burst from your chest. You didn’t dare a glimpse over your shoulder to see how close Brock was behind you. “JAMES!”

You barely registered as you slammed into Bucky’s chest. Tears soaked quickly into his shirt, your sobs loud and breaking as he desperately tried to settle you. There was no space to pull you off to the side, no comfort from the busy crowd around you. You clawed at him, terrified you couldn’t get close enough, desperate to hide from your husband, from his vendetta, to protect Bucky from his wrath and—

“Y/n! Y/n, look at me!” Bucky begged, taking a tenser hold of you than he ever intended to use and forced you to meet his eye. The sting of his grip was all that punctured through the terror. You met the sharp blue of Bucky’s eyes, his brows furrowed in concern, worry lines along his forehead. “What happened?”

“It’s Brock! He’s here!” you sobbed, desperately clinging to Bucky as you gestured behind you, certain your ex-husband would emerge from the crowd at any second. “He found us. He found us! Oh God, James— he’s going to—”

“Stay with her,” Bucky ordered to Sam and he began prying your grip from around his waist.

“No! Don’t go!” You felt like a child; small and fearful and terrified beyond belief. But Bucky had that look in his eye, one that warned of danger in his path should anyone dare to cross him. You'd only seen it once – when he was on his knees in the warehouse, at the mercy of your ex-husband.

“Sam!” Bucky warned.

“I’ve got you, kid,” Sam eased the best he could. Bucky kissed your hairline before he rushed back into the crowd in search of Brock. You didn’t dare watch until he disappeared amongst the sea of people. Instead, you clung onto Sam as if he might be the only thing keeping you afloat. Maybe he was.

It was only when your breathing began to slow again with every count of Sam’s deep inhales that you started to notice the whispers around you, how the strangers eyed you and walked a little quicker as they passed by. You couldn’t make out what they were saying, but they were bold enough to hold your gaze as they whispered into the ears of their friends. Pity laced smiles at the crazy women sobbing at the center of the market.

Then, you heard footsteps come to a steady halt behind you. Sam released you from his hold and you turned to find Bucky waiting for you. He opened his arms and you rushed in.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured into your hair, apologies for tearing himself from you. It was not one he needed to make, but you nodded anyway.

“Did you find him?” you dared to ask.

When you were met with silence, your heart sank. As you glanced up you caught that same look of concern Bucky had given Peter the first time you saw Brock through the window of your apartment days earlier. Now, he shared it with Sam.

Bucky clenched his jaw, his blue eyes swimming in remorse. “Sweetheart, I—”

“Oh God... I’m going crazy. Aren’t I?” you gasped, tears filling your eyes to the point where you could no longer see the look of agony on Bucky’s face and, maybe, that was for the best. You could only vaguely hear Sam as he ushered the onlookers away, flashing his badge and grumbling angrily under his breath at the tourists who dared to sit in observation of your worst fears.

“It’s okay, honey,” Bucky eased with loving, tender kisses to your shoulder. “I’ve got you. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

He repeated it on an endless loop. Constant reassurances. Gentle reminders. You could hear the concern etched into his voice, the fear he shared with Sam, the doubt of whether his love was enough to save you from the horrors Rumlow left behind.

***

“You don’t have to stay the night, Sam,” you tried again for the third time that evening. “Please, I don’t want to inconvenience you just because I’m apparently losing my mind.”

“Are you kidding?” Sam smirked, shaking out the long, teal sheet before he laid it onto the couch. “I insist. Plus, it gives me an excuse to guilt Barnes into going easy on me at the annual field test.”

“You’re a good man, Sam,” you exhaled, arms folded tight over your chest. Your gaze drifted to the windows and the dark overcast hanging along the sidewalk. There was only a moment of relief in the emptiness you found in wait.

“Careful, sweetheart, you’ll inflate his ego.”

You turned to find Bucky leaning against the wall behind you, watching your interaction with Sam. He shook his head, a smiling brimming on his face as he approached. His arm swung casually around your shoulders, tugging you to his side before he pressed a short kiss to your hairline.

“Listen,” Bucky started, a more serious tone in his voice, “I appreciate you coming out here last minute. I didn’t feel right leaving her on her own after what happened at the market this morning.”

Sam softened, his teasing grin turning gentle into a thin line. “She’s family, right?” He winked at you, tugging a smile back to your face. “Go find out what Fury wants. I’ll hold down the fort until you get back.”

“And I’ll just be asleep anyway,” you added, though you wondered if Bucky could hear the uncertainty in your voice. You weren’t sure you’d be able to get much of any sleep at all while he was gone, but it helped to ease your mind knowing Sam wasn’t too far away. Even if your mind was playing games with you, the safety of having at least one federal agent in the apartment was a relief.

Still – Bucky’s jaw clenched as he nodded. He was better at reading you than you gave him credit for. He turned you gently in his arms to face him, a finger tilting at the bottom of your chin to hold your gaze.

“I promise I won’t be long. I’m sure Fury just has a new vision for recruit training he wants to run by me and that man’s schedule waits for no one,” Bucky chuckled, trying to sway your tension. It didn’t do much to etch the stone from your muscle, but you gave him a smile. It was enough. He sighed, pressing out one in return though it held a heaviness in it. “We’ll deal with everything else tomorrow, alright? Bruce is a good man, Y/n. He’ll know how to help you.”

You nodded, holding your breath at the mention of the doctor. He was a trained psychiatrist who specialized in PTSD and had worked with the Bureau for years. You figured most of his work was done with the men and women who worked alongside Bucky and Sam, but he knew his way around trauma and the dangerous monsters it carried. He could help, you told yourself. You weren’t crazy. You weren’t going to lose Bucky to this.

“I love you,” Bucky said quietly, though it held a certainty to it that pieced together the frayed edges in your stomach, the doubt and fears that lingered there. It was as if he could read the fears on your face and put them at ease before they could take root as he said, “we’ll get through this together, okay?”

“Okay,” you murmured, pressing your face to his chest. You took a final inhale of his scent, holding it as close as you could manage, before you let go. “I love you, too.”

You tried not to linger in the hallway after that. The apartment felt too big without Bucky around and though Sam did his best to draw out your smile, the exhaustion from the market had drained you. Your head was buzzing, your mind unfocused. Sam had noticed pretty quickly when you started to zone out, eyes fixated on the wall behind his shoulder, and he gently eased you to your room.

“I’ll be right out here you need anything, okay?” Sam reminded you with a soft tap on the edge of your door.

“Thank you, Sam.” You weren’t sure how to apologize for the events at the market, how you’d clung to him and sobbed, terrified that your dead husband was following you. You didn’t dare allow yourself to imagine what he must have thought of you in that moment. Still, the warm color of Sam’s eyes and the sincerity of his smile were enough to sway those thoughts a little while longer.

Then, you were alone.

You pulled the blankets up to your chin, curling against the side of the bed Bucky slept on. You could still smell the faint scent of his shampoo on the pillow. You tugged it against your chest, holding it as if it were an extension of him.

This helpless feeling was not one you were used to. Not anymore.

You couldn’t remember feeling this afraid even when you were living under Brock’s roof. Part of you wondered whether the risk of losing the security and safety and comfort you’d gained in his death was what fed into your fears and accelerated their momentum. When you were married to Brock and complicit to Hydra, you had little to lose, little to gain. You were able to go through the motions and survive.

But now?

Now you had something worth living for. Now, you had Bucky. You had your job back, your friends. You had Sam and Natasha and Steve. You had Peter and May. You had the light of day and freedom and love.

The very thought of it being stolen from you scared you far more than Brock ever could. And still, it was his face that haunted you. It was his face in your nightmares and following your shadows.

You kept your focus on the closed door to your bedroom, watching the flickering of the television light between the cracks and listening for Sam’s muffled laugh through the walls. You waited and waited and hoped that Bucky would return before the demons came for you, but sleep swept you away in luring embrace.

***

You woke suddenly to the sound of muffled gunfire. Jolting up in your bed, you clutched at the sheets, at your pajamas, at your hair, wiping the sweat from your skin. Your hand settled against your heart, trying to focus on the rhythm, but it was too fast. It wasn’t the steady, reassuring pace that Bucky carried. You groaned, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes.

Just a dream, you told yourself. It was just a dream. It can't hurt you.

You turned to the door to find the light from the television still sliding through the edges. Sam must have forgotten to turn it off before he fell asleep. He was known for his love of old detective dramas. The gunshot from the show must have lingered into your dreams.

You slumped back into the bed, heart still pounding. Beyond the door, you could hear the creek of the floorboards under heavy steps. Maybe Sam was still awake. There were plenty of snacks in your pantry and he had teased Bucky mercilessly about eating all of his cheese puffs. The thought helped to ease the panic from your veins as you forced yourself to close your eyes.

Bucky will be home soon. Go to sleep. You’re fine.

But then the footsteps inched closer. They paused right outside the door, their silhouette blocking the stream of light from the television. You rubbed at your eyes.

“Sam?”

He didn’t respond. Instead, the knob began to turn. Slow. The hinges of the door crying as it crept open. The sudden influx of light was harsh against your eyes, forcing you to squeeze them shut. His face was shielded by the backdrop of light and the blur in your eyes. Whether it was from exhaustion or leftover tears from your dreams, you weren’t sure.

“Sam? What’s wrong?”

Again, nothing.

There was something wrong in his movements. He was too stiff, too quiet. He looked like something out of your nightmares – cold, sinister, calculating. The room shifted around you; the safety you’d known in its walls peeled back by the edges of sharp, unyielding claws. Whatever crept towards you in the shadows was not Sam Wilson.

You stared at the figure as it approached, suddenly terrified to take your eyes off of it. Your vision began to burn, unable to so much as blink in fear of what the creature would do. Beyond the door, you heard a faint groaning, nails scraping along the floorboards. Your name was called in a familiar voice, panicked but faded, weak.

The figure lowered his hood.

“It’s good to see you again, baby.”

“No.” You scrambled backwards on the bed, shifting as far away from the distorted figure as you could manage. Your hands were shaking as you brought them to your lips. “No-- This isn’t-- This isn’t real.”

But Brock Rumlow stepped forward into the light and began to laugh. When his hand gripped at your wrist, you felt the nails dig into your skin. You gagged against the harsh burn of liquor and raw flesh. The adrenaline that rushed into your veins was visceral and agonizing – it burned as deep as the flames in your dreams.

Something pinched at your neck as your movements began to slow, your vision doubling. A syringe was in Brock’s hand as he stepped back, watching as you struggled to maintain consciousness.

“It’s... it’s not real,” you murmured again, trying to convince yourself beyond what your mind already knew to be true as you stared down the figure of your ex-husband.

And still, he laughed. It was the last thing you heard before the darkness caved in.

***

Bucky paced along the hallway outside of Director Fury’s office. It had been over an hour since he arrived and Fury had yet to see him. His message had indicated that it was a time sensitive issue. It was the only reason he begrudgingly agreed to leave you alone for the night after what happened in the market. Sam was with you, Bucky reminded himself as he ran a hair through the roots of his hair. You weren’t alone.

Then, when Bucky was about ready to barge his way into Fury’s office, the door opened. Agent Hill walked out carrying a half dozen folders in her arms, her heels clicking against the hardwood floors as she passed by. She seemed surprised to see Bucky waiting, but still, she made a short gesture to let him know the director was free.

“Sir,” Bucky started, stepping into the office. “You asked to see me?”

Fury was standing with his back to the door, facing out to the open windows and the bright lights of the city. Slowly, he turned over his shoulder, eyeing Bucky suspiciously. He took a step forward; his unnerving silence proving a bit too much for Bucky’s present impatience.

“Sir, I don’t mean to press,” Bucky exhaled, “but it’s been a rough day and I’d like to get back home as soon as I--”

“What makes you think I want to see you, Barnes?” Fury scoffed, settling into his desk. He popped the lid off the bottle of bourbon he kept hidden in the bottom drawer. Bourbon poured into the crystalline glass.

“You paged me two hours ago, sir,” Bucky said, setting the small flip phone on the desk. It was the only device Fury had agreed to use to call in his agents when needed; even if Bucky’s latest missions were held behind a desk or on the training field with the new recruits.

Fury cast his single eye at the phone, narrowing on the last message received. He read it over twice before he tossed the phone back to Bucky. He shrugged.

“I didn’t send you that message.”

Bucky froze, the phone feeling heavy within his grasp. “Sir?”

“Our message system was hacked several hours ago,” Fury said. He leaned in over the desk, studying Bucky through a less than unsettling gaze. “That’s why I called Maria in. I don’t know who sent you that message, but it wasn��t us.”

Bucky read over the message again. It was in the same cadence Fury always used in his messages, the same phrasing. HQ meeting 1hr. Short. To the point.

“Why would someone want to lure you back to base, Agent Barnes?” Fury inquired, leaning back into his chair, but Bucky could only vaguely hear what he had said. He was too busy staring at the phone, his grip clenching so tight around the edges he might snap it in half. His heart was pounding so loud, it muffled in his own ears. He could hear the rush of his blood through his veins.

Because he realized in that moment the message had little to do with luring him back to base. No – the sender had a much more terrifying purpose in mind.

To get you alone.

***

“Y/n!”

By the time Bucky made it back to the apartment, he was drenched in sweat. It soaked through his white button down, leaving the material transparent and wet, clinging against his chest. His hands were shaking as he struggled to get the key into the lock, fumbling over it several times before he shouldered his way inside.

His stomach dropped at the first sight of blood.

“Sam!” Bucky sprinted across the room, dropping down hard on his knees and into the expanding pool of crimson red soaking into the cracks of the floorboards. Sam was laid on his stomach, hands outstretched as if he had been crawling. A streak of smeared blood was in his wake. He’d been trying to reach the bedroom before his body gave out.

With shaking hands, Bucky rolled his friend onto his back, desperately searching for damage.

It was then he found the bullet wound embedded in Sam’s stomach. Bucky tore a glance back to the bedroom as he pressed his hands to the wound, stopping the bleeding the best he could.

“Y/n!” Bucky shouted again, desperate for you to appear from behind a locked door, unharmed. But there was no response in his echo. You did not call his name or any other.

“I’m s-sorry, Buck,” Sam’s weakened voice jarred Bucky from his trance. He looked down to find Sam’s eyes on him, though they were heavy, barely focused. Sam’s hand curled around Bucky's wrist. “S-She’s gone. He took her. I... I tried to—”

“I know, buddy,” Bucky eased, his voice breaking in the effort. “I know. It's okay. Save your strength, alright?”

As quickly as he could, Bucky dialed Steve’s number. He didn’t have the energy or the willpower to explain what happened, but he managed to order for an ambulance – one that would ram its way through New York traffic if it had to. Steve confirmed he was on his way and Natasha would be shortly behind. No questions asked.

“Buck,” Sam choked out, blood dripping at his lips. “Tell Y/n I’m--”

“I’m not telling her shit, okay? You tell her when—” Bucky clenched his jaw, tears slipping down past his cheeks, “You tell her when I get her back.”

***

It felt like an eternity before Steve and the ambulance arrived. Sam had faded in and out of consciousness enough times to make Bucky question if he would ever hear his friend ruthlessly tease him again. Still, in every waking moment, Sam did his best describe the intruder. There were few jokes, little smiles; he nearly drowned in his own blood before he could finish.

Sam couldn’t offer any more details beyond the hooded figure that had taken him by surprise. Bucky couldn’t tell if it was Sam’s delirium, but the description he gave sounded like something constructed of nightmares. He described a monster.

He was passed out by the time Steve arrived.

Bucky fell back onto the floor as the paramedics took over. He could only vaguely register Steve’s hands grip tight around his biceps and hulling him up to his feet long after the sirens had faded away and all that remained on the floor before him was the faint outline of Sam’s body. He tried not to pay attention to the blood coating his hands and soaking into his shirt. Sam’s blood. Blood he spilled trying to protect you. A task Bucky had requested.

“I’ve got footprints,” Natasha’s voice called from the hallway. Steve ushered Bucky to follow, though he felt like he was still stuck in a trance. None of it felt real, even as Natasha kneeled to more closely examine the imprint of the shoe outlined in blood.

“What happened here, Buck?” Steve asked, though he knew there was no good answer.

Bucky shook his head. “I don’t know. I—I can’t do this again, Steve. I can’t lose her—I can’t—”

A flash of gold caught his eye. Bucky followed the reflection into the bedroom, almost in a trance. He stilled as he approached the bed, finding a small, gold ring sitting just on the edge of the mattress. Thick. Rusting. An emblem of a skull at its center, surrounded by six long tentacles.

Slowly, he picked up the ring, holding it in the palm of his hand. The tears had faded on his cheeks, replaced only by the cold burn of vengeance growing like fire through his veins. He shoved the ring into Steve’s hands as he approached, answering the question before he had a chance to ask.

Bucky moved on a warpath to the safe. He wasted little time in loading his handgun and slipping it to his waist. A second followed and he strapped it to his thigh. When he stood again, Natasha and Steve were watching silently.

“You going to stop me?” Bucky questioned, a cold determination icing his voice.

“I didn’t last time,” Steve confirmed, stepping back.

Bucky gave him a short nod as he passed by. He didn’t bother with a coat.

“Hey Barnes,” Natasha called just as he opened the front door. He paused for only a moment, a short glance over his shoulder as she approached, her expression as cold and calculating as his own. “Make sure he’s dead this time.”

***

When you woke, you tried to feel for the cool silk of your bedroom sheets. You searched for the comfort of the warm body beside you and the gentle thumping of an easy heart. You sought out the slight dip of the mattress and the brush of air from the fan overhead. Instead, you found your hands were restrained behind you, the skin burned under thick ropes.

