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mushroom-words · 2 months ago

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Intertwining Souls || Poly!WolfStar

Fandom: Harry Potter (Marauders)

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Fem!Reader x Sirius Black

Words: 2054

Notes: As usual, I will fix the formatting once I get on my laptop. And I’d like to thank the lovely @daydreamandforget for not only finding amusement in the boys’ pesky little flea problem in my other work Pest Control but for also inspiring me to explore it a little bit more. Also, if anyone has any ideas or requests for this particular pairing, please feel free to drop them by me. I love Poly!WolfStar with my entire being but have been dreadfully unsuccessful in thinking of situations to write about.

Warnings: Light dom/sub elements. Pet names. Dom!Remus & switch!Sirius if you squint. Reader is referred to as a girl with she/her pronouns but all other descriptions are neutral. Polyamorous relationship (if that wasn’t already clear).

Summary: You’ve been neglecting your sleep to take care of everyone else. Just when Remus is finally able to care for you instead, Sirius tracks in a bigger problem.

YOU WERE READY to fall asleep right where you were. It was all very lulling—the crackling of the fireplace a few feet away, the scent of cinnamon and sandalwood, the gentle brush of his fingers against your temple, and the cadence of his voice reading aloud to you. Your eyes drifted closed as you let yourself be blanketed in the warm environment.

The last week was particularly draining for you. Between your duties with work and the Order, and caring for Remus through the lunar cycle, you were running on fumes. Your boyfriends were absolutely lovely when it came to helping you through the stress and exhaustion, but it was that certain type of fatigue that could only be nurtured away with time and patience.

Remus paused to check in when he felt your breathing even out. He smiled softly and swept some hair behind your ear to get a better look at your face. The worry lines had smoothed out, lashes delicately brushing your cheekbones, muted breaths pushing past your marginally parted lips as you slipped deeper into sleep.

He debated for a moment whether to let you rest a bit longer in his lap or risk waking you by carrying you to bed. He was just about to put his book down when the front door was prodded open, a black snout nosing it open to make way for the large dog to come indoors. The animal nudged the door shut before shaking himself of the light downpour that had started not five minutes prior to his return.

Remus sighed quietly. “Must you always do that, Pads?” he complained, though a fond note softened the cross tone. “We’ve talked about this.”

Shifting back into human form, the Animagus merely grinned at his boyfriend’s annoyance. “Y’know I can’t help myself, Moons. ‘S in my nature.”

The other man rolled his eyes but let it go. He knew well that with Sirius Orion Black, it was wise to pick your battles—and this wasn’t one he wanted to rehash with you trying to catch up on some well-earned rest.

“Nice run?” he asked, moving his hand to trace his fingers along your arm.

“Definitely.” Sirius absently scratched his head and made his way over to the overstuffed sofa. His eyes drifted to you, adoration softening his jovial expression. “Aww, look at her. Ain’t she just adorable, Moony?” he cooed.

“She is,” Remus agreed, watching as you sighed softly and shifted. “Careful—don’t wake her,” he warned when Sirius reached for you. “She just fell asleep.”

“I’m not gonna wake her.” Sirius grazed his knuckles down the contour of your cheek. Despite his promise, your lashes fluttered at the touch.

You nuzzled against Remus’ legs before prying your eyes open, blinking through the haze to focus on your boyfriend. A sleepy smile notched on your face. “G’morning, Siri,” you mumbled.

Sirius chuckled and bent to kiss your forehead. “It’s late, bunny,” he said. “We should get you to bed.”

“No, no. ‘M awake.” You slowly pushed yourself up, still blinking the sleep from your eyes. The boys chuckled affectionately at your tired state.

“Dove,” Remus cooed, using an arm to bring you into his side, smiling when you melted into him. “You’re exhausted. Let’s get you in bed, yeah?”

You shook your head, dropping it to rest on his shoulder. “Wanna stay with you,” you argued. “‘M not sleepy anymore.”

“Liar,” Sirius crooned, scratching at his head a bit more intensely. He wasn’t even aware he was doing it, but it caught the attention of his partners.

Remus lifted a brow. “You okay, love?”

“Hmm?” Sirius snapped his gaze to him, pausing before lowering his hand. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good, mate.”

You frowned slightly, vision clearing a bit more as you eyed your boyfriend. His fingers twitched across his thigh like he was fighting the urge to scratch, curling and unfurling in increments.

You lifted your head from your other boyfriend’s shoulder. “Siri?”

“What’s wrong, sweet girl?”

Your attention was stolen away from his cautious expression by a small dark speck that abruptly appeared on the sofa. All traces of lingering sleepiness bled from your system when that little fleck jumped away. A twinge of irritation replaced it, breathing acuity into your mind.

Remus’ forehead creased as he tracked the movement. He snapped his attention back to Sirius, studying the way he shifted on the sofa, his nails digging into his trousers as he resumed scratching at himself. His focus honed into another tiny dot crawling on the sleeve of his jumper.

You pinched your lips together. “You have fleas. Again.”

Sirius’ eyes rounded, gaze darting away from you warily. “Don’t be silly, bunny. What makes you say that?” he asked.

“Well, if that wasn’t enough,” Remus said, gesturing towards where he was wildly scratching at his leg, “this,” he continued, reaching forward to pluck the pest with the tips of his fingers, “is enough proof, if you ask me.”

The flea wiggled around in the clutches of his fingers before Remus promptly rolled it between his nails, popping the exoskeleton with precision. He raised his brows at his boyfriend expectantly.

Sirius spluttered for a moment, heat flushing his cheeks. “Well—that’s—how do you know it’s from me?” he argued. “The full moon was two nights ago—it could’ve come from you, y’know! Or—or maybe…”

He trailed off as he clocked the pointed looks from both of his partners, neither you nor Remus particularly amused.

“Okay, fine!” He threw his hands up in the air before scratching at his neck. “I have fleas! It’s to be expected from time to time!”

Remus sighed and stood from the sofa, grabbing the other man’s arm. “C’mon, love. We’re taking care of it before it gets worse.”

He hauled Sirius up and started dragging him towards the bathroom. You watched with mild amusement as Sirius blanched. His fingers grappled at the wall, finding purchase near the doorframe. So dramatic, you mused to yourself with a heavy roll of your eyes.

“We? No, thank you.” Sirius jerked back, causing Remus to halt as his purposeful stride was interrupted. “I can bathe myself, thank you very much.”

You groaned at his theatrics and rose from the sofa. “Not in your Animagus form, you can’t,” you reminded him.

“Well, I won’t bathe in my Animagus form then, will I?”

“Padfoot,” Remus said sternly, though not without an affectionate lilt, “you know the flea shampoo won’t work otherwise.”

Sirius looked back at you as you sidled up to their stalemate, eyes wide and imploring. “Bunny, please, I’m begging you—don’t let him do this to me.”

You leveled him with a dour look. “I’m already gonna have to treat the flat and Remmy again in the morning,” you told him. “Get in the bath—or you can sleep in the garden tonight and we’ll bathe you in the morning anyway.”

A dark look of hopeless betrayal flashed in his gaze. “I can’t believe this,” he pouted. “You two are being unfair.”

Remus rolled his eyes. “C’mon, Pads. Let’s get it over with,” he encouraged, tugging Sirius away from the doorframe. “Dove, why don’t you go on to bed? We’ll be in as soon as he’s defleaed.”

Normally you might insist on helping wrangle the uncooperative Animagus into the tub, but now that you’d have to wake up earlier in order to get the flat in order, you knew it was probably best that you rested for the night. So you nodded your head, covering your mouth just as a yawn broke through, like your body knew that Remus had declared your bedtime.

“Sure, yeah, go right on to bed,” Sirius grumbled. “Pay no mind to my suffering.”

You gave a tired smile. “Your suffering will end once you’re not being eaten alive,” you countered, knowing he always felt better after a flea bath despite how difficult it was to wrestle him into one. “G’night, Siri. Love you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Love you too, bunny.” He continued to moan but couldn’t ignore the wave of affection when you pressed your lips to his in a sweet kiss.