You sat up slowly in effort to ease through the blinding headache dizzying your vision. Dirt was caked into your nails and brushed along your skin, grass below your exposed legs. Still in your pajamas, you felt the sting of a twig as it scratched your thigh.

It took a moment before you recognized your surroundings. Away from the comfort of Brooklyn, you realized you were immersed in acres of woods. To your right, just barely through a short clearing, your heart dropped at the sight of ruined remains of a home you had lived in for years. Most of it had been bulldozed away after the fire, but pieces still remained. Enough that you still recognized the proximity to your nightmares.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, baby.”

You flinched at the sound of his voice – Brock's voice – as he stepped out from the shadows. No longer shielded by the distorted visions in your dreams or the promise of safety under the guise of a twisted imagination, there was little doubt that the man who stood in front of you was anything other than the head of Hydra itself.

“Takes a while to get used to, doesn’t it?” he scoffed, gesturing to the burns coating his skin. He was almost unrecognizable; the darkly handsome features on his face obstructed in the fire. What remained instead was a glimpse of the evil he carried in his heart, a sickening display of karma unfolding upon his body and mocking his existence.

You couldn’t help the laugh as it escaped. Perhaps it was shock or maybe you really were losing your mind, but the falter in Brock’s expression was reward enough. He was expecting you to remain in your fear of him, to be able to hold it over you. Your laughter was not what he had been anticipating and it read clear as day upon his face.

“It’s what you deserve,” you spat, tugging at the ropes around your wrists as you rose to your knees. Tiny stones dug into your skin but you urged yourself to feel power in the sting of it. To let it ground you to your strength and remind you of what was real.

“Deserve?” Brock hissed, his upper lip twitching. Anger twisted and consumed the little parts of his expression he still had control over. “You want to talk about what is deserved?!”

You tried not to react when he pulled a handgun from his waist and cocked it. The barrel of it aimed at your head, his finger on the trigger. You tried to keep the cold, uncaring expression Bucky had worn that night in the factory – unafraid in the face of evil. He’d been on his knees then, too. But still—your jaw clenched and Brock grinned.

“How is it that my cheating, whore of a wife and the traitorous son of a bitch who destroyed everything I ever built get to live happily ever after?!” Brock sneered, crouching down to your eye line. He drew the edge of the barrel along your cheekbone, sliding it down your throat, though you tried to pull away. He grinned. “You want to talk about what is deserved? Huh? How about I take back what belongs to me?”

You clenched your jaw, unwilling to meet his eye. Instead, you kept your stare on the tree beyond his left shoulder, the one you could see from the window of the spare bedroom you moved into after you gained the courage to fall in love with James— with Bucky. Its trunk was charred in the fire but it still stood. It still remained. Worn, but still strong.

“Maybe, I keep my promise to our mutual friend? Barnes, isn’t it?” Brock taunted. He used the barrel of the gun to brush your hair behind your shoulder. This close you could see the divots and raised edges of his burns. They coated every inch of his skin. “I told him he’d find you in pieces one day. That his betrayal would follow him the rest of his life and I’d rip you apart just to spite him. But hell, I didn't forget about the part you played either, baby. Maybe I’d like to ruin you a little too... just for myself.”

The barrel traveled alone your collarbone, dipping down to your chest, drawing a line between your breasts and down to your navel. Even through the scarring, you could see the look upon his face – the grin as he licked his lips.

You gritted your teeth. “Fuck you.”

Brock laughed at that, deep and low. Sinister. He wiped away the spit that had landed against his cheek. “I like it when you're feisty.”

You felt for the ground behind you; wrists bound you brushed your fingertips along the grass until you came upon a small rock. A small ounce of relief nestled into your chest; the rest filled with a steady determination. You started to saw it against the ropes.

“How the hell are you even alive? You should be dead,” you said in an effort to keep Brock talking. You could only hope Bucky was on his way to you, if he even knew where you were.

Time was a commodity you didn’t have, but you could stall as long as you could. Maybe... Maybe you’d see him again. It was what kept you going, what gave you the courage to face your demon standing before you.

“Four bullets to the chest and a burning house later, here I am... rising like a fucking phoenix from the ashes!” Brock shouted up to the skies. He stretched his arms out to the side as if he were absorbing the cheers from a stadium worth of admirers. “I’m invincible, baby! You can’t kill me!”

“You're not special, Brock. You’ll die like any other man,” you spat, reveling in the slight shift in his smile. The rock broke through a single piece of twine; a small dent, but it was something. “James will find us and when he does, he’ll kill you.”

Brock’s face dropped to a cold frown. “Not if I kill him first.”

“Would that make you feel like a man?” you jeered, like poking a snarling bear with a short, pointed stick. “To kill the man I left you for? The man I fucked in your house? The man I traded a mansion and millions for just to escape you?”

“Shut your fucking mouth before I—”

“What?” you taunted, shouting out to the trees and the birds and whatever else could hear you amongst the woods. “What the fuck are you going to do to me, Brock!? What else can you possibly take? I am so fucking tired of being afraid of you! I am done walking on eggshells and screaming in the middle of the night and looking over my shoulder!”

“Is that so?” Brock was laughing now, as if your defiance was little more than a show, as if he might peer behind the curtain and find you shaking and crying in the corner. But he’d done more than cage you all these years. He taught you what it was to live with a demon, to know a monster by name, and you were tired of letting it take root in your home. You'd sooner burn it to the ground.

“You’re nothing to me,” you said coldly. “You are nothing but a weak, pathetic little man who didn’t deserve a damn thing from me, so you resorted to taking it. Blackmail and extortion and threats. You got off by making me feel small and alone in that house and I’m done. I won’t live the rest of my life in those fears.”

Brock rolled his eyes, pacing slowly in front of you as he stepped over broken twigs in his path. Snaps like bones under his feet. He ran a hand soothingly over the barrel of the gun, admiring it. “Barnes is a bad influence on you, baby. You think you’re so brave now, don’t you?”

You tightened your jaw, wiling your breaths even. “You can’t hurt me anymore.”

Brock lunged at you, nails digging into your jawline as he forced you up to your feet in his grasp. The rock sawed through half the width of the rope as his nails drew blood on your skin. His breath was hot a flame against your cheeks.

“I’m the one holding the gun, baby,” Brock sneered. “I can still do a whole hell of hurt to you before I end your miserable life.”

You met his eye as if you stared straight into the heart of the devil. You let the fires consume you. “I’d like to see you try.”

The ropes snapped at your wrists and you threw yourself on him, sending both of you crashing to the ground.

“Fucking bitch!” Brock cursed, trying to shove you off of him, but you’d taken enough lessons with Nat to know how to immobilize an attacker.

But then you spotted the gun laying only a few feet away and you realized escape was not your intention. Brock must have followed your line of sight because he jolted enough to sporadically crawl towards the weapon.

You both lunged for it.

***

“Nat, are you sure this is where he took her?” Bucky said as he pulled up to the drive of a home that was now in ruins. He looked around the perimeter and saw nothing save for the acres of woods beyond the property.

“It’s what the profile suggests,” Natasha replied through the car speaker. Bucky could vaguely hear the clicks of her keyboard on the other end of the phone. “Rumlow thrives on drama, Buck. He’s going to bring her back to where it all began. And well, where it ended, too. He wants revenge. Bringing her back to the house puts him on an advantage.”

Bucky slid the car into park. “Keep looking anyway. I’ll call if there’s news.”

He reached for the keys, only pausing when he heard Natasha sigh. “Bring her home.”

Bucky nodded, not sure what else he could say, and turned the car off. He thought you were already freed of your past, thought that you were safe from the demons and monsters in your nightmares. He’d convinced you they were little more than your imagination playing cruel tricks on you. If he’d only listened, if he just believed you... maybe you wouldn’t be at the mercy of Brock Rumlow. Again.

He stepped out onto the driveway, staring up at what remained of the home he fell in love with you in. He shook his head, pinching at the bridge between his eyes, and jogged towards the woods. He didn’t dare call out your name in fear of what Rumlow would do under the pressure. Instead, Bucky concentrated on holding his breath and the warm touch of metal in his hands. His weapon was his grounding point. The bullets inside would not miss their target this time.

Bucky felt like he was starting to run in circles when it happened. Loud enough to jolt his heart out of pace, for the trees to shake as birds flew up into the air.

BANG!

BANG BANG!

BANG!

Four gunshots. Bucky sprinted as fast as he could, following the echo. Leaping over stray roots in the ground and swiping aside branches as they cut his arms.

He emerged into a small clearing to find you standing at the center, a gun held tight between your hands as you stared down at an unmoving body at your feet. Rumlow laid amongst the dirt, on his back, blood pooling at his chest.

“Y/n?” Bucky called gently, though you didn’t look in his direction.

Rumlow’s hand flinched and before Bucky could release his safety, you fired off another two shots. He did not move again after that. His face bore the ghost of surprise, a faded grin turned to shock in the moment you first pulled the trigger.

Bucky took a cautious step forward, your name again on his lips, but before he could get it out, he stepped on a twig, the sharp snap of it startling you as you spun in his direction, weapon now aimed at his chest. Bucky threw his arms in the air.

“Easy, sweetheart,” Bucky said as calm as he could manage, his gaze flickering to your finger still held against the trigger. It was like you were seeing straight through him. “It’s just me. It’s just me, honey.”

It took a moment before the realization flashed behind your eyes.

“James?” You lowered the gun until it hung loosely at your side, your voice nearly breaking over his name. The relief in it was enough to overwhelm him. He nodded, stepping forward and gently easing the gun out of your hands. You released it gratefully.

“It’s over,” you said simply, leaning against Bucky’s chest as you stared down at Rumlow’s body. Six total shots. Five littered over his chest. One planted between his eyes. Bucky let a hand run against your hair, his lips pressing to your crown. Small comforts he could offer.

“Are you alright?” he asked, though his stomach was aching in dread. He knew there was no comforting answer to that question, not after the hell you’d been through tonight, but he hoped nonetheless.

“I am now,” was all you replied. You couldn’t seem to take your eyes away from Rumlow. It was like you were committing it to memory – an image to draw upon when the nightmares came – to remind yourself that he was dead and it had been at your hands.

“Thank you for coming,” you murmured against his shirt and Bucky started to wonder if you were still in shock. You said it as casually as one might after a dinner party.

“Hey, I’ll always come for you,” Bucky promised, an oath he’d never once doubted. Still, he sighed. “Looks like you didn’t need me though, huh?”

“I’ll always need you.” You stepped back out of his hold and this time, you looked more like yourself. You offered him a soft, tentative smile. “But it’s nice to know I can take care of myself, too.” Your gaze flickered to Rumlow. “He underestimated me again.”

“His last time,” Bucky confirmed, pride in his chest.

“I’ll have to thank Nat for all the defense classes,” you grinned. It was a strange kind of normal to be teasing as you stood over the dead body of your ex-husband, who was definitely very much dead this time.

“I’m sure she’ll be thrilled,” Bucky chuckled.

“And Sam! Sam always volunteered to stand in as—” You froze, eyes wide as your hand clapped over your mouth. “Oh my God, Sam. What happened? Is he okay? Is he alive?”

“He’s in surgery now,” Bucky replied quickly before the panic could completely set you over the edge. “Come on, I’ll bring you to the hospital. I want to get you checked out anyway.”

You nodded, leaning into Bucky’s side as he guided you back towards his car. “What about Brock?”

Bucky shrugged. “I’d rather leave him to the animals, but I’ll talk to Steve. We’ll take care of it. You’ve done enough, sweetheart.”

“Can you call Peter?” you asked as you spotted Bucky’s car in the distance. “I know it’s not rational, but I want to make sure Brock didn’t-- that he didn’t do anything to go after Peter, too.”

“Of course. You want him to meet us at the hospital?”

You smiled, a wash of relief in your eyes. You nodded.

Bucky opened the car door for you, helping to ease you gently into the seat despite the hiss of pain you released with the movement. He tried not to pay attention to the rope burns on your wrists. He’d ask the nurses to pay careful attention there. You still had scars underneath from the last time.

Bucky took an extra moment as he closed the door behind you, standing straight and taking in a breath of fresh air. The chill of the cold, starless night around him was almost a comfort as he tried to center himself. There would be time for the guilt complex nagging at the back of his head later. But right now, you needed him. He could be strong for you.

When Bucky slid into the driver’s seat, you set your hand on his right forearm almost immediately. He drove with a single hand on the wheel, his right resting against the clutch. The contact was warm and welcomed and it helped to drive out his own monsters as your thumb brushed along his skin.

“We’re okay, aren’t we?” you asked quietly as the remains of the mansion drifted out of focus in the rearview.

“That’s a loaded question, sweetheart,” Bucky replied. He shifted his arm to let your hand slide down into his. His fingers curled around your own and he brought your hand to his lips. He kissed each knuckle one by one as he kept his eyes on the road. “If by ‘okay’, you’re asking if I’m still here with you, if I still love you as much as I did this morning, or a year ago, or the day I met you? Then yes, honey, we’re okay.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “But if... if you’re asking because I didn’t believe you when you said Rumlow was alive, because I wrote off your fears as nightmares and let this happen to you and—”

“We’re okay,” you told him sternly, tugging your intertwined hands to your own lips. You pressed a kiss to the back of his hand. “This isn’t your fault, Bucky. We had every reason to believe he was dead. This shouldn’t have happened. But it’s not because of something you did wrong. This is on Brock. Only him.”

Bucky nodded. He felt for the slight squeeze of your hand against his; that beautiful, little reminder that you were there with him no matter where his head wandered.

“He’s certainly dead now,” Bucky exhaled. He smiled, catching your eye. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

You laughed and still he was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. “I don’t know if incredible is the right word. Vengeful, maybe. Pissed off. Scorned.”

“Strong. Fearless. Determined,” Bucky countered sincerely. “I know what it took for you to do that. I’m... I’m just really proud of you. You fought with the devil and survived.”

You sat back in your seat, staring at the trees as they passed by with a content look on your face. Relaxed for the first time in months.

“I wouldn’t give Brock that kind of credit,” you shrugged. “He was just a man. He doesn’t get to be anything more. He doesn’t have that kind of power over me. Not anymore.”

Bucky clenched his jaw in an effort to hold in the light beaming from his chest. He stole a quick glance at you, watching as you sought out the stars through clouds. His brave, wonderful girl. He wasn’t sure ‘proud’ was even strong enough anymore.

“You know Sam will hold this over you for at least a decade, right?” you laughed, shooting Bucky a teasing smirk despite the dirt on your face and the leaves still caught in your hair. You’d been through hell and you were still smiling.

“Trust me, I know,” Bucky groaned with a short shake of his head. He couldn’t help but return your smile. “I’ll give him three years and then he’s capped.”

“Three? How generous of you.”

“He’ll survive with almost no serious damage and a new battle scar to show off,” Bucky rolled his eyes. “Three is pushing it.”

When he caught your eye again, his cheeks were hurting from how wide he was smiling. There were near tears in your eyes from laughter. He wasn’t sure what god to thank for you, for bringing you back home to him in one piece, for letting you smile and laugh and hold joy in your heart after all that had happened to you. But he would thank them all.

***

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

[waka-chan-out]

may i request shower sex with sakusa? ive been living with this thought in my brain for so long

Shower Sex

sakusa kiyoomi x fem!reader

i swear every request gets better. thank you for this one, anon! it was fun to write.

disclaimer: in a realistic shower sex scenarios you’d need a whole lot of lube and have a hard time not slipping. that being said, this is fanfiction and i have spared you all from th technicalities :)

post-timeskip, obviously.

word count: 1.6k

content warning: established relationship, shower sex (obviously), unprotected sex, brief oral (m. receiving), mentions of masturbation

It had been two days since you found out Kiyoomi was holding out on you. You were genuinely of the impression that the man didn’t masturbate. It sounded so stupid in your head now. Of course he did. Everyone did. But you had never caught him and never heard him talk about it so it didn’t even cross your mind.

But now you knew that when he was in the shower, he leaned his arm against the wall and thought of you. That image would be burned into your brain forever.

So you sat squirming on your comforter, hearing the running shower as he prepared to come to bed, and all you could think about was him pumping into his hand and biting back noise. You weren’t supposed to be home this early and he knew that. Maybe he was innocently showering, passing the time until you came home, but the thought that he wasn’t was eating away at your brain.

Fuck it.

He left the shower door unlocked. He always did. He didn’t have anything to hide, but you had never taken advantage of it beyond brushing your teeth.

“Babe?” he called, voice muffled by the running water. Fuck. His voice sounded strained.

You pulled back the curtain and stepped into the shower.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Kiyoomi said, voice faltering in an incredulous laugh. A concerned expression settled onto his face, but you couldn’t take him seriously with the grin still sitting on his lips. He stared in disbelief as your clothes were quickly soaked through. You smiled at him.

“Hi,” you said.

“Hi. I didn’t know you were home.” The water ran over you as you stared at each other. He held his arms close to himself, curls flattened against his head and dripping. Glancing down, you could tell your thoughts earlier weren’t unwarranted.

“I was thinking about you at work all day.”

“Okay?”

“Omi. Do you understand? I was thinking about you,” you said. You broke eye contact and ran a hand down his slick chest. You trailed down until you reached his pelvis, sliding your fingers over to his hip instead. His stomach sucked in involuntarily, twitching under your touch.

“What were you thinking about?” he asked. His voice was fairly steady but his furrowed eyebrows gave him away.

“I was jealous,” you said, sliding a thumb over his hip bone. He swallowed hard.

“Of what?”

“Your hand.”

“Shit.” Kiyoomi leaned against the wall and groaned. “I regret telling you about that.”

You grinned up at him.

“I don’t,” you said. You let your hand continue traveling along his slick skin until you wrapped a hand around him. His eyes fluttered shut and he exhaled heavily. You just barely moved your hand, touch light and teasing. “Why do you keep this to yourself, Omi?”

“I don’t—” he breathed, gaze returning to your face. “God, you’re soaked.”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“You’re gonna freeze.”

“Then warm me up.” You pushed into him and kissed him hard, laughing to yourself as his hands gently settled on your shoulders. He leaned back and brought you both fully into the stream of water.

It was hard to kiss while being bombarded by heat and inhaling steam, but you both made do. He licked gently into your mouth, still seeming to hesitate even with your enthusiasm. You pressed kisses along his jaw, rivulets of water passing from his body to yours. He let out a shallow breath and tangled a hand into the fabric of your shirt.

“Take these off or you’re going to get sick,” he mumbled. You nipped at his ear and smiled against his skin.

“Fine,” you said. You pushed down your work slacks and kicked them to the side of the tub. He looked a little surprised at your eagerness, but the look of shock on his face grew as you dropped to your knees.

“Wait, I -- oh, fuck.” He sighed as your lips wrapped around him, one hand bracing against the wall and the other settling on top of your hair. You took him into your mouth. It was a little hard to breathe as water ran over your face, but you ignored the feeling. You continued following his instructions as he hit the back of your throat, quickly unbuttoning your shirt and unhooking your bra.

“Jesus,” Kiyoomi muttered, staring down at you. You continued moving up and down his length, adding pressure with your tongue as you went. You looked up as you buried him in your mouth once more. His eyes grew wide as they met yours, and you saw his eyebrows furrow.

“Shit,” he said viciously, tugging on your hair a bit. “Get back up here.” You released him and grinned as you stood. Your face was slick with water and saliva, and his eyes darkened as you wiped at it. “Turn around,” he said. You complied happily, relishing in the way his hands gripped you. One grasped at your hip, the other pushed at the back of your neck so you were pressed against the shower wall. You laughed lightly as you felt him pressing between your legs.

“Hold on, Omi,” you said. He relaxed his grip.

“Are you alright?” he asked. You grabbed onto the shower rod with one hand and used a foot to move your clothes under your feet.

“I’m fine. Just needed to readjust a little.” You turned your head to the other side and tightened your grip. “Now fuck me already.”

“Jesus.” It sounded like he used all the breath in his lungs to gasp out that one word. He grabbed one of your legs and moved it so it was propped up on the lip of the tub. He used the other hand to line himself up with you, then grasped the shower rod right next to your hand. Without much hesitation, he thrust his hips forward, making a strained noise as he buried himself fully in you. You pressed your forehead against the wall and groaned.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he grumbled, slowly starting to grind into you.

“Better than your hand?” you teased. You were breathless and a little cold, but you couldn’t help teasing him. He let out a haggard laugh.

“Shut up.” You could hear the smile in his voice even as he began moving faster, pushing you harder against the linoleum wall. He had never taken you standing before, wanting to keep you comfortable, but something about the way your legs ached and he desperately gripped both you and the shower made your brain go fuzzy.

His pace picked up and he grabbed your jaw in his hand, forcing your back to arch as he pulled you against him. He was breathing directly in your ear, sending shivers down your shoulders as an aching heat began blooming below your stomach.

“Fuck, Omi,” you whined, reaching your free hand back to bury in his hair. This seemed to spur him on. His hips somehow moved even faster and the fingers that gripped your jaw slid up and into your mouth, focusing it to hang open. His other hand lifted away from the shower rod, skimming down your body and stopping between your legs. He began circling your clit with two quick fingers. You let out a gasp as he forced you to climb faster.

“Come with me,” he groaned against your ear. You nodded eagerly, mouth lax around his fingers. His breathing began ending in curses, huffing against the back of your neck. You shivered and your hand tightened in his hair.

“Oh fuck,” Kiyoomi grumbled. Your grip in his curls seemed to be the last straw for him. Your breathing came in gasps as his arms locked around you. His hips stuttered out of time and his voice came out in loud swearing. His hand continued moving on your clit, sending you over the edge close behind him. You both froze against each other for a moment, suspended in time as your eyes locked shut and you rode out your highs.

Kiyoomi’s face fell against your shoulder as he loosened his grip on you. You could feel him start to laugh through his panting. You gasped as he pulled out of you, then smiled. As your head cleared, you noticed you were both shaking.

“Oh, fuck,” you said. You turned around, holding a hand up into the stream of water.

“I blame you,” he said, pressing a kiss against your forehead. He shivered and wrapped his arms around you, trying and failing to rub warmth back into your body. “Now we have to take a cold shower.”

“We?” you laughed. He hooked his chin over your shoulder and held you tightly.

“I’m not letting you out until we’re both clean.”

“Omi, we’re gonna freeze to death!”

“Should’ve thought about that before you interrupted my shower.”

You hit his arm playfully.

“Really, you are welcome to do that again,” he said. He pulled away from you and grinned, planting a quick kiss on your lips. “Just, warn me first so I can save you some hot water.”

[reinvent-and-believe]

48 from dialogue prompts + 50 from wordless i-love-yous for geraskier?

Dialogue Prompt 48: “You make me want things I can’t have.” Wordless I-love-you 50: buying them a special treat when you go out shopping

--

It catches Geralt’s eye while he haggles over an outrageously priced jar of alchemy paste with a none-too-impressed herbalist on the outskirts of Novigrad, a buxom widow with thick-braided auburn hair by the name of Irmina.

“This for sale too?” He picks up the brooch from the countertop where it rests in a beam of golden light streaming through a dingy window. He examines it. It’s simple enough metalwork, a brass oval with a scalloped edge, but inlaid in its face is a single pressed yellow flower framed by tiny white blooms encased in resin.

The herbalist’s dour demeanour brightens immediately. “It is indeed!” she answers, her brown eyes shining in a plump, suddenly pleasant face. “Made it myself just last week. It’s something of a hobby of mine, making pretty knick-knacks from the flowers we can’t sell. Got plenty more like this if you’d like to peruse ‘em, master witcher! Forget-me-nots and arenaria, hellebore, violets, any flower you might like.”

A buttercup, he realizes belatedly. That’s the yellow flower in the center.

“No.” He sees Irmina’s brow furrow in offense, so he hastens to appease her. “No need, I’ll take this one. I...I’m partial to buttercups.”

Her freckled face breaks into a sly, knowing smile. “Oh, aye, I’m sure someone is partial to buttercups.” She winks, waving away his stammered attempts at an answer. “Never you mind, I know a man besotted when I see one, and it seems a witcher’s not so different. Tell you what. Fifty crowns for the paste and I’ll throw the brooch in for only ten.”

-

Leaving the herbalist’s shop with an overpriced paste, a lighter purse, and a useless trinket, Geralt curses himself for a fool.

He’s not sure why he bought it.

He knows buttercups are Jaskier’s favorite, of course. “None but the noblest of flowers for my sobriquet!” Jaskier had squawked indignantly when Geralt once made the grave mistake of referring to the pesky things as weeds after he’d stopped Roach from chomping on a patch of the bright, poisonous blooms.

They are weeds, buttercups. They serve no function. They can’t be used in any of the potions, decoctions, or oils Geralt brews, nor do they have any particularly helpful curative properties for humans.

“As ever, my dear witcher, you have no sense of poetry,” Jaskier had sighed in a most put-upon voice when told as much. “Their function is they’re pretty. Their function is to enrich our lives through the beauty of the natural world.” He’d looked to the sky, tip of his tongue between his teeth showing through his frown as was his custom when puzzling through the right way to turn a phrase. “From a strictly utilitarian perspective, perhaps the buttercup has less value than, say, moleyarrow, or verbena, or chamomile, even. Some plants provide nutritional or medicinal or alchemical qualities of various sorts. But some exist to make life worth living! To transform the banal into the sublime.” He’d plucked a buttercup from the roadside, twirling it between his long fingers. “It’s graceful and balanced, effortlessly beautiful. It’s vibrant, bright like...like sunlight, on a summer afternoon! And when you see it growing alongside the various and sundry flora, it fills you with the loveliest burst of warmth, like a lover’s smile.”

“So...it’s a pretty weed.”

“You’re incorrigible, witcher, that’s what you are.” Jaskier had huffed dramatically before tucking the buttercup behind Geralt’s ear, his face alight with a delighted grin.

Like sunlight on a summer afternoon.

-

The Kingfisher Inn is crowded when Geralt arrives. He goes to the bar, orders an ale from Olivier, and leans against the counter to take a look at the stage.

Jaskier loves playing the Kingfisher. In many of the inns he plays across the Continent, he’s relegated to a corner to try to sing over the clang of dinner, his only option to win the common folk over a raucous drinking song or a filthy ditty. And while the bard doesn’t shy away from such vulgarities, the patrons of the Kingfisher tend to be of a more artistically inclined ilk, responding with appropriate gusto to the virtuosic art songs that he rarely performs outside of competitions or Oxenfurt.

Or so he’d explained to Geralt when he’d suggested they meet up at the inn.

Jaskier sits atop a tall stool on a rather large stage framed by crimson curtains, his sky-blue doublet a vivid contrast. The audience, enraptured, listens to his ballad, a melancholy tale of a fair maiden who’s violently killed before she can profess her love to a farmhand in her village, a beautiful, strong, kind man whose hair shines like a blaze of pale fire in the sunlight. Her love for him tethers her to this world, and her spirit—bitter, weary, and endlessly yearning—calls the men working in the fields to join her dance at midday, when the sun is in its zenith, hoping against hope for the chance to finally confess to her beloved.

In the end, the brave, noble farmhand sacrifices himself, hoping to stop the spirit’s killings by listening to her song and joining her as she beckons. And as they are reunited, as she finally kisses the lips she’s longed for in a blinding blaze of sunlight, they pass on together, their spirits becoming one.

It’s a contract Geralt worked a few years ago, a noonwraith outside Oreton—or at least something close. As ever, Jaskier has taken artistic liberties, romanticized the actual events (“Sometimes, in our pursuit of Truth, we must sacrifice the facts,” Jaskier loftily explained on more than one occasion. He seemed quite taken with the profundity he seemed to find in the statement. Geralt called it pretentious once and Jaskier hurled a chunk of bread at his head). Once it might have bothered Geralt, but he’s grown accustomed to Jaskier’s rather malleable relationship with veracity in his ballads. There’s no denying the impact of his storytelling: when Geralt glances around the inn, he sees several patrons discreetly dabbing at their eyes.

It’d been an ugly case, leaving him feeling empty, drained. Noonwraiths haunt his thoughts far longer than most the monsters he dispatches. They’re victims of circumstance more than anything, young women who’ve been transformed into bloodthirsty, violent spirits through no fault of their own, through the violence inflicted upon them. Nearly forty men had fallen prey to her before the farmhand distracted her with his kiss—though Geralt would hesitate to classify his grotesque, gruesome sacrifice as such—so the witcher had a chance to strike her down with silver. Jaskier has spun the miserable tale into something beautiful, moving, something that clearly resonates with his captivated audience, that speaks to a greater force at work than the chaotic, banal evils the witcher sees every day, and Geralt thinks he understands, for a moment, what the bard had told him of Truth and facts.

(Geralt doesn’t know what greater Truth is served by changing the beloved farmhand’s hair from the dull brown it really was to “a blaze of pale fire,” but then, Geralt’s not a poet.)

The final notes hang in the air, all eyes fixed on Jaskier for a rapt, breathless moment before the room bursts into wild applause. Jaskier stands and bows deeply, once, twice, a third time, surveying the room as he offers his thanks. When his gaze catches Geralt at the bar, his expression of showman’s grace vanishes, a flash of something that looks almost alarmed for a split second before it’s replaced by a small, gentle smile.

Geralt nods and raises his mug toward the stage in cheers, draining the remainder. Jaskier is quickly swept into the swarm of captivated fans, accepting their praises with a gracious, if distracted, smile.

The witcher turns back to the barkeep to order himself another ale along with a glass of wine.

“Geralt!” Jaskier swerves to avoid a near-collision with a frenzied barmaid on his way to join his companion at the bar. He grabs the wine glass with a groan of appreciation, taking a swig before asking, “Is this for me? Gods, but you’re a marvel, darling, I thank you.” He takes another sip and sends a disarming, roguish wink to a pair of girls staring at him and giggling to each other. “I wasn’t sure when you’d arrive, but it wouldn’t have mattered, I suppose, they only had one room to let when I checked in and it hasn’t cleared out since. You’ll share mine, of course, but I’ve been here a week so, you know, best brace yourself, I’ve quite made the place my own.”

Geralt snorts. He’s stayed in enough rooms that Jaskier has made his own over the past decade to predict with some certainty what mess he’ll soon venture into.

(Doublets draped over furniture after they’ve been discarded; crumpled sheets of paper tossed near, never in the fireplace; a few near-empty bottles of wine; a shirt hung to dry over the modesty screen between the sleeping and bathing areas; bottles of a dozen oils and perfumes and soaps scattered haphazard near the tub; an unmade bed that may well contain an abandoned undergarment or forgotten stocking left by some well-satisfied guest.)

“Have you eaten? Shall we? I’m starved, felt jittery all afternoon and didn’t eat a damned thing which was all well and good until I got onstage and suddenly wished for a fainting couch. Or we could take your things up to the room first, of course. Oh! We could have them bring our dinner up to us, it’s awfully crowded down here tonight and I’m not sure I’m up to socializing all evening, to be honest, I’ve been dreadfully out of sorts, did you notice, Geralt, that I’ve…”

Jaskier continues his ramblings, and the witcher can’t help a twinge of worry for his friend. It’s not unheard of for Jaskier to be in a heightened state over a particularly important performance, but usually afterwards the nerves dissipate and he seems more himself. Not to mention, why would playing in an inn prompt such anxieties? Even if the Kingfisher clientele trends toward the more refined than the country folk he often plays for, it’s still rather a low-stakes environment to trigger such stress.

“New song?” he asks casually. Jaskier always beams when he notices such things, when he makes an effort to ask about his music.

Instead, Jaskier blushes, looking away with an expression that almost seems guilty. “Ah, yes, well, I wasn’t certain when you’d be arriving, of course, I thought I might try out something different, a sort of test audience, as it were, to feel out the piece before I use it for anything important.” The look he’s fixed on Geralt seems almost wary. “Did you...like the song?”

Geralt shrugs. “Not quite how it happened,” he grumbles, out of habit more than anything.

A smile, genuine and rueful, breaks out on Jaskier’s face. “Gods, I’ve missed you, my friend,” he says, shaking his head and looking away quickly.

“Hmm.” He reaches quickly into the coin pouch at his side, thrusting the trinket from the herbalist into Jaskier’s hand with a brusque, “Here.”

“Whatever have we got…” He cuts off as opens his palm. “Oh.”

There have been so few times over the years that Geralt has seen Jaskier speechless that he begins to worry he’s offended him. He turns the brooch over in his hands, once, twice, his thumb swiping gently over its smooth enamel face. He doesn’t look up.

Even in the crowded room, Geralt can smell the shift in his demeanor, the muted sickly-sweet anxious smell becoming something sharp, metallic, pained, like he’s been stabbed. “You’re upset.”

“I...no.” Jaskier shoves the brooch into his trouser pocket, a tense smile on his face, not at all reaching his eyes. “Thank you, Geralt, it’s lovely. Shall we take your bags to the room now?”

“I didn’t...I didn’t get it to upset you.”

Jaskier laughs, a broken thing, and Geralt grows even more alarmed. “You didn’t, it isn’t that, sometimes I want things I can’t have is all.” He grabs the saddlebag sitting at Geralt’s feet, not meeting his eyes as he rushes past him up the stairs to the last bedroom in the hall.

Geralt follows after a moment, giving his companion a respectful distance. There’s a tightness in his shoulders, a knot in his gut that only grows as he watches Jaskier’s hand tremble on the key as he unlocks the door.

It was a stupid idea. He knew it was stupid when he bought it, yet he bought it anyway, somehow ruined everything anyway.

“Here we are.” Jaskier’s voice is filled with a forced cheer as he sets the bag down, hand never leaving the doorknob. “I’ll go fetch us some supper. Or, actually, you know, now that I think of it, I’ve a few errands to run before it gets too late, meant to do it earlier but you know how it goes, lost track of time…”

“Jaskier.” Geralt moves toward him but stops himself, helpless. “Please. I’m sorry I upset you.”

Jaskier stands in the doorway for another moment. He takes a deep breath, closes the door, and walks slowly to the writing desk in the corner. He pulls the chair out, moving the doublet strewn across it before sitting. He doesn’t look at Geralt.

“You didn’t.” Every word is calculated, deliberate. “What kind of ungrateful wretch gets upset over...over an exceptionally thoughtful gift from a friend after a time apart?”

Geralt sits on the edge of the bed. His elbows rest on his knees, fingers locking together as he stares at the floor. “You’re not a wretch. The fault is mine.”

“Dammit, Geralt, there isn’t fault, I only—why did you bring me a gift?”

Geralt frowns. “I’ve bought you things before,” he says slowly.