“Sweet dreams, dove.” Remus, maintaining a firm grip on your disgruntled boyfriend, swooped down to kiss you goodnight. “And don’t wait up for us. You need to get some rest,” he added a bit more austerely, giving your bottom a solicitous pat to send you on your way.

You shuffled to your bedroom, looking forward to snuggling beneath the duvet and letting the plush mattress lull you into sleep. But as you settled into the empty bed, you knew you wouldn’t be able to actually kip down without your boyfriends. So you just closed your eyes and listened to their scuffling while you waited.

“This is a cruel and unusual punishment. You’re a bloody sadist.”

“Oh, stop being so dramatic. It’ll be quick.”

“Why don’t you ever have to take flea baths?”

“Because they don’t make baths big enough for werewolves, Pads. Go on then.” A soft laugh interrupted the bickering. “No, kissing me won’t change my mind. Get in.”

“I’ll never forgive you for this.”

“You’ll live, I’m afraid.” A few seconds ticked by, followed by a teasing, “That’s a good boy.”

An indignant, grumbling bark was the response.

You huffed out a fond giggle and rolled over onto your side. Your eyelids felt heavy against your sockets, like you wouldn’t be able to reopen them even if you tried, but sleep evaded you just as you predicted. It was quite pathetic really—you’d become so accustomed to having at least one of your boys with you as you slept that it was nearly impossible to sleep without their warmth curled around you.

It was one of many silly little side effects of loving so deeply your souls intertwined. A love so deep that it completed you, spilling into the pits denting your heart and filling them to the brim and then some. You honestly hadn’t known you could love another person quite so much until the boys graciously showed you.

You’d lost track of time as you lied there mulling over the ridiculous way you continued to fawn over your partners like a schoolgirl with a crush. You were snapped back into reality by the low murmurs and footsteps entering the bedroom.

“You think she’s asleep?” Sirius whispered.

“Hopefully,” Remus replied quietly. “She’s been exhausted.”

“Sweet girl’s running herself ragged.”

Muted shuffling around the space told you they were dressing down for the night. Then, slowly, the bed dipped on either side of you as they finally joined you. Remus settled at your back, draping a gentle arm around your torso and pulling you into his chest, while Sirius crawled to lie facing you, slender fingers running through your hair tenderly.

You sighed contentedly and let a small smile give yourself away.

Remus clicked his tongue when you shifted back against him. “You’re supposed to be asleep, dove,” he whispered, planting a few tender kisses to the slope of your neck.

“‘M supposed to be a lot of things,” you murmured, tilting your head up when you felt Sirius’ fingers glide down your jaw, “but I live to disappoint.”

The boys seemed to move in sync, free hands drifting down to pinch your hip and thigh affectionately. “Oi,” Sirius chuckled quietly, “that’s my job, bunny.”

You hummed and cracked your eyes open, peering at him through your lashes. “Feel better, Siri?”

“I will when you get some sleep.” He shuffled closer, kissing you sweetly, starting with a few on the lips and then traveling to the tip of your nose and finally your forehead. His hand squeezed your hip, thumb tracing idle circles against the curve.

Remus’ lips touched the back of your head. “We all will,” he murmured, tightening his hold on you until you were trapped between your boys—not like you ever wanted to be anywhere else.

You smiled again, sleepily letting your eyes flutter closed once more. “I love you.”

Sirius sighed softly, minty breath ghosting across your face. “We love you too. G’night, pretty girl. G’night, Moons,” he said, stretching over you briefly to kiss the werewolf before settling back again.

“Pains in the arse, both of you,” Remus mumbled fondly, voice low with a sleepiness that lulled you into tranquility. “Now shut up and go to sleep.”

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bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky · 10 months ago

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Mercy Kill | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hello! This was the fic that got the most votes in the poll I ran recently, so here it is. I'm glad yall picked this one, cause I was really excited to write it!

Also, there is something wrong and I cannot tag people properly right now for some reason. So, if you are on my tallest and happen upon this fic, I'm sorry! I don't know what the fuck is going on 😭

Word count: 10.6k

Warnings: PTSD, Hydra, blood, violence, minor reader injury, Bucky injury, angsty shit

“But if I could talk to him, if I could just see him-” you pled, “just for a minute! Please, he needs me and-”

But Bucky’s doctor remained steadfast. He crossed his arms over his chest and refused to move out of your way. Behind him sat the door to Bucky’s room, the door you hadn’t been allowed to enter for hours now. Bucky was only feet away, but you couldn’t get to him. Couldn’t check on him. Couldn’t hold his hand.