“Things, yes!” Jaskier vaults from the chair, pacing listlessly about the room, no longer trying to mask his inexplicable distress. “Lute strings when I broke a string and I was low on coin. The lute is my livelihood, it made financial sense for you to replace the string so I could pull my own weight, help you when we pass through several towns in a row with no contracts. Boots when you noticed the hole in the heel of my old pair, because I slow you down limping about in footwear that’s falling apart. Room and board, sometimes, because you know I’m good for it, I’ll cover you the next time.” He’s stopped pacing, stares silent into the fireplace.

“Wasn’t keeping a tab.” Geralt’s voice is quiet. “You needed strings and boots and food and a room.”

Jaskier doesn’t turn to face him, but Geralt sees his hand slip into his pocket, pull out the brooch. His head bends, studying it.

He’s not offended or annoyed or angered by the gift. He’s hurt. But why?

Except...

Jaskier looked guilty when Geralt brought up the song. Like he’d been caught red-handed. Did you like it? he’d asked. Incredulous.

The noonwraith singing her song in hopes that her beloved hears her confession. That he’ll hear her song of longing and come to her.

Hair like a blaze of pale fire, not dull brown.

Sometimes I want things I can’t have.

“Geralt?”

The witcher snaps back to attention, eyes fixed on Jaskier, finally facing him.

“Why did you get it for me, Geralt?”

Geralt frowns. “It’s...pretty,” he starts lamely. “I thought you might wear it when you play. You wear gaudy things.”

Jaskier snorts, a small, crooked grin on his lips.

“It made me think of you,” he confesses quietly, his eyes tracing the wood grain of the floor. “Sometimes...things don’t have to have a function. It was a buttercup and it was pretty and it…made me think of you.”

When Geralt dares to raise his eyes, Jaskier’s staring at him, brows drawn together and mouth slightly agape. After a moment, he walks toward the witcher, sitting carefully beside him on the bed. He reaches his hand towards Geralt’s and presses the little brooch into his palm.

“Will you pin it on me?” he asks softly.

Geralt nods.

His fingers feel thick and clumsy as he fumbles with the delicate clasp. The top few buttons of Jaskier’s doublet, as ever, are undone, but it closes neatly just beneath his exposed neck. Geralt slips a finger beneath the satin fabric to pull it away from his throat, cautiously piercing the fabric with the thin pin and sliding it into its slot, locking the clasp with shaking hands.

His hand doesn’t move from Jaskier’s chest. A sword-calloused thumb, seemingly of its own volition, grazes lightly over the bobbing Adam’s apple.

“Geralt.”

He looks up, almost pulls away but for the flushed cheeks, the tongue that darts out to wet pink lips, the hooded eyes beneath dark lashes fixed on Geralt’s mouth. Jaskier’s breath is warm against his face. When did they draw so close?

“Are you going to kiss me, Geralt?” The breathy whisper is laced with wonder.

And he didn’t...didn’t buy the brooch to entice Jaskier into anything, didn’t mean to solicit any sort of reward, and he opens his mouth to tell him so, yet as his rough hand moves to gently cup the back of Jaskier’s neck the words that tumble out instead are, “I’d like to.”

And Jaskier throws back his head and laughs, a euphoric, intoxicated sound, as his lovely hands cradle Geralt’s face. He brings his forehead to rest against Geralt’s as they still, breathing each other for a moment before Jaskier surges forward to capture his lips.

His kiss tastes like sunlight.

[lostinthewiind]

Sorry for already requesting again, I’m just slightly obsessed with your writing. Could I request another Poly!Matchablossom where they take care of the reader when they are on their period and in pain? If you want to keep the reader more neutral, I totally understand and would change the request to the reader just generally not feeling well. Thank you in advance!

Polyamorous Relationship w/ Joe & Cherry: Period Pains

A/N: okay so I love this request because I'm single AF and every time I get horrendous cramps during my period I wish I had someone to take care of me, but alas, I just have to curl up in my heated blanket alone :( Anyway, I shall now live vicariously through this fic. If anyone would like a gender neutral fic with the reader just being sick or something, let me know!

Rating: PG13

Warnings: mentions menstrual cramps and general period problems that some of us unfortunate souls have to endure once a goddamn month, mentions nudity, tiny bit spicy 

All things considered, it was shaping up to be a good day. The sun was shining bright, the warm rays peeking through the curtains of the apartment you shared with your boyfriends. Birds were chirping happily outside, waking the city with their beautiful song, and it was the weekend, so you didn’t have to go to work. 

It was going to be a great day . . . well, it would have been a great day if you weren’t currently experiencing some of the worst period cramps of your life. Because of this painful monthly inconvenience, all the things that would normally make you smile were thoroughly pissing you off. 

The sun shining through the crack in the curtains and the chirping birds acted as a taunting reminder that it was morning and that you hadn’t gotten nearly enough sleep that night thanks to your uncomfortable cramps and aching body. Sometime during the night, you had been forced to sneak your way out of the bedroom and set up camp on the couch for fear of waking your boyfriends with your constant tossing and turning.

This, however, wasn’t nearly enough to sooth you to sleep. If anything, it only made things worse because you never slept well without Joe and Cherry by your side. So, after popping a couple painkillers and downing a glass of cold water, you resigned yourself to lying awake on the couch for almost the entire night, staring up at the ceiling and trying not to break out into sobs due to pain, frustration, and exhaustion. 

Hearing the bedroom door open, you tilted your head slightly and watched as your boyfriends emerged from the bedroom dawning housecoats on their bodies and happy, sleepy smiles on their faces. At least they were enjoying everything this wonderful Saturday had to offer.

“Good morning,” Cherry greeted you with a quick peck on the forehead as he passed you on the way to the kitchen to start the coffee maker. “You’re up early.”

You winced and squinted as Joe threw the curtains open, flooding the room with blinding light. “That assumes I went to sleep at all,” you scoffed, your eyes slowly adjusting to the sun rays shining directly in your eyes. 

“You haven’t slept?” Joe walked over to the couch, squatted down in front of you, and placed the back of his hand to your forehead. “Are you feeling okay?”

You grimaced and swatted his hand away, knowing deep down that he was only trying to be nice but being bothered nonetheless. “No, my body is trying to rip me apart from the inside out!” You grabbed a throw pillow from the couch, pressed it firmly over your face, and groaned loudly. “I’m in pain!”

Joe and Cherry, who were familiar with how intense your periods could be by now, shared a knowing look from across the apartment. As much as you tried not to, you tended to lash out a little when the cramping kept you from sleeping or doing any of the daily activities you were used to. 

“Cramps?” Joe inquired despite already knowing the answer. When you nodded from underneath the pillow, moving the pillow along with your head movements, Joe placed his large hand on your lower abdomen and pressed down firmly. Then, without hesitation, he began to massage the internal muscles that were causing you such distress. “How’s this?” he checked to see if his actions were helping or hurting.

You sighed, your entire body relaxing into his touch as he massaged away some of the discomfort. “Feels good,” you mumbled, finally lifting the pillow from your face and setting it to the side. “I took medication but it didn’t help at all. It’s really bad this month.”

“Do you want any coffee?” Cherry called softly from the kitchen, pausing after he opened the cabinet until he knew if he needed two or three mugs. 

At the thought of drinking anything that wasn’t water, your stomach turned. “No, thank you.” You shook your head. 

After setting the mugs atop the counter, Cherry shuffled over to the back of the couch and leaned over it to caress your cheek lovingly. “Nauseous?” he asked.

You nodded. “And I have a headache,” you added, “but that could be from lack of sleep or because I haven’t eaten anything in a while . . . or simply because the universe hates me.”

“The universe doesn’t hate you,” Joe assured you as he moved your legs a little so he could sit on the couch with you before laying your legs across his lap and continuing his massaging. “But even if it does, we love you so it doesn’t matter.”

You chuckled slightly as Cherry returned to the kitchen. “Thanks.” You tried your best to sound sincere but due to your exhaustion-induced monotone voice, you sounded more annoyed than anything. 

“So you spent most of the night out here?” Joe questioned, his rough hands shooing the pain away one skilled movement after another. 

“Yeah,” you answered. “I couldn’t get comfortable and didn’t want to wake you guys. No sense in all three of us not getting any sleep just because I was born with an organ that is infused with the wrath of Satan himself.”

Joe laughed under his breath. “You really do reach new levels of anger during this time of the month,” he commented. “Good thing you don’t take it out on us . . . most of the time.”

“I’m sorry,” you shot him a sheepish look, apologizing for all the times you had treated him and Cherry rudely because of your mood swings and pain. “I don’t mean it.”

Joe noticed the guilty look on your face and immediately felt bad. “I was just kidding, love.” He pulled your close to his body and pressed a soft kiss to your temple. “We know you don’t mean it.”

“Good.” You tucked your face into the crook of his neck. 

Removing his hands from your stomach, Joe ran his fingers through your hair and kissed you again. “Do you feel any better?”

“A little,” you forced a small smile. “Thank you.”

Just then, Cherry appeared before the two of you with two mugs of coffee in his hands. After handing one to Joe, he looked down at you with a sympathetic look on his face. “You should eat something, darling,” he told you. 

“I know,” you agreed. “I’m just not hungry.”

Taking a sip of his coffee, Cherry lost himself in thought for a few moments while he tried to brainstorm a way to get you feeling good enough to be able to put some food in your body. Then, without saying anything, he turned on his heel, walked away, and disappeared inside the bathroom.

Seconds later, you could hear water running and could smell the faint scent of your favourite bubble bath wafting into the living room. “A warm bath sounds wonderful,” Joe whispered in your ear, catching onto what Cherry’s plan was. “Take a relaxing bath with Kaoru to ease your muscles and by the time you’re done I’ll have breakfast ready. How does that sound?”

“Perfect.” The thought of soaking in hot water was nearly enough to put you to sleep right then and there. “The only way it could be better was if we had a bathtub big enough for the three of us.”

“I agree.” Joe kissed the shell of your ear. “I’ll join you next time.”

“Okay.”

Minutes later, the sound of running water ceased and Cherry emerged from the bathroom. “Come now, beautiful.” He lifted you out of Joe’s arms and into his own, years of skating at S gifting him with muscles that hid beneath his slender frame. “Better get to cooking, Kojiro.” He eyed the other man.

“Okay, damn.” Joe held up his hands in defense as you and Cherry headed for the bathroom. “Let a man take a few sips of coffee first.”

You chuckled lightly, seeing through Cherry’s remark and knowing he did it just to coax a laugh out of you like you did whenever the two bickered about nonsense, which he had achieved. 

“There’s that beautiful laugh,” Cherry commented, smiling at the sight of your amusement. “I wish I could do more to ease your pain but I hope this helps even a little.”

“Of course it will help,” you told him as he set you down and closed the bathroom door behind the two of you to keep the heat inside the room. 

After stripping and setting your clothes to the side, you stepped into the warm bath and let out a relieved sigh like you had when Joe had massaged you. As you sank down into the water and the beautifully scented bubbles surrounded your body, you felt your muscles begin to relax. Letting your eyes flutter shut, you basked in the euphoric feeling of being comfortable for the first time in hours.

“You look content.” Cherry’s voice was soft and quiet, careful not to startle you out of your happy daze. “Can I do anything else?”

“You can join me.” You extended your hand toward him. “Will you? Please?”

Cherry smiled as he too began undressing. “You don’t have to ask me twice,” he assured you, and as you slid forward to make room for him, he sank down behind you and the water sloshed against the sides of the tub as the two of you maneuvered into a comfortable position. 

As Cherry wrapped his arms around you from behind, you leaned back into his chest and smiled happily when he rested his chin on top of your head. The two of you stayed like that in complete silence for a while, just enjoying the time you had to spend with each other.

 “We should do this more often.” Cherry spoke after a while, sounding like he was enjoying the bath even more than you were. “I could almost fall asleep like this.”

“Don’t tempt me,” you warned. “I’m so tired.”

“You just close your eyes and relax.” He held you tighter. “I wont let you drown.”

“Promise?” you joked.

Cherry scoffed and rolled his eyes at you. “Yes, I promise.” He dipped his head down and began peppering your cheek, jaw, and neck with kisses, nips, and kitten licks. “I’m here for you. Whatever you want . . . I just want you to feel good.”

“That definitely feels good.” A small moan escaped your lips as you tilted your head to the side to allow your boyfriend easier access to your neck. “Very good.”

Once Cherry’s mouth reached your shoulder, he slid his tongue along your skin as he moved back up to your ear so he could work his way down again. “You know what else would feel good?” You felt him smirk against your flesh, but before he could elaborate, the bathroom door opened and Joe strode in with a spoon of something in his hand. 

Stopping halfway between the door and the tub, Joe narrowed his eyes at the two of you. “You know, I’m feeling very left out right now.”

“It’s not always about you.” Cherry scowled, clearly upset about being interrupted. “Ever heard of knocking?“

“I’ve seen you both naked before. Many times. I don’t need to knock.” Joe brushed off Cherry’s concern and approached with the spoon held out toward you. “Does this taste good?”

Now that your nausea had subsided and you were actually beginning to feel hungry, you happily opened your mouth and tasted whatever it was that Joe had created in the kitchen. You didn’t know what it was, but it was some sort of sauce and it was sweet. 

“It’s very good,” you assured him. “But everything you make is good.”

Joe’s face lit up at the compliment. “Not too sweet?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“Ahem,” Cherry cleared his throat. “I’m here too, you know. Do I get a taste?”

“It’s not always about you.” Joe threw his own words back at him before smiling sweetly at you. “Breakfast will be ready soon. I’ll call you.”

“Okay.” You couldn’t help but return the smile, feeling much better than you had earlier. 

Before Joe left, he pressed a kiss to your lips and a peck to Cherry’s head as a peace offering to make up for the two’s nattering at one another before. Then, he was gone and the sound of him working in the kitchen filled the apartment.

“What did he feed you?” Cherry questioned, running the tips of his slender fingers up your arm and leaving goosebumps in their wake.

You shrugged. “I have no idea, but it was delicious.”

“Mmm,” Cherry hummed, his mouth quickly finding its way back to your skin and sucking on your shoulder. “You know what else is delicious?”

You giggled when he grazed his teeth across a ticklish spot on your neck. “Breakfast is soon. You aren’t allowed to eat me.”

“But you taste so good, I just want to-”

“Kaoru, could you come help me?” Joe called from the kitchen, almost as if he knew what the two of you were up to and was interrupting again on purpose. 

Cherry’s head fell back and he huffed. “Oh, my God. Is five minutes alone too much to ask?”

Dropping your head back onto Cherry’s shoulder, you pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the nape of his neck. “Don’t go. Pretend you didn’t hear him.”

Cherry squinted down at you quizzically. “What’s gotten into you? You’re usually the one encouraging me to be nicer to him.”

“I know . . . but just this once, please?” You batted your eyelashes at him. “If he thinks we didn’t hear him, he’ll come to get you and then we can convince him to let us stay in the bath a little longer. It’s just so warm . . . I don’t want to get out yet.”

“But the food will get cold.”

Your eyes grew as wide as dinner plates at your sudden idea. “Do you think we can eat breakfast in the bath?”

Cherry laughed heartily at that. “Well if you ask Kojiro with the same wondrous expression you just gave me, I don’t think there is any way he could say no. He might even feed you if you say please and kiss that spot behind his ear that he really likes.”

“I hope so.” You felt like you were in heaven with the thought of being fed delicious food in a warm bubble bath. “It’s worth a try, at least.”

“Indeed it is.” Cherry kissed the top of your head, truly happy with how much your mood had lifted in such a short amount of time and proud of himself that he had helped make that happen. 

With your eyes glued to the door, waiting for your other boyfriend to walk back into the bathroom, you exhaled contently. Maybe today was shaping up to be a good day after all. 

[effeminateboyninja]

hi!! can I request shikamaru coming home to find a gn!reader listening to one of his playlists in the shower? fluff or nsfw, whichever is easier!

thank you thank you thank youuuu for this wonderfully self-indulgent request, this is actually my dream, so. anyway, i hope you like it lovely!! 💚

Yes, this one's for you

(Shikamaru x gn!reader) fluff // 1.3k words

🎶 troublesome playlist

What a drag.

Shikamaru sighed to himself and raked his fingers through his charcoal hair, glad to finally be finished with his responsibilities for the time being. The day had been more effort than it was worth, the better part of it spent chasing after Kakashi to get his stamp of approval for a myriad of projects and missions, and Kotetsu and Izumo were no help of course. All he wanted to do was get home and relax to make the most of his free time before he had to go back the next morning.

It's all for a purpose though, he reminded himself, the image of your face flashing across his mind and bringing a small smile to his lips. Coming home to his lover and best friend after such a long day was more than enough reward to put up with the heavy responsibilities he’d so begrudgingly taken on, and if he was going to support you the way he wanted to a few troublesome days at the office were a fair price to pay.

The tiny apartment that you two shared came into view in the distance ahead and picked up the pace of his casual gait unconsciously. It wasn’t anything to write home about, just a drab one bedroom situated above a convenience store. The taps leaked and there was a constant draft but it hardly mattered - it was yours, and it felt like home. You’d picked it out together almost a year ago, eager to finally move out of your parent’s houses and start your independent lives together. Since then the dreary white walls had been covered with polaroids and other mementos that painted the picture of your relationship. Some people might call it shabby, but he thought it was cozy. Finally he reached the door with a relieved sigh, the tension of the day left at the threshold as he practically bounded up the stairs.

As soon as he rounded the corner of the entry way he noticed the faint trickle of running water behind the muffled sound of music and your sweet voice singing along. He recognized the song right away - it was one from the playlist he’d made when you first started dating. Filled with music that the two of you listened to together when he finally realized he was falling for you, confessions littered amongst the lyrics and skillfully hidden between other songs that reminded him of you or your time together. He’d tried many times to pick one to be “your song”, but as important as those songs were to him, not a single one on its own managed to communicate the way you made him feel. You had a few ideas yourself but could never settle on one, indecisive as you were. “A whole playlist is better than a song anyway,” you would say whenever he brought it up. “It just means we love each other twenty times as much.” He’d roll his eyes at that, call you troublesome and change the subject, but the echoes of a smile would tug at the corners of his mouth anyway as he secretly agreed.

Originally he was planning to head to the kitchen for an after-work snack, but the sound of your voice changed his course. So instead he kicked off his sandals where he stood and shrugged off his vest as he roamed through the small space to join you in the shower and relax into your arms under the hot water.

He opened the door to the bathroom gingerly, tiptoeing inside quietly in order not to disturb your impromptu concert for the shampoo bottles. It was rare for him to catch you like this. The only time you ever graced his ears with your singing was in the shower, and too often these days his busy schedule kept him from sharing them with you like he preferred. So rather than disrobe and join you right away he crossed his arms as he leaned against the wall and smiled, cherishing the musical lilt of your words for as long as he could. The song changed and one of his favourites came on. It was the one that was playing the night he’d finally worked up the courage to kiss you for the first time. The two of you were laying in the grass side by side, the sun low in the sky as the song played softly over the blown speakers of his phone. It was something about the lyrics, “I am home wherever you are near,” or the way you put the sunset to shame just sitting there not even trying, or maybe just the way he’d been wanting to for weeks but holding back for fear of ruining your friendship - something about that moment felt right. And so he did it, leaned in before he could overthink it or even make a plan and took your face in his hand as he brought his lips to yours. The memory and the warm feeling that always accompanied it felt brand new despite being just over a year old at this point, reminding him just how much he’d changed in a few short years. Becoming right hand to the Hokage, meeting you - as much as he put on a show of resentment when it came to expending effort, it didn’t actually seem so taxing anymore. He found himself out of his comfort zone more often nowadays, doing things no one would expect of the lazy Nara man.

Like his next action for example, he would’ve shadow stitched anyone who tried to tell him just twelve months before he’d be singing along to a love song in the apartment he shared with his lover. Yet here he was, letting go of what little inhibition he held around you and letting the lyrics of his favourite song fall over his lips without any concern for his natural talent.

"But these things lose all their meaning

And allure

If you're not there to

Witness the grandeur

What could shake my love away?"

On the other side of the shower curtain the gravelly sound of his voice stopped your own singing, and a contented smile spread its way across your face as you picked up where you left off, your voices overlapping in an amateur harmony. The verse finished and you peeked around the curtain to look at the dark-haired man in the ponytail. He was still propped against the wall, his almond eyes soft with admiration and that magnetizing smirk that you loved pulling up the corner of his thin lips.

“Well?,” you questioned playfully, “are you going to join me or not?”

His smile widened as he walked over and captured your lips in a kiss. “Yeah, yeah. Patience,” he joked, earning him an eye roll as he pulled his shirt over his head and stepped out his pants. When he was finished undressing and his toned body was exposed to your wandering eyes he stepped into the tub and settled in under the showerhead beside you. He wrapped his arms around your waist and started a slow sway to the music that was still playing.

“I just wanted to listen to you for a bit,” he explained. “I love hearing you sing, I wish you would do it more often.”

He lifted a hand and caressed the side of your face gently. The blood rose to your cheeks at the compliment and you looked away, a small smile playing across your lips. You gave him a playful shove and laughed.

“Shut up… you’re one to talk. I never knew you could sing!” you exclaimed in reference to the happy surprise from just a few moments ago.

He shook his head and chuckled. “I don’t sing. That was a one time thing so you better remember it.”

“That’s not fa-”

He placed his hands on either side of your face and before you could finish your objection his lips were on yours, moving softly over them as the water fell over your faces. You smiled into the kiss as your hands settled on his chest and you softened into his embrace. He wasn’t going to get off that easily, you were filing away this new delicious knowledge for a later date for sure, but for now just the pitter-patter of the water and the sound of your playlist was good enough. A perfect soundtrack for the moment.

[ridethewritings]

spending a day with the boys. (headcanons!)

request: hey, i got a request!! i know this is super like general lmao i hope it's enough to work with! but maybe some headcanons on how each of the boys would choose to spend a day off from band duties with the reader! thanks in advance, dude!☺️

a/n: thank you @glambby for being my very first request. i’m forever grateful! :’) i hope you like these headcanons! i may or may not have gotten super emotional while writing cliff's headcanons. </3

warnings: none!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

james hetfield:

- being with james, you knew you had signed up for everything that came with this package. you fucking knew that you were about to have fun when he brought out some liquor from your liquor cabinet.

- this living room sure as hell was big enough for the both of you to get drunk and dance around, singing the lyrics to some random music you put on the stereo.

- the drunken stumbles of the both of you sent you into a fit of laughter as you slowly crumpled to the floor. james would have a huge grin on his now reddened face, cheeks pink from laughter.

- there is nothing like getting stupid, silly drunk with james hetfield. you thanked whoever was in the sky that you two didn't have neighbors in close enough proximity to y'all. hell, you damn sure knew if you did that you'd be getting noise complaints.

- once you two calmed yourselves, james brought out one of his acoustic guitars. another thing you absolutely loved about spending time with him this way. he gets relaxed, and he plays whatever he wants, and you sit there with a glass, the last few sips of your liquor in it.

- god damn, this man can sing. listening to him sing was amazing. it always amazed you at how talented he was, and it makes you wonder how the fuck you got to this point, being with him, the love of your life.

kirk hammett:

- this boy and his horror movies. you like horror movies too? "new horror movie out! let's go to the movies tonight-"

- "kirk, honey, you just got home today. relax-"

- "this movie looks so good though, just look at it!"

- eventually you gave in, and to be honest, you looked at the trailer and unfortunately, it did look like a good movie. now you REALLY had to see it.

- at the movies, he lets you get all the snacks you want, and he gets some himself, and of course he's getting the largest bucket of buttery popcorn for the two of you to share. he wants to make sure you both have everything you possibly need so that way the two of you wouldn't have to get up during the movie.

- go to the bathroom BEFORE you get into the movie, too! just so you don't miss any of the movie. if you do end up having to go again, he won't be upset, but instead, he'd follow you out so he can make a soda run for you after because your sodas ran out.

- oh yes, reclining in the top row of chairs and holding hands between all of the snacks you both put out and started munching on, stealing little kisses from you every now and then.

- needless to say, you two had a blast, and when you went home, you both went to bed, your head on his chest listening to his heartbeat slowing to a resting.

lars ulrich:

- walking through downtown, checking out small shops, his hand was in yours almost the whole time. crossing the street, he would never let your hand go, he'd keep you near him at all times. this man is protective.

- the street was lit with dim street lanterns, and the brick sidewalks made ways for the people in town to get around easily. there was music thumping throughout the town from not only the restaurants, but a small music store you spotted.

- you ended up dragging him into the music store to look at the metallica records. whoops? and the first one you grabbed to look at was the and justice for all record, which you knew had a picture of lars on the back. "look at you!" you said softly, pointing your finger at the picture of him.

- your comments on the photo made him have to resist the urge to smile, his cheeks getting rosy as he let out a small and barely audible laugh. and thank GOD no one noticed that it was actually him, lars ulrich, in the music store as you were making your way around, looking at the metallica albums happily.

- as much as he loved seeing you excited, and seeing your happiness about his band's success, he knew it was almost time for the two of you to get going.

- you've both never been in this town before, and you loved it already. you loved the hustle and bustle of this small town, the sidewalks crowded with small groups of people every once in a while, which wasn't a problem because they usually kept on their side and passed y'all without hesitancy.

- it was great, until he checked the time, then he took your hand, telling you that you both needed to leave.

- mans really made a secret reservation to a really really great restaurant that was located in this town. that was why he wanted y'all to be here this late. you weren't complaining about the town, though. you loved the streets and the small stores. this town was pretty cute.

- when he led you towards a restaurant that you laid your eyes on when you passed it moments ago, you made an audible noise.

- the smile that appeared on his face told you everything. and you loved him for that.

- the restaurant smelled and looked absolutely stunning, and he knew you wanted to go there when you passed it before. and honey, disappointment was not a word in your vocabulary when you left that restaurant. you two had a blast, and in fact, that restaurant was now your number one favorite. that food was BANGIN'.

cliff burton:

- cliff would be the person to take you out for a ride in his car, and just park at a peaceful and quiet place that he knows won't have other people at. just a regular hangout place that only he knows.

- it's nothing too fancy, but it's a great place to just relax and get away from society. how he knew about this place, you have no idea, but you're glad he took you here.

- he'd probably smoke a small bit, listening to music on the car radio, and eventually he'd turn it up so the two of you could go outside and sit on the hood of the car, taking in the fresh air.

- he would let you rest your head on his shoulder, and smile when you point out different clouds and their shapes. stay out for a little longer and the both of you would be looking at the stars, the first constellation he points out, being orion's belt.

- if you were hungry afterwards once he'd taken you home, he would call and order in.

- being in cliff's presence was and always has been a blessing from the stars, and you were very very grateful to have him. he may be quiet and chill, but you love him for it, and it always makes you relaxed whenever you are able to spend time with him. no matter how you spend that time.

jason newsted:

- you found yourself mesmerized by jason's curly hair blowing in the wind while the top of the convertible was down, the two of you going 85 on the freeway towards the mountains.

- boy were you excited to spend time with him for the night in that cabin in the mountains, seeing the pictures of the cabin and the views online before you went and booked a cabin over call.

- well, you were not disappointed when you rolled up to the cabin. even the views while driving up the mountain were gorgeous. remembering the way jason compared the mountain to you, saying that the views were gorgeous, but not as gorgeous as you.

- he said that, and all you could do was let out a small laugh, and he noticed that what he said, was in fact cheesy. but it was okay, because you loved him.

- getting into the cabin, the first thing you noticed was the warm smell of vanilla and cinnamon. maybe from the candles, maybe from the brand new bottle of rum that you spotted in the small liquor cabinet, along with some small shot glasses that were tempered with the gentlest of hands in warm red and orange color.

- the rest of the night went extremely well, you both had a nice dinner, some drinks, and relaxed in the outside hot-tub that sat in the corner of the screened in back porch, which overlooked the mountains of trees, a lake in the middle of the valleys.

- sleeping with him next to you for a night had to be the best feeling in the world, being in his arms after he was away for so long. it really takes it's toll on you, and he knows it. every time he has to leave, he apologizes profusely, and you tell him it's okay, that it's his job. and hell, whenever he does have free time for you, he always misses you too.

robert trujillo:

- what can i say? robert is a romantic, much like lars. he will want to take you out, no ifs ands or buts about it. insist that you two should stay home? sure, but he’ll find a way to make it romantic. want to go out? you bet your ass he’ll take you wherever you want to go.

- if you want to stay home, he would definitely close the blinds and curtains, make the house dimly lit instead of all bright from the light outside.

- hungry? he’ll cook for you, and you better not get up to try and help him. and to be honest, he’d cook a slammin’ meal.

- if you’re cold, he’ll go and grab both of you a big blanket to wrap the two of you up in, just to snuggle and watch whatever you want. another giant teddy bear!

- going out on this day, he’d cruise around in the vehicle with you, giving you the reins for the choice of music. no complaints from him, not a peep, he'd just listen to you sing the lyrics and have a smile on his face.

- man is just happy to spend this day with the love of his life. he'd do anything to make you happy.

[dustofbrokenheart]

The Lost Boys: Call 911

GIF by lostinsantacarla

Paul x Reader

Word Count: 2,550

Summary: Reader is out on patrol as part of the Santa Carla PD when they respond to a call out at the wharf. 

Amid the riotous flare of fireworks and fire crackers, it was difficult to make out the quickly approaching cop car but Marko prided himself on being observative.

Paul, Paulie, P-Man, his forever partner on the other hand…

Grabbing Paul by the front of his tank, he pulled the other vampire down to hiss in his ear. “We got company. We bail on my signal, got it?”

The honey blonde nodded distractedly, mesmerized by the bright bursts of colors overhead. The reds and blues and whites and pinks mixed with the curtain of smoke, creating a kaleidoscope against the inky night sky. 

He only heard part of what Marko was gripping about—something about a signal—but it wasn’t his fault he was having so much fun.

Another of their fireworks went off from behind Max’s Video, making him laugh even harder when some empty pallets became collateral. They splintered into pieces, the crunching sound of the wood masked by the other explosions.

Nothing said summer time fun like launching some Big Boys at the video store. It was a rockin’ light show and piss-off-Max scheme all wrapped in one. The crochety, old douche in question would no doubt have some choice words for them later but Paul wasn’t thinking about that; the only thing on his mind was blowing shit up.

In fact, he was so into it that he wasn’t prepared for the sharp punch to his ribs. He flew into the wall as Marko ran past, scampering to get airborne. “Go, go, go!”

The back door to the store opened with such force that it banged into the wall with a loud crack. Paul could sympathize. Two officers came through and before he could even think to pick himself up and run, they were on him.

The rounder of the two sat on his back, putting all his pounds into pinning Paul down. Normally, he would’ve thrown him off and maybe, probably, killed him, no sweat.

But.

There were too many people around that could catch him in the act. There’s no way Max would step in and not even Paul was stupid enough to slaughter that many people in plain sight.

Marko, he whined through the bond. A little help, bud? I’m kinda stuck.

All he got back was a manic cackle.

Paul squawked in outrage, knowing that the other would not be lending an assist. That traitor was all too content to sit back and laugh at him.

Whatever.

Screw him then.

It’s not like Paul had never been hauled in before anyhow.

“You know,” he grunted to the cop on his back, “It’s a good thing you’re not fat or anything, otherwise this would be more difficult.”

The knee dug into his back even harder and his head was pulled back by his hair. It didn’t hurt that much but still! He worked for hours to make his hair look good!

“Police brutality! I have rights, you know!” he yelled. The cop was starting to get on his nerves.

His face was shoved back into the ground and he ate gravel, sputtering to get the pebbles and grime out of his mouth with mixed success. The taste lingered and the only way to get rid of it would be to wash it down with something—

Hmm. He hadn’t planned on feeding that night but some pig blood would take care of it nicely.

He attempted to at least think of an isolated spot to rip out his throat without getting caught. Maybe in the cop car. Maybe he could drag him to the bushes outside of the station.

Oh! If the guy stopped for doughnuts, he could steal the car—doughnuts sounded good though. A nice chocolate glaze with sprinkles or something filled with strawberry jelly! The corner store on the boulevard had the best selection this time of night. He needed more hairspray, too, as long as he was at it, a magazine or three—he shook his head.

Come on, self, get it together!

“I’m going to find the one that ran. Officer Y/LN, you take this idiot back to the car and sit tight until I get back.”

Roughly, he was hauled to his feet and he had been so focused on the tub of lard that had him on the ground that he forgot two cops had burst through the door.

He planted his feet and refused to be moved as he glanced at the second one. It was like pushing at a stone wall, the other at his back unable to shove him into motion.

Immediately, Paul realized his mistake.

Why was he so occupied with that other asshole when he could’ve been looking at you, been pressed up against you the entire time?

The saying was that everyone loved a person in uniform and Paul was no exception. You made the normally dull standard navy uniform look good, the short sleeves showing off your arms and the pants managed to cup your ass in the tastiest way.

He’d cup your ass even better, if you gave him the chance.

Even the serious, disapproving scowl on your face was hot. What he wouldn’t do to get you to make that face with you on top of him, manhandling him any which way you wanted.

Screw his little feeding plan. He was willing to spare your partner in exchange for getting to know you better.

A big happy smile stretching across his face, he finally moved, dragging your partner rather than being forced forward.

“Hey, sexy,” he said with his signature wink, the one that always got him what he wanted with people. “Name’s Paul.”

To his disappointment, you didn’t respond and merely took control of his handcuffed hands as they were passed over.

As you lead him back through the video store, he pulled his arms to the left, acting like he was trying to resist. Just like he expected, you corrected him with a strong, tight grip that sent a rush down his spine.

“Ouch, babe, not so rough,” he purred. “I’m very sensitive.”

He glanced back quick to see your reaction and his bottom lip pushed out in a pout. You still wore a straight face that gave nothing away. No clenched jaw, no embarrassed tightening of your eyes. Definitely no hint of an amused smile.  

Gods, babe. You were really testing him.

Guess he’d have to try harder.

*** 

You were new to the Santa Carla Police Department. Very new. New as in it was your first incident on your first night on patrol.

It was just your luck that you’d ended up with airhead who’d set off a whole fireworks display right outside of a crowded store, which could have serious injury, and was now trying to flirt his way out of it.

Hell—was he pouting?

For a city of its size, Santa Carla PD had a surprising number of job openings. You were new to the area, having moved because it seemed like a nice, sunny California beach town and you were in need of a change.

You didn’t have any prior experience but you’d passed all the screenings and tests and expected the job offer they made. It had benefits, the pay was good, and, importantly, it was legal which seemed to be in short supply around these parts.

That last part was a surprise, especially with the high number of missing people’s cases; you’d think that more places would be desperate to fill jobs, too.

Steering the suspect towards the check out counter, you flagged down the owner who had been the called in to the station.

He turned towards you with a smile on his face and greeted you politely. “Hello, officer.”

“We caught one suspect, sir. The other fled the scene and my partner went after him. I’ll get started on the report—are you planning to press charges?”

The smile was suddenly no where to be seen and he casted a glare at the handcuffed blonde.