Anxiety rendered your hands completely numb. The urgent need to see him, to take care of him, to reassure him vibrated inside your chest. Every second that passed, every second that Bucky sat alone in his room in the medbay filled you with dread. Bucky needed you. You always swore you’d be there for him no matter what. But no amount of begging could get you through that door.

The mental image of him lying in his hospital bed all by himself threatened to make your throat close. Bucky didn’t like the medbay; his PTSD reared its ugly head each time he stepped foot in the white, sterile environment. He just couldn’t shake the feeling of impending doom, of pain and suffering and agony. And he didn’t like doctors, didn’t trust them. Not after he suffered so severely at the hands of Hydra’s “medical” team.

Every time he required treatment after a mission, he refused. He fought and clawed against the gloved hands that tried to guide him onto a gurney. And only when you calmly and kindly begged him to allow the doctors to take a look at him did he relent. But he held you tight as a vice grip the entire time. The sensation of your hand in his was the only thing that kept him grounded, kept him from spiraling. With you there by his side, he found a sliver of safety amongst the white coats that poked and prodded him.

Today, however, was different.

Things didn’t go as smoothly as you or Bucky had hoped. And your many calls for backup went unanswered. It looked like this would be the last mission for you and Bucky. Like you’d return home in matching body bags.

But just as he was overwhelmed by Hydra operatives, completely swarmed and swallowed by their agents- the backup team arrived. Hope bloomed anew as you heard their leader’s voice in your comm, announcing that they’d breach the door in the next few seconds. And they did. They helped you take down every last Hydra agent, freeing Bucky from their clutches.

But before you could rush to his bloodied side, a few members of the backup team whisked him away. They loaded Bucky onto their jet and set off toward the compound, leaving you and the rest of their team behind. No one listened to your pleas, your desperate insistence. They assured you that Bucky would be fine, that they’d get him the medical care he needed. But he needed you, too. He needed you to sit with him, to hold his hand.

No such luck.

As you boarded the jet that brought you and Bucky to the mission site, you kicked yourself for not demanding that you accompany him. It felt like you failed him, like you couldn’t keep your word. He deserved better from you. He deserved to have his anchor there by his side when the flashbacks gripped him by the throat. But you swore to yourself that you’d visit him in the medbay as soon as you landed. That you’d sit by his bedside and hold his hand.

But you didn’t- you couldn’t.

“Our new policy says no visitors,” Bucky’s doctor said.

“I’ll do whatever I have to do,” you insisted. “I’ll sign forms, I’ll wear a visitor’s badge, I’ll-”

“No exceptions.”

Even if Bucky’s hearing hadn’t gotten a boost from the serum, you were certain he ‘d be able to hear you fighting with his doctor.

“This is ridiculous- since when?” Passersby gave you judgmental sideways looks, but you paid them no mind. “Every doctor and nurse here knows that he needs me. That he isn’t comfortable around doctors- he has PTSD. Please, I always sit with him-”

“Not anymore.” The doctor nodded at a security guard who took you gruffly by the arm and escorted you out.

It didn’t make any sense. Every hospital allowed visitors. And even though the medbay wasn’t exactly your standard general hospital, they operated by most of the same rules. The always allowed visitors- sometimes two at a time. Their patients needed to see family and friends- needed a support system. And you were Bucky’s. But they stole you from his side for something as insignificant as a policy change.

With your hopes of being there for Bucky dashed, you pulled out your phone; the screen blurred as tears welled in your eyes. Bucky’s number sat the very top of your ‘favorites’ list, just as it had since you became friends. With a shaking hand, you pressed ‘call’ and held the phone to your ear. It rang. And rang and rang and rang. Until finally, Bucky’s voicemail answered.

“You’ve reached James Barnes. Leave a message.”