“But of course. I’ve told this degenerate and the others in this gang to stay out of here a hundred times before. They’ve gone too far this time.”

The suspect merely shrugged his shoulders and winked at you which set the owner off further.

“That! That right there is what I’m talking about. No respect, no conduct. How is a father supposed to parent if he gets no respect? Maybe they’re missing a motherly influence,” he trailed off.

A motherly influence? Okaaay, then.

Clearing your throat, you tried to bring the conversation back to topic. “Yeah…Well let me put him in the car and then we can get started on the report. Have a good night, sir.”

That should’ve been the end of it but of course the blonde had to open his big mouth. “Bye daddy!”

Max’s hand came down heavy on the counter and you jostled the boy away before he managed to start a full-blown confrontation.

“You surely have a big mouth for someone who’s being arrested. Don’t make things worse for yourself.”

His head perked up and you had to really plant your weight to keep him from turning around and sending you flying into a display in the process. Definitely stronger than he looked.

You noted that piece of information just in case he tried anything else.

“Aww. Are you worried about me?” he cooed. “Don’t be. I trust you to protect me, officer.”

“Any one ever tell you that you’re ridiculous?”

“All the time,” he nodded happily.

The profile of the suspect was coming together in your mind. Clearly, he was simple.

Happy and excitable, and yes, even pretty, but simple.

There’s no way he had been the mastermind behind the firework plot; that honor was likely saved for the one who escaped. He probably hadn’t agreed to do it with malicious intent either. Unfortunately, his inability to think things through had landed him in trouble and he was your problem now.

When you got to the entryway he even tried to the door open. “After you, officer.”

With a resigned sigh, you prodded him forward. Again. Really, this guy was worse than a puppy. A puppy could eventually be trained to listen but seeing as how he was late teens/early twenties, it was doubtful he ever would.

“You said your name was Paul?”

The p in his ‘yep’ popped.

“Last name?”

“Just Paul. I wouldn’t mind getting your name though.”

There’s no way you were telling him that. He would be that much more insufferable if he knew. And try as he might to hide his full name, that would come out when you booked him at the station.

“Well, Paul. You’re being charged with public endangerment and vandalism. Under California law, those are both misdemeanor crimes so most likely—”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waved away your words with a flick of his head. Annoyed, you yanked on the cuffs, causing him to moan. “I do appreciate a good pair of handcuffs.”

“You—!” You had to stop yourself from calling him a little shit out loud. No one would’ve stopped you, but you felt weird about it, almost like it would come off as being unprofessional.

Taking a deep breath, you tried to bring your voice back down. “Saying crazy things is only going to make things worse for you.”

“Promise to punish me if I don’t?” Another wink was flashed at you.

It was at that point you noticed he had long lashes for a male. They fluttered like butterfly wings whenever he blinked. Except you had a job to do and really shouldn’t care about how pretty he was.

You were so caught up in your thoughts that it took you by surprise when he leaned in close. Acting on tactical instinct, you threw him against the police vehicle, his torso pressed against the hood with legs spread wide.

The position was designed to be as uncomfortable as it looked so that there was little to no chance of him bucking you off. Good.

“Need I remind you,” you said gruffly, “That you are under arrest. Don’t test me.” 

“You should most definitely frisk me,” he panted.

You sincerely hoped it was pain, and not from pleasure, but from your brief encounter with Paul, it honestly could be the latter. Your own heart was pounding in your chest as well but that was due to the adrenaline pumping through your system.

Or so you maintained.

Still, he had a point. Frisking was standard procedure to make sure the suspect was carrying anything potentially dangerous, or illegal. Hell. You were going to have to give into this particular demand, weren’t you?

Wanting to get it over with, you tried to be as fast as possible while still be thorough.

His muscles were surprisingly cold as you felt up his arms and then his back. It was summertime and when most people had problems overheating, it didn’t seem to be an issue for him.

You dreaded going anywhere near his ass but it had to be done. He even insisted on ‘helping’ by pushing his cheeks further into your hands by curving his lower back as you patted down his pants pockets.

“Check the front too. I could have anything down my pants, ya know.”

That didn’t sound suggestive at all. His flirtations were so over the top is was near comical at that point. You couldn’t let him know that though. You were the authority figure in this situation.

“Alright smart guy, the frisking is over with. And surprise, surprise there was exactly nothing in your pants.”

“You wound me, babe.” If he had use of his arms, his hand would’ve definitely been placed over his heart.  

Standing him upright, you opened the door to seat him in the back. That had been the plan any way.

One second you held his metal clad wrists firmly in your grip and in the next, he twisted himself away effortlessly.

He spread his hands apart and although they each had a shiny steel band around them, the chain that had connected them broke off with a metallic clink.

Just like that he was completely mobile and he wasted no time.

In another imperceptible move, he covered your back with his front, his breath tickling you.

You couldn’t hold back a shiver.

“It’s been a pleasure, officer, but I really should get going. I’m just too cute for jail.” He rolled his head and his nose traced the shell of your ear with a deep inhale. “This was fun though. Let’s do it again, hmm?”

He shoved you into the back seat and luckily your reflexes were fast enough to catch yourself before you face planted into the leather seat. Thrashing like mad, you spun around as fast as you could but it was no use: Paul was already gone.

Stumbling out, you looked back and forth hoping to catch a glimpse of what direction he went but it was useless. Not only was that little shit stronger than he seemed, he was also faster.

Noted.

With a sinking realization, you knew you were going to have to explain this to your partner.

Oh, you were not looking forward to this…

Worst first night on a job ever.

_______________

Hope you enjoyed Paul! I feel like this is goofy and over the top but I guess that’s basically Paul’s vibes in a nutshell. Marko has definitely gotten Paul arrested before and Max has definitely called the cops on them before too haha. Thanks for reading <3

[monst]

Can you do Shinsou, Aizawa, and Dabi for waking in in your sleeping in the nude as well? I love this little series so much

What are Pyjamas?

All characters 18+

Shinsou Hitoshi, Aizawa Shouta, Dabi x reader. 

Warnings: Voyeurism, Noncon touching, questionable actions. Sexy times themes. Lol they’re under the cut since they ended up longer than I anticipated. Lol I couldn’t help myself and connected Dabi’s Hc with TDS Christmas pt1 :P 

Shinsou Hitoshi 

Tired, You were beyond tired. You knew you weren’t the only one as you had worked late into the morning with Shinsou again. You didn’t know how the pro-hero did it but damn you were exhausted. Your only solace was that this night had ended in the capture of the villain the both of you had teamed up to pursue

It was well about three in the morning and the trains had stopped running meaning that you had two choices, walk home or crash at the agency. You would have called a cab but your cell was out of commision due to the fight earlier that day. That and you chose the perfect day to leave your wallet at home so you couldn’t stay the night at a hotel. 

“My place is nearby. You can stay the night.” Shinsou had offered for the millionth time. He knew you were a prude and you cared a lot about your public image but you were falling asleep standing up and he was genuinely concerned. He was relieved when you had finally agreed. “I don’t know why you didn’t agree the first time I offered.” He huffed unlocking his door. “I don’t want people to assume that I'm sleeping with higher ranking heros to get my name up there you know that Hitoshi.” 

He let you be and offered to let you sleep in his room. But you refused to even touch the bed. Why? “I’m not going to sleep all filthy.” You pouted. You were really high maintenance but Shinsou didn’t mind. In fact he figured that it was probably a good idea if he washed off the day’s collected grime as well. You had insisted that he go first as it was his home. You waved him off when he pulled the ‘your my guest’ card.  

He didn’t take long and soon you found yourself inside the clean bathroom. Your clothes were on the ground and you had decided to draw yourself a bath. When you slipped into the warm water you sighed blissfully, the epsom salt in the water doing wonders to ease the strain of your sore muscles. Man you could soak here for hours…..

Shinsou had made tea. A soothing blend of valerian root and star anise. He loved the herbal mix and figured you’d appreciate it as it helped to relax your body and aided in a good night's rest… He had drank his tea a while ago and you tea sat there getting cold… He was beginning to worry. He hadn’t heard a crash indicating that you fell.... But he figured he should check up on you regardless. 

“(Name)?” He had tried the door but you didn’t answer. His hand tried the door knob and he realized the door was unlocked. “(N-Name) I’m coming in okay?” He pushed the door open and squeezed his eyes shut… He didn’t hear a scream… He opened a purple eye. His jaw dropped. Color rushed to his cheeks as the bubbles had died and left your nude form visible. His eyes observed your form and before he could get any ideas he shook his head. 

“Honestly (Name).” He sighed. “You have no idea how badly this could have ended.” He reprimanded your unconscious form. He looked at his face in the mirror and frowned as his entire face was rouge even the tips of his ears were a fiery red. “I… I guess I can’t just leave you in there.” He flushed, moving closer to the tub. “Jeez you look like I murdered you.” He snickered trying to calm his racing heart. 

You were still sudsy and his eyes lingered on your exposed breasts. He bit his lip and told himself he wasn’t a pervert as he drained the tub. His face was hot as he noticed how the water left your skin glowing. He rolled up his sleeves and turned on the tab allowing the warm water to run. He pulled his hair back and grabbed a cup he kept at the edge of the tub and proceeded to clean you off.  

His hands lingered against your skin as he couldn’t help but think that you were gorgeous. He had imagined you nude from time to time but he wasn’t holding his breath on seeing you so vulnerable before him. Your breasts were so soft, his fingers brushed against your nipples experimentally and he flushed at the soft sigh that escaped your lips. He pulled back to roll up his pajama pant legs and he hopped in the tub raising your legs to wash the soap off. 

“You even look good down here.” he mused brushing his fingers against your damp clit. “Hmm” He pulled back and continued his task. It was then that he realized he would have to change. He heaved your body up and out of the tub being careful so he didn’t fall. He smiled as you clung to him, nuzzling your cheek to his now damp shirt. “Your a handful (Name)... Literally.” He chuckled bringing you into his room to dry you off. 

He took the time to memorize your body before slipping one of his shirts onto your frame. He gave your cheek a kiss as he covered you with the warm blanket. “Sleep well (Name)” He hummed walking out of the room and laying on the couch…. A slow smile slipped onto his face as he recalled your nude form. He knew you’d be in his dreams for days to come. He just hoped that one day it’d be you sliding your hand into his pants to take care of him.. 

Aizawa Shouta 

You were hurt. Or so that’s what he was told. Apparently you had taken your class to help aid in recovering survivors of a landslide. To everyone’s relief no one was hurt. Everyone was helped out of the situation but the villain that caused the slide was still in the area. And like any hero you moved before you could think. It was amazing how you protected everyone and apprehended the villain but you didn’t leave unscathed. 

While fighting the hero who manipulated earth you were caught in a bind. You managed to break free but you he had fractured a couple of your ribs. After the situation was resolved you brought to Recovery girl. A stupid grin was on your face. Well Recovery girl called it stupid. She told you that you shouldn’t be so reckless and that you didn’t have to take on the villain by yourself just to impress your class.

“Oh come on I kicked ass.” You grinned. “And I looked good doing it- Ouch!” She had poked your bruised torso and you grimaced. “I should leave you like this” She frowned. “Please don’t I have a test I need to give my students tomorrow.” You smiled sheepishly. Recovery girl’s lips touched your skin and you felt better. Your chest was still tender and bruised but your bones had started to repair themselves. 

“It would be better if you stayed here for the night. Try not to move around too much so that you can heal faster.” She instructed. “I don’t want to see you here again (Name) Your not a child to be fighting recklessly.” “Yeah, yeah” You frowned loosening the strings of your medical gown to get a look at the black and blue bruise. When she left you busied yourself with a book. “Damn I really wish I had my phone.” You yawned. You kept on reading till the words blurred and you drifted off. 

When Aizawa had heard of your ‘hospitalization’ he was concerned. But even though Nemuri told everyone you were fine he wanted to check up on you. “Sensei! Ms. (Lastname) Dropped her phone when she fought that villain.” a student had told him, handing your phone to him… Well at least now he had an excuse to visit you without anyone becoming suspicious. 

It was late when he decided to visit you. He had made sure no one was around and he also made sure all of his students were sleeping before he left. He stalked through the dark hallways making his way to your room your phone in his pocket. When he got near the room he frowned an annoyed sigh passing through his lips. You seemed to have the same bad habit as he did, staying up late into the night. He pushed the door open to scold you.

To his surprise you were asleep, soft snores escaping your lips. He shook his head a soft smile coming to his lips. He went to pull away the curtain to put your phone on the coffee table beside you and when he did he paused. His eyes widened in shock. He wasn’t disappointed but he was surprised nonetheless.  

The knots of your gown has been undone leaving your body completely bare. “Usually people have their undergarments on underneath.” He mused removing the book that covered your chest. “But then again you aren’t most people.” He snickered. A frown was set on lips as he made out the discoloration of your bruise. Hie fingers brushed against the bruise and you groaned in discomfort. 

“Look at what they did to your beautiful skin.” He frowned tracing the areas lightly. “Shouta” You mumbled sleepily. He scoffed pinching your nipple making you gasp. “You're always causing trouble.” He muttered trailing his fingers down your body. “I don’t know why I was surprised.” He grinned. “You’ve love being naked.” He would know. Not everyone was aware but the two of you were lovers. And as your lover he wasn’t pleased that you put yourself in harms way when others could have helped you. 

“I should punish you for that, for making me worry.” He whispered his fingers brushing against you slick folds. He rolled his eyes when he felt how wet you were. His dark eyes turned to look at what you were reading before you went to bed. Erotica, of course. You really had no shame reading such a book in public. “S-Shouta~” You hummed as his fingers began to circle your clit. 

“Even as you sleep you know who you belong to.” He mused. “Nnngh” He buried his fingers deep inside your cunt watching as your face scrunched up in pleasure while you slept. “You're so careless.” He frowned thrusting his fingers into your tight heat while his fingers pressed against your sensitive clit. He leaned down to brush his lips against your ear and bit down lightly. “Anyone could have walked in on you like this.” 

“Ah~” He felt your walls pulse around his fingers in warning. And just as you were about to cum you woke. You looked around in confusion. You were panting and your body felt hot. “W-What the?” You noticed your phone on the desk next to the book you read and on the chair beside the desk was a familiar scarf. “Oh shit.” You gasped your blood running cold. You turned your head to the other side and caught the red eyes of your lover. “Oh shit? Is that all you have to say?” “H-Hi b-babe? H-how’s it going?”

Dabi

 Dabi’s breath came out in ragged pants as he looked around the corner. ‘Shit!’ he thought as he saw the heroes drawing closer. He was all out of gas and if he knew if he tried to take out the one coming closer then he’d get cornered by the others. Dabi wasn’t stupid he knew he wouldn’t be able to take all of them on. His blue eyes looked around wildly. ‘Think, think, think!-’ He recognized that chinese store. 

His eyes lit up as a smirk graced his scarred features. It seemed as though he would have to pay you an impromptu visit. Surprisingly enough his noodle arms were strong enough to heave him over gates as he made his way to your residence. Once the building was in sight he wasted no time in climbing up the fire escape. And just as the voices of the heros turned the corner he was closing your window shut, dodging when a flashlight shined in his direction. 

Man he was so glad that he had busted your window the last time he visited. Come to think of it the last time he visited he was also an unwanted guest, the thought made him grin. He didn’t bother turning on the light as he opened your fridge. His eyes caught sight of your tupperware and he pulled it out. He had hit the jackpot, it was homemade. The barbarian didn’t even bother to use the microwave instead he heated up the glass with his flames to cook the food. 

You were a good cook he mused as he browsed through the channels on your t.v. He wondered about what you’d say if you woke up to see him eating your food and watching a sitcom in your living room. A snicker escaped his lips as he compared his invasion of your home to goldilocks. Well? That wasn’t a bad idea. He might as well complete the story by taking your bed as well. 

Locked. He had to give you credit you were smart to lock your bedroom door. But Dabi was a man of many villainous talents and picking a lock was like stealing candy from a baby… A baby who had a deathgrip. Why was the lock being so bitchy? You must have done something. You were a crafty one so he was willing to bet you did something. “You think your so slick don’t you sugar plum.” He frowned. He worked at the lock for a couple of minutes till it finally clicked. 

When he turned the knob and stepped inside he almost tripped. “Fucking energy lights” He hissed as the shoes glitched in a flash of blue. Your room was a mess. And he had to dodge everything but legos to make it to your bed. His eyes made out your form on the bed but the soft glow of your laptop was more appealing. Your bed was right next to your dresser and it seemed like you had the laptop angled towards you before you fell asleep. “Let’s see what you were watching before you went to sleep sweetheart.” He chuckled. 

Great you had a password. He had failed twice but then recalled the name of the soup kitchen you volunteered at. “Typical.” He snorted watching as the screen displayed a play button. He wondered what a goodie toe-shoes like you watched. Who knows maybe you watched fighting tactics and that’s how you got out of his hold the first time you met. The video buffered a bit before playing and a lo whistle left his lips. “Well hello.” He grinned watching as the girl in the video spread her legs wider. The other actress licked a stripe up the girls cunt and she let out an exaggerated moan. 

“How naughty.” He chuckled sitting on the edge of your bed to browse through your history. “This kinky bitch.” He muttered as he read the thumbnails of the videos you had watched. He turned his head to chide your sleeping self “Not so innoce-” His words died in his throat. How the fuck didn’t he notice before? His eyes ran up and down your exposed body and he hummed in satisfaction at what he saw. “You know you look a lot better like this than with those ugly ass clothes.” He mumbled. 

It was then that he caught sight of the crumbled towel at the foot of your bed. But what really surprised him was the object near your thigh. “You lewd bitch.” He scoffed as he wrapped his fingers around the large neon blue dildo. It was big. Bigger than he was. He was curious. There was no way this whole thing fit up your pussy. Right? Well you know what they say right? Curiosity killed the cat. 

He dug around your drawer till he found your ill concealed lube. “Sparkling cherry.” he rolled his eyes. The heathen didn’t even bother taking off his shoes as he climbed on top of your bed. His warm hands took the underside of your knees and he pulled you closer all while spreading your legs. You looked so different like this. When he had started keeping tabs on you it was strictly to make sure you didn’t spill the beans on who he was watching that one christmas morning. He wasn’t planning on enjoying your company nor did he foresee himself in this position with you. You were always just a...Friend?

“A safe haven.” He muttered as he doubted his actions. He swallowed thickly an odd sense of guilt flooding his body. You were someone he could count on. Someone he came to rant to, someone who gave him warm meals and no matter how enticing you looked and despite the fact that he had a raging hard on and he wanted nothing more than to shove the toy up your cunt.. He couldn’t… Dabi huffed in annoyance and went to move from on top of you. 

“Pussy.” He heard you slur. His electric blue eyes shot to yours quickly. His jaw dropped. You were awake!?!? “You bitch were you awake the whole time?” He hissed. “Your loud as fuck. But no I woke up when you touched me. Your hands are insanely hot.” You commented. Well.. Since you were now awake that changed things. “Well?” “Well what?” He frowned. “Are you gonna put it in or not?” You grinned. He mirrored your smirk “You asked for it twinkle toes.” “Seriously!? Would you stop calling me tha-Ah~” 

I guess Dabi got his answer :P

[sirthisisa-wendys]

The General (part 2.5): Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

synopsis: Listen, all I have to say is: you better know your numbers.

wc: 1.5k

tw: nsfw (because we’re doing the slap-ass and touchy feely) 

masterlist

You’re guided to a massive tent in the middle of the camp, which is guarded by two men and lit up from the inside out. The General’s large tent is littered with lights and from what you can see thus far- a large bed covered in tousled sheets. This isn’t the marriage bed, is it? you wonder internally, feeling the rough fingers at your back tighten as you’re brought to a halt in front of Geto Suguru, who turns around with Gojo at his side. 

“Kneel, little one.” You eye the man before you with a stern gaze, refusing without words to bend at the knee and submit to him. No one comes to his defense, though, and you watch him shrug his haori off before he rolls his neck and sighs loudly. “Nanami, let her go.” 

Haibara and Gojo both give the General a look of trepidation, but you feel the fingers on your twisted arms loosen completely before they drop by your sides, aching from the unnatural contortion. Geto then turns around, walking past the bed and behind a screen that protects him from view. You look around the room, seeking an avenue of escape, but Gojo and Haibara stand to your right and left respectively; and the one called Nanami is behind you. In front of you is the undressing General behind the screen. You have no options. 

“I would have expected you to at least try to make a run for it,” Geto laughs as he walks out from behind the curtain, bare chested with a simple black umanori to cover his legs. “But you’re a lot smarter than I took you for.” 

A large dragon tattoo dances on his upper right arm, the head wrapping around the crease of his elbow and moving as his arm shifts back and forth in the dim lighting. The rest of him appeared to be unmarked, but his muscles - from the chest down - are enough to catch and keep your attention from then on. Geto’s long black locks flow around his frame, and he clenches his hand into a fist at the sight of you still standing there, holding your fingers against your dress and hoping the long bell sleeves would cover their shaking. 

“Kneel.” The command is met with even more resistance, and you straighten your spine while tilting your chin up. 

“Not in the presence of a murderer,” you reply confidently, and Gojo lets out a low whistle. Geto’s eyes slide to his second-in-command, but he says nothing, raising a hand and making a dismissive motion with his fingers. All of the men depart eagerly, leaving you alone with the man you despise. “Whatever you have planned for me here, you will answer to --”

“To who? The Imperial Court?” Geto wonders, strolling toward you with the calculated precision of a hungry predator and beginning his circle. His onyx eyes roll over you again just like before, devouring your appearance without shame, and you clutch at your body to hide whatever seemed to catch his fancy. “It’s a shame you came all scratched up… I would have liked to be the one to ruin this beautiful gown.” Before you can reply with something witty, you feel two hands clutch at the neck of your dress and instantly rip it down the seams, leaving your backside exposed. You yelp in surprise, clutching at the fabric to save the last shard of modesty you can hold onto. 

But your fingers are no better than flimsy flower stems when he pulls the fabric away from you, letting it fall to the ground in a flourish of pink and green. 

“Stop!” you cry out, but Geto only gives you a derisive snort as you attempt to cover yourself with only two hands. 

Oh, to be a goddess with seven hands.

“You have no shame. I’m afraid I’ll have to give you something to be ashamed of.” He takes a lock of your hair in his hands, examining it thoughtfully. “Discipline is spared only by those who wish to see their rule expire. And you’ll find that I do not wish to lose a shred of power in any respect, little one.” A harsh smack resounds on your ass, and you yelp again, this time in pain. “You’ll get one for every disrespect you’ve shown me so far. Count.” 

You seal your lips. The General shrugs, grabbing an arm and driving you toward the bed harshly. You’re flung onto the gathered sheets, ass up, and both arms are extended above your head - anchored by his large hand on your wrists. 

“Count!” 

“O-one…” you answer meekly.

“Louder, little one; I’m afraid the whole camp cannot hear you,” he whispers low in your ear and you find the will to call out,

“One!” Another smack lands on your ass again, and you gasp in pain, but you don’t count.

“Every time I must remind you to count, you will earn another one.” The word flies from your mouth immediately.

“Two!” 

“That was for breaking Haibara’s nose and for spitting at me,” His hand lands squarely on your right ass cheek, building on the pain from before. 

“Three!”

“For running away.” Smack!

“F-four!” you falter, feeling tears pricking at your eyes. 

“And for daring to refuse to kneel not once,” Smack! “But twice.” 

“Five!” your voice cracks, scratching raw. 

“Finally,” he exhales deeply. “For speaking to me in such an unkind manner, like I did not just save your life from a living hell.” This smack is different, much more unkind than the first five. It has so much force behind it that you jerk forward on the bed, your toes pressing off of the floor. 

“S-six…” Your wrists are released instantly and Geto departs, leaving you alone and naked in an unfamiliar place, with your backside screaming in pain and briny tears coursing down your cheeks.

_______________________________________________________________________

When you awake, only the sound of birds and soft chatter greets you. No General Geto, no harsh smacks on the ass. Just the sound of life as you knew it back at home. The sheets on the bed are tucked around your still-naked figure, and you wonder if you dozed off because of or despite your crying. Either way, someone had come in to tuck you into bed, and had the decency to cover you up. 

But it definitely wasn’t Geto Suguru, a murdering, treasonous tyrant who ran side by side with his white-wolf friend, Gojo Satoru. 

“Lady y/n,” a female voice murmurs in the expanse of the room, and you sit up to look at who spoke. A brown haired woman - who seemed to be about your height - bows respectfully, holding various items in her hands. “Master Geto has sent me to fetch you for a bath.”

And that’s how you found yourself in a smaller section of the large tent, sitting in a steaming hot tub with this young woman attending to you. You remain silent, eyeing her carefully as she touches your arms and legs with the softness of a house servant, her short hair drifting at the bottoms of her earlobes.

“My name is Kaori,” she begins conversing as she scrubs the sole of your foot. “I couldn’t help but notice that you made it out of yesterday's altercation with nothing to show for your dissent.” You groan inwardly, realizing that yes, the camp did hear you get your ass beat last night. “He is not usually so kind.” She places the foot back in the water, running her soft hands over the sole one last time. “But I suspect you already knew that.” 

You refuse to reply, drinking in the sunlight spilling through the open slit of the tent above you. 

“Master Geto is very kind to his most treasured servants.” 

“Am I to be a servant here?” you inquire suddenly, yanking your left foot back into the water. 

“Oh, no,” Kaori shakes her head vehemently. “I’m assuming he has not told you your purpose here.” You shake your head no. “Then I will let him explain.” 

“Can’t you just tell me?” 

“Not without risking my life, no.” Kaori replies. 

“I promise I will not speak to him of it,” you try, but the woman doesn’t budge an inch. 

“Many promises may be exchanged, but I do not know you well enough to rely on your word, my Lady.” And so you sat in silence for the rest of the time she bathed you, only whispering your thanks when she leaves you to dress in a plain kimono with nothing else. 

“Am I to be kept as a concubine?” you wonder aloud, and Kaori turns around, shaking her head one last time. 

“You’ll find Master Geto has no need for such frivolous things.” 

_______________________________________________________________________

When Geto arrives back in his own tent, you’re sitting on the bed and drawing with your finger on the sheets. 

“Come,” he beckons, holding out a hand. “I require you to be by my side while we eat.” 

You look up at him, and find his black eyes are hard and unflinching. Your ass still smarts a little, remembering the last time you denied his request. As you walk toward him cautiously, he murmurs, “That’s it. I’m not going to hurt you.” When you take his hand, he grips it tightly and then adds: 

“Well, I won’t hurt you too much.”

[quickspinner]

Neighborly

I had a bad case of writers block and rabbit brain trying to work on my wips yesterday, so I went and dug through my prompt lists, sat down with the sprint timer, and scrawled out this little bit of nonsense. I'm not sure about the final result but it broke the block, and I figured I might as well share it, so I hope you enjoy!

AO3

Rating: T

Marinette's been crushing on her cute neighbor for weeks, but she's never gotten the courage to speak more than a few flustered words to him. Now it might be too late--he's at her door begging for the use of her shower to get ready for his big date.

Marinette stared at the man standing at her door. 

“I’m sorry?” she said faintly, and the man smiled at her. That didn’t help the situation at all, as it made her knees wobbly. 

“Weird ask, I know,” he said, ruffling a hand through his blue-tinted hair. “It’s just that I’m supposed to have a date tonight and my shower’s been out for two days. Maintenance has quit answering my calls and I’m getting desperate. I really like this girl and I don’t want to give the wrong impression.” 

“Oh,” Marinette said, voice still weak, and then she plastered a plastic smile on her face. “O-of course you can! What are neighbors for, right? Um—” 

“Luka,” he supplied, still smiling. Marinette already knew that, of course. She knew an embarrassing amount of information about this man, considering they had only spoken in passing. The first time, he’d caught her when her shoe had broken in the hallway, and she’d pitched straight into him somehow managing to stop her fall and haul her back upright against him with only one strong arm. He hadn’t even lost the groceries he’d been carrying in the other. He’d smiled at her and told her to be careful with that soft velvet voice and she’d looked up into blue eyes that seemed far too gentle for his handsome, angular face and— 

Marinette suddenly realized it was her turn to talk and that she was taking too long. “Um M-Marinette, I’m. I’m Marinette,” she stammered.  

“Nice to finally officially meet you Marinette,” Luka said easily, as if she wasn’t the most awkward person he’d ever spoken to, as if she hadn’t run away from him after a few awkward words every time they’d bumped into each other—literally or otherwise. “If it’s okay with you, I’ll pop back over and grab my things, and be back in a few minutes?”

“Oh, um. Y-yeah, yeah, of course,” she babbled, and he turned away, raising a hand slightly. 

“Great, I’ll be back in a few then.” 

Marinette shut the door numbly, and then walked over to her couch and buried her face in a pillow. She screamed, kicking her feet, and then tossed the pillow away, moaning as she dragged her hands down her face. 

It wasn’t enough that the super hot musician with gorgeous shoulders and dreamy eyes was coming over to use her shower. He had to need her shower because he had a date . Marinette wanted to be his date! She’d been half-stalking him trying to work up the courage—well. Not really stalking him, just...observing. She just noticed things, that was all, like how he had a smile and a question for everybody, the way he fed the stray cats that lived behind the building, and always held open doors no matter who was behind him, and how hard his chest was beneath the baggy layers he wore, and—oh, that chest was going to be in her bathroom and—her bathroom! 

Marinette’s eyes flew wide and she nearly tripped over her own feet, flinging herself off the couch, running to the bathroom to grab anything too girly or potentially embarrassing and shove it under the sink. Fortunately her bathroom wasn’t dirty (she wasn’t an animal after all), just cluttered, and she frantically grabbed the underthings she’d draped over the shower rod to dry and ran them to her room, shoving them frantically under her pillow before going back to make absolutely sure she hadn’t missed any or left anything embarrassing. She put a clean towel on the rack and threw the dirty one over her arm and triple-checked to make sure there was no hair in the shower drain. She heard the knock on the door and jerked up, banging her head on the faucet of the tub. She yelped, dizzy with the pain for a moment. 

“Marinette?” Luka called, as she tried to extract herself from the bathtub with one hand clutched to her scalp. She couldn’t help the whimper that escaped her; that hurt. 

“Are you all right?” Luka asked, and Marinette whirled around wide-eyed to find him standing in the bathroom doorway. “I heard you yell and I let myself in, I hope that’s okay. Did you hurt yourself? Are you bleeding?” He dropped the backpack slung over his shoulder onto the floor and came over to her, gently tugging her hand away from her head. 

“I don’t think so,” Marinette gritted. “I was just...trying to clean up a bit, and…” She gestured at the faucet and Luka winced in sympathy.

“Ouch,” he muttered as he parted her hair with gentle fingers. He was so nice, Marinette mourned. Although...he did smell like he needed that shower. She held her breath and tried not to make a face. “It looks okay,” he said, stepping back away from her. “You didn’t have to clean for me.” 

Marinette gave an embarrassed shrug. “Wouldn’t you?” she asked dryly, and blushed when Luka laughed.

“Probably,” he conceded with a grin. “Thanks. I really didn’t mean to put you to inconvenience.”

“It’s no big deal,” Marinette said, finally mustering a smile. “Besides, how could I leave you in the lurch? Big date and all. I don’t need any more bad karma on my dating life.” 

Luka’s eyebrows rose, and Marinette flushed, cursing her stupid mouth that never shut up when it should. “So I’ll, um—” she gestured behind Luka to the door, “get out of here, so you can. You know.” 

“Oh, sorry.” Luka moved out of her way, pressing himself against the sink, and Marinette squeezed past him and out of the door. “Thanks again, I really appreciate it.”

“This girl must be something special,” Marinette smiled as she backed into the small hallway. “For you to go to all this trouble instead of rescheduling.”

“She is,” Luka grinned. “She’s amazing. I think so, anyway. I don’t know her very well yet, but she’s awfully sweet and super cute.” The grin on his face turned a little goofy. “I’ve been smitten since I met her, honestly.” 

“Oh,” Marinette kept her smile in place, trying to ignore the cold feeling in her stomach. “Oh, that’s really sweet. Um, well I don’t want to make you late, so I’ll just...music! I’ll go turn on some music.” That way she wouldn’t hear the incredibly cute soon-to-be-naked boy in her bathroom. “Um, take your time, let me know if you need anything.”

Luka’s grin widened a little. “Thanks Marinette.” He shut the door, and Marinette marched herself back to the living room to scream into another pillow. 

After a few deep breaths and a lot of nervous fumbling, she got her music player running. Jagged Stone should be enough, right? Loud enough to cover—she heard the curtain rings slide across the rod. The shower started running and Luka’s deep sigh of relief. Poor guy , she thought, he must have been miserable . She put the music player on and sat for a moment, chewing her thumbnail nervously. 

After a few minutes she sat up straighter, listening. Was that—over the sound of the running water and Jagged Stone wailing through her sound system, she heard another voice. Luka was...singing? He was singing along with the song that was playing. Marinette giggled, and moved to the other end of the couch, listening. He had a nice voice, she thought wistfully. She’d seen him with a guitar on his back in the halls. She wondered if some of the music she occasionally heard through his door in the hall was music he made, rather than the radio as she’d assumed. 

She flopped on the arm of the couch and groaned. He was so cool, and she was such a disaster. She would have never been brave enough to ask to use a stranger’s shower, no matter how miserable and disgusting she was. 

Poor guy , she thought again. He must have been really desperate.

She sat up, and picked up her phone, looking at it in her hands. Maybe she could...well, it might be stupid but it couldn’t hurt to just ask, right?

Marinette dialed the building maintenance number. “Hi Pierre,” she chirped brightly when the grumpy old technician picked up the phone. “It’s Marinette in 34 B? How are you doing? 

“Miss Marinette!” The gruff tone softened. “I’m doing well, doing well. Tickets lined up like crazy, though. Everything seems to be breaking at once these days.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that,” Marinette said, putting on a tone of great sympathy. “Maybe I shouldn’t bother you then—”

“Now, now, none of that. What can I do for you?” 

“It’s not actually me,” Marinette said, “It’s my neighbor across the hall, Luka? His shower’s been out for a while now and he came over tonight to see if he could use mine—”

“What?” barked old Pierre, and Marinette grinned to herself. “That punk with the piercings? You shouldn’t be letting him traipse through your apartment Miss Marinette. Guys like that always try to take advantage.”

“Oh, I’m sure he wouldn’t do that,” Marinette said innocently. “I’m sure he wouldn’t do anything like that. I was calling to see when his shower might be fixed, but if you’re so busy, maybe I should just give him my spare key so he can—”

“No, no,” Pierre said quickly. “I’ve got his ticket right here, see, he was next on the list. His shower will be fixed tomorrow, so don’t be making any foolish offers Miss Marinette. You’re too nice for your own good, you know.” 

“Oh, it never hurts to be nice, Pierre,” Marinette giggled. “I’m planning on making some chocolate chip scones tomorrow to take to a friend, so if you do come to fix Luka’s shower, stop on by, I’ll save a few of them for you.”

“Well, I’ll stop by if I have time,” Pierre said gruffly. “Not that sweets are much to a man my age, but if you made them…” 

“Great, I hope I’ll see you!” Marinette giggled. “Thanks so much Pierre, you’re an angel.” She hung up, grinning to herself.

“I can’t believe it. You’re magic.” 

Marinette jumped half out of her skin and whirled around. Luka grinned at her sheepishly, but she hardly noticed, because while he was wearing pants—a different, more fitted pair than what he’d had on when he arrived—his torso was bare, and her fluffy pink towel hung around his shoulders, catching only most of the drips falling from his blue hair. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, and I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. I just wanted to ask if you had a hair dryer I can borrow. I forgot to grab mine.” 

“Oh, um, sure,” Marinette said, jumping up. “I’ll just...I’ll get it, if that’s okay.” She blushed, thinking of all the things she had shoved in the cabinet before he came. 

“Sure.” Luka moved back out of her way, and she shimmied past him into the bathroom. She blinked a moment at the amount of paraphernalia spread on her counter. She’d never thought guys used that much product, but she shook herself and bent over to dig in the cabinet, trying to block it with her body so Luka couldn’t see inside. It took some effort to find the hair dryer, which had been shoved against the back of the cabinet in her frenzied tidying, but by some miracle she extracted it without dumping all of the piled up junk onto the floor. Sighing in relief, she straightened and turned. “Got it!” 

Luka was looking at the ceiling. His darkly tanned skin was flushed from the hot shower and the line of his neck made her swallow. “Luka?” she repeated, trying not to squeak. 

His dropped his gaze back to her, and she froze under the intensity in that look for a moment. Then he blinked and smiled, softening, and Marinette felt she could move again. She offered him the hair dryer and he took it. “Thanks, Marinette,” he said. “And thanks for getting Pierre’s ass in gear. He hates me, so I figured it’d be a week at least before I could get him to come out.” 

“Oh, that.” Marinette shrugged, and grinned mischievously. “I have a lot of experience dealing with grouchy old men.” She winked, and to her mild surprise, the color in Luka’s cheeks deepened. He cleared his throat. 

“Well, thanks for making the effort, I really appreciate it.” 

“Why does he hate you?” Marinette frowned, as Luka’s words caught up to her. 

Luka nodded vaguely in the direction of the back of the building. “We got into it over me feeding the strays. He was nattering on about disease and just breeding more and blah, blah, blah.” Luka rolled his eyes. “If he’d actually listen for five minutes...anyway, I have a friend, the blond that was with me that one time, you remember? He runs a trap-and-release program for feral cats, gets them vaccinated and fixed and all that and then lets them back out into their home territory. The cats behind our building are probably as safe as your average indoor cat, in terms of disease.” 

“Oh,” Marinette gasped, awed. “That’s really cool.” 

Luka grinned. “He’s pretty passionate about it. He did all the real work, trapping and transport and all that. I just make sure they have a good meal. May I?” He gestured towards the sink, and Marinette jumped.

“Oh, of course, please. I’m sorry, I’m going to make you late with all this chattering—” Marinette babbled as she and Luka did a slightly awkward dance to let him in and her out of the bathroom. He smelled much better now, she noticed giddily as they had to squeeze together. She only barely managed not to squeal when he took her arm lightly to guide her around him. 

“By the way,” he called once she was out, and she glanced back to see him unscrewing the lid on one of the sink jars. “Do you have any suggestions for good places to eat close by?” He looked over his shoulder at her and grinned. “I’m always looking to try new things.” 

“U-um—” Finding it hard to think while staring at his bare back, Marinette turned away and tapped a finger to her lips in thought. “What kind of food do you like?”

“Anything,” Luka replied, running fingers coated in some kind of gel through his hair. “I like all kinds of things.”

“What does she like?” 

“I don’t know yet,” Luka admitted. 

Marinette considered. “Well, my favorite is this Italian place about two blocks down, but Italian is chancy on a first date. Messy, you know. She might not be comfortable.” Marinette raised her voice as Luka turned on the hair dryer. “There’s an Indian place that’s a little farther away, and there’s a really cute little patisserie right next to it, that could be romantic. Oh, and there’s a park right there, if you feel like a nighttime stroll.” She frowned. “You didn’t already figure this stuff out?”

“I’m not really a planner,” Luka laughed, his deep voice carrying easily even over the noise of the dryer. “I had some ideas, but sometimes the universe throws you an Indian place and a cute patisserie, with a moonlight stroll in the bargain.” He winked at Marinette. “It pays to keep an open mind.” 

Marinette started to smile, and then remembered she was helping him plan a date with someone else, and turned away again. “Okay, well, you’ll have to let me know how it goes,” she said quickly as she went down the hallway. Her eyes were stinging and she took a deep breath as she blinked. Stupid , she scolded herself. She didn’t even know him, because just like always she’d never found the guts to actually talk to him, besides a hello and good night! and one very rushed um, cat food was on sale and I noticed it was the brand you buy so...here! SEEYOULATERBYE! He was her neighbor and she hadn’t even asked his name before today, only seen it on the mail that had been misdelivered to her box instead of his. All she had was little stolen scraps, because she hadn’t been brave enough to ask for more.

Ugh she was such a loser, it was no wonder Luka had never even—well, he had said a word to her, actually. Words like Are you all right? and Can I help you with that? and Wow, thanks, that’s so cool of you . Because he was sweet and nice as well as good looking, and if she’d had any guts at all maybe she could have— 

“Marinette?” 

She whirled, and Luka was standing there, his bag at his feet, closing the last two buttons of a black dress shirt. “Are you all right?” he asked as he began rolling the sleeves up to bare his forearms. “I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.” 

“What? No, of course not.” Marinette clamped her teeth down on her tongue before she could blurt something like I have shirtless men in my home all the time . Luka was looking at her with a slightly furrowed brow.  

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I should have gone back to my place to finish up, I wasn’t—I mean I didn’t mean to impose or anything.” 

Marinette took a deep breath and let it out slowly, and then gave him a genuine smile. “You didn’t. Really, Luka, I wasn’t bothered. I just, um. I got emotional about something for a moment there, but it wasn’t your fault.” 

Luka nodded. “Something about bad dating karma?” he guessed, voice so gentle it made her ache. 

“More or less.” Marinette tried to smile.

“Well,” Luka sighed, finishing the second sleeve. “Honestly I haven’t been too lucky in that department myself. I was hoping tonight would change that, but...maybe...maybe it isn’t the best time after all.” 

“What?” Marinette cried, staring at him. “Why? Luka, you seemed like you liked this girl so much, and you’re all dressed up.” She stepped to him and adjusted the set of his collar without thinking. “You look so good, it’ll be great. She won’t be able to resist you. Believe me, I know it’s scary to put yourself out there, but won’t you regret it if you don’t?” I do .  

Luka caught her wrists gently. “Yeah, I really think I would.” He grinned. “Now I just need to ask her.” 

Marinette blinked up at him. “You didn’t ask her?” she asked, bewildered. “Isn’t it going to be kind of short notice?” She frowned. “You said you had a date tonight.” 

Luka dipped his head in a kinda-sorta motion. “I said I was supposed to have a date tonight,” he chuckled. “And I would have—or at least I hope so—if I’d asked you out two days ago when I planned. But then I got home from work and of course I was sweaty and gross and then my shower wouldn’t work, and I couldn’t talk to you while I was disgusting. Not when you’re always so pretty and neat and put together.” 

Marinette’s cheeks flushed. 

“And then Pierre didn’t show and he didn’t show and he didn’t show,” Luka rolled his eyes. “And if I didn’t ask you out today, I’d owe my buddy that runs the cat rescue my favorite signed Jagged Stone album. He’s been bugging me about asking you out for like a month.” He grinned. “Ever since you brought me the cat food? He could see how much I liked you and he decided then and there we were meant to be, and somehow I let him talk me into this stupid—bet or dare or whatever, that if I didn’t man up by today...well. I would’ve asked you anyway one way or another.” 

Marinette’s mouth dropped open, and she was sure her face must be on fire.

“So, now that I’m presentable,” Luka grinned slowly. “Will you go out to dinner with me tonight? I heard about this really good Indian place. Maybe afterwards we could grab dessert and take a walk in the park? I’d really like to get to know you better.” 

Marinette gasped, and then her lips pursed into a pout. Luka laughed. “You’re mean,” she told him, kicking his shin lightly.

Luka’s shoulders hunched a little, and he looked guilty. “I didn’t mean to be. I’m sorry for teasing.” He blushed. “I guess I was nerving myself up a bit, telling you how much I liked you without you knowing, but I didn’t think about how it would come across. I didn’t mean to upset you. No pressure, okay?” He slid his hands from her wrists to her hands and lowered them between them. “If you don’t want to, no hard feelings. Just, like you said. I’d regret it if I didn’t try.” 

“But—” Marinette let go of his hands as her own flew to her hair. “I’m not dressed for a date!” 

Luka chuckled. “You look gorgeous to me. But I can wait if you want to change.” 

Marinette reddened. “I—w-well, I mean...I mean I guess we could—” Luka laid a finger on her lips.

“Breathe,” he told her, clearly trying not to laugh. “You’re really cute, you know that?”  

That didn’t help her efforts to calm down, but she did manage to breathe, despite the very distracting slide of his finger as it left her lips. “Fine,” she said finally. “But you better be prepared because I’m going all out for our second date.” 

Luka’s grin went wide and bright and more than a little silly. “I can’t wait.”   

ETA:  Okay, yes, I know this was a bit mean for Marinette. I did actually really waffle about it while I was writing it and I almost scrapped it a couple times, but the whole point of the timer is to keep me on task and stop the second guessing and overthinking that was sabotaging me, so I ran with it. I did ultimately decide to keep it because really, they haven't had a chance to really talk or anything here, and so Luka doesn't really know that Marinette's into him. He's aware there's some attraction between them, but he doesn't know how hard she's crushing. So really, he's just a bit insecure himself and psyching himself up a bit for The Moment. So I justify it to myself anyway. As soon as he's able to actually take in her mood he's aware he's messed up. If you can't forgive him, that's okay. Mari will get him back later.

Fiction Master Post

[gaitwae]

Only If •||• Loki x Reader

Please reblog!!

Summary: Loki Odinson is keeping you safe, but while you’re taking care of him you notice there’s more going on.

Tags: @megthemewlingquim​​ @make-me-imagine​​ @thorfanficwriter​​ @bwemph​​ @myraiswack​​ @silvermoonwolf777​​ @lucywrites02​​ @lokistan​​ @mostly-marvel-musings​​ @amwolowicz​​ @winterfrostsarmy​​ @superheroesandstardust​​ @castiels-majestic-wings​​ @geekns​​ @lokis-high-priestess​​ @natandersonnla​​ @cozy-the-overlord​​ @frostedgiant​​​ @whatafuckingdumbass​​ @thebookbakery​​  @delightfulheartdream​​ @twhiddlestonsstuff​​ 

Loki Odinson. Prince of Asgard. He sat in the water of his bath, relaxing and holding onto the sides of the golden bathtub. His hair curled weakly from being wet. You would have stared at the man if you hadn’t had something more important than his luxury.

He was beautiful, in a way that was near frightening. Long, delicate features, like a raven, with all the cunning and twice the grace. Jet black hair, dazzling eyes. He had his head propped against the brim of the tub, candles lit all around the dark room.

You felt the urge to give in to your desires, again, like you had the last time you needed to interrupt him. A weight in your chest dropped to your gut. You swallowed. “Put your clothes on and get out the door.” You were undercover as a maid, and only Loki knew about it.

Loki turned to you, sitting up. The water sloshed with a tinkling noise. “(Y/N), dear, how many times must I remind you that I need a warning first?” He sighed. He stood, grabbing a towel. “I thought you didn’t like seeing me naked. Unless... That’s untrue?” Loki smirked.

You felt your face heat. “Just hurry up.” You grit your teeth and avert your eyes. You loved the lavender scents he wore and bathed in. They drove you wild. Loki put on a robe, slinking toward you. A shashay of pride.

Your chest tightened when you felt his scent wafting to you. You knew he was doing it on purpose now. He wrung out his hair, twirling it into a knot. He traced your jaw, looking you over. How you hated when he did that.

“Darling, I will never speed up.” He sighed again, touching one of your locks affectionately and curiously. He smirks, cupping your chin. “You can’t just expect me to leave, can you? I’m not even decent.” He pouted fakely, going behind his curtain. You cross your arms.

This dark room smelled like his natural musk and all sorts of yummy perfumes. The golden glints made everything feel warmer, his silver tongue always so gorgeous to listen to. Perhaps, once upon a time, you might have been allowed to play this hard to get with him. Nowadays, not once would you ever be caught dead flirting or wishing for the ridiculous things he offered with just a look.

But yet you continued.

The guards poked their heads in, so you switched to using your “maid talk.” Loki could see them, too. “We need to go, my lord. This is important.” You shrugged off the want to see him more, and the rest of the childish wants involving his person.

“Patience, my Sigyn.” He winked at you when he popped out, all cleaned, dressed, and his hair slicked back and brushed. “Now what is it that is so unbelievably important that you had to interrupt my bath?” He took your hand to kiss it. You ripped your fingers away from his, annoyed, but instantly regretted it.

“You’ve been summoned by King Odin, my prince,” you say, quickly remembering to bow. The guards left, and you dropped your demeanor back to normal. You looked at Loki’s shocked face.

“Oh,” he whispered. “It is important.” Loki looked at your flushed face. “Do you like my new outfit?” He laughed nervously, trying to change the subject.

Both of you were sure that Odin had found out that you weren’t really part of the staff. You were from Vanaheim. Part of the Vanir. A conspiring rebellion against Asgard.

“Do... Do you think that he found out about me?” you whispered quietly. Loki looked at your mouth, stepping toward you. He took your hands, squeezing them softly. He had been helping you try and change the Asgardian rule so it was fairer to the other realms. He had committed treason.

Just as you had.

“Answer me,” you pleaded, getting worried by his unusual body language. You searched his eyes. They seemed so soft, so worried. He didn’t listen, lost in thought. His eyebrow arched when he tried to say something, but nothing came from his lips. “Loki, answer me!”

He looked back and met your gaze. “Only if you kiss me, first,” he mumbled. You could barely make out his words. You didn’t want to believe he just said that. Your heart skipped.

“Loki,” you try again.

His lips hardened into a thin line. He cupped your face with both hands, then held your shoulders, then held your arms firmly with his large hands. He moved forward, pushing you against the wall. He kissed your cheek, your jaw, your neck, holding you close.

“Loki, this isn’t funny. Stop fooling around!” you quietly scold. He kissed your chin, holding your face fondly but firmly.

“I’m not fooling around,” he says quietly, surely. He kissed you once, twice, three times lightly on the mouth. This couldn’t be real. You tried not to kiss back the third time. “I’m doing something I’ve always wanted to. If he hurts you—”

“He won’t. Loki, tell me what’s really eating at you.” You push him off gently, confused. Loki didn’t... he couldn’t feel the same way you did.

“You,” he says. “You’ll leave me here with—with him. I want to make you mine before then. Please, (Y/N), I... I can’t lie forever.” He swallowed. “You can’t just expect me to leave, can you?” He laughed, again, looking like he was about to crumble. He reused a sentence from earlier, which he never did. He was really torn up about Odin’s summons.

Odin never summoned him for no reason. Never to see him. Never to do anything but scold him. He was scared most of the time, and most times, he had no reason to be frightened by his father. This time you both had reason to be scared.

“I wouldn’t,” you promise. You kiss him gently, cupping his face. “And whatever happens, I’ll be by your side.” Loki nodded, taking a deep breath.

“Yes. Yes, okay.” You took his hand. He kissed it. “Follow me. Please?”

You nodded. “Yes,” you say.

You both start to head out the door, but a guard holds you back. “You are to stay here. His Highness must be alone. Allfather’s decree.”

Loki tried to argue but you shook your head. “Of course.” Loki looked at you longingly, but walked down the halls.

Hours later, just when you wanted to start searching for him, Loki came back with hands covering a bleeding face. You stood, rushing to his side. His muffled cries for you only made you even more worried.

“Loki,” you coo, “let me see.” He gently, hands shaking, removed his hands from his mouth. You gasped when you saw his new punishment.

Sewn through his lips was a golden thread. Your eyes burned with angry tears. Not even Loki was safe from Odin’s wrath. “Can we cut it?”

Loki nodded, writing with a trembling hand on the floor with a dagger, Dissolving thread. You very carefully pried the knife from his hands, putting the tip to his mouth. You cut the threads, apologizing when he cried out.

When he was cut free, you used your nature magic to heal him. “Oh, Loki...” You kissed his cheek. “Does it hurt, still?”

He shook his head. “No,” he says. He was quiet for a minute, letting you undress him for a bath. He was covered in sweat and blood. “I talked back to him.” He looked at the floor. “He hates me, (Y/N). He wants me to marry the princess of Vanaheim. I told him no.”

You started running the water, helping him in. His legs were cut up, too, but those would be harder to fix. He hissed as the warm water hit his legs. You caressed his face.

“Loki, don’t let him bully you,” you say quietly. He kissed you firmly.

“I would rather stay here. You’re with me.” He cupped your face. “Would you always be here?” He looked you in the eyes. “Or better yet, marry me?”

You grin. “Only if you kiss me, first.”