“Hey, Buck,” you sniffled. “I guess you might be sleeping. Um, I had it out with your doctor in the hall, but he wouldn’t let me see you. Something about a-” you rolled your eyes, “a policy change or something. So, just… just let them take care of you, okay? I know how you feel about doctors, I know you’re probably scared- but you need to let them treat you. You’re safe. I promise you, you’re safe here. And you can call or text me any time- we can facetime. Whatever you need. I’ll see you when you get out, okay? Call me.”

But he didn’t.

Without Bucky around, your world didn’t fall into place the way it was supposed to. Everything around you felt off kilter. Disjointed. Like you’d been dropped into a universe in which you didn’t belong. Part of you was used to this feeling by now. Every time Bucky went off on a mission that didn’t include you, you found yourself in this same, fragmented reality.

But this version was far worse. Because Bucky wasn’t away, he was here; he was only a few floors away from you. But you couldn’t see him. And you knew, without a shadow of a doubt, just how uncomfortable he was. How scared and alone and miserable. He was hurt- he needed rest. But you were certain he wouldn’t get a wink of sleep in the medbay. Not with his near-pathological fear of medical treatment.

Two days passed without you taking notice. Meetings came and went without your attendance. You missed training sessions and team dinners. None of it mattered, not without Bucky. He was all you thought about. All you cared about. Every absent thought, every passing notion revolved around him. He was in good hands in the medbay, you knew he was. But you couldn’t stop yourself from worrying about him. From spiraling.

Was he getting enough sleep? Was he allowing the doctors and nurses to care for him? Was he eating? Was he having panic attacks? You found yourself afflicted by the not knowing. By the unanswered questions. On any normal day, you knew about everything going on in Bucky’s life, every thought populating his mind. But now, you were adrift in a dark see of uncertainty.

It didn’t help that your every attempt at contact with Bucky came up empty. Hundreds of texts went unanswered. A myriad of voicemails garnered no response. He was radio silent; it made you nauseous. He should’ve been able to text back, right? To, at the very least, give your messages a thumbs up or a heart? It was out of character- completelyunheard of- for him to not answer you.

What if he was worse off than you thought? Was he physically incapable of even using his phone? Was he comatose? Was he dying? The possibilities were endless. Nauseating. Horrifying. Each scenario you imagined was far worse than the last. Far scarier. Far deadlier. And calls to the medbay offered no insight. You urged them to give you an update on his condition, to provide you with proof of life. But they refused.

You supposed that went against their new policy, too.

The anxiety, the worry, kept you wide awake. But even if you could sleep, you wouldn’t dare. Closing your eyes brought with it the possibility that you could miss correspondence from Bucky. Or his doctor. And you weren’t going to risk it. Hell, you even brought your phone with you into the shower. Just in case. It had been two days since you last saw Bucky. Since you last heard his voice. You wouldn’t dream of missing a call from him.

Twice a day, you cleaned and redressed the stitches holding your side closed and appraised the butterfly stitches above your brow. Everything inside of you ached to trade places with Bucky. To swap your minor injuries for his.

He’d gotten the large brunt of the onslaught when the ambush descended on the two of you. He’d drowned in a sea of Hydra operatives as they stole his weapons and beat him within an inch of his life. He was strong, yes, but he was still only one man. And taking on throngs of Hydra’s mercenaries without a single weapon was difficult- even for him. You did your best to provide support from the sidelines, to take out as many of his attackers as you could. But it wasn’t enough. Not until the backup team arrived did the horde of Hydra agents fall.

And now, Bucky was lying in a hospital bed. Without you.

He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve to hurt anymore. To bleed. He didn’t deserve to be in this line of work. Every other week, his assignments involved Hydra. And every other week, he was forced to retraumatize himself. Forced to see things he never wanted to see again. Forced to come face to face with people who hurt him, tortured him, treated him like an object.

For him, you wished nothing but ease. Warmth. A soft, slow life filled with love and gentle hands and safety. He never should’ve been forced to continue this kind of work. To put himself in harm’s way. To sacrifice his mental health over and over again. Hadn’t he given enough? Hadn’t he suffered enough? He did everything he could to build back his body and mind. To recover from the horrors he endured. And yet, here he was, being forced to risk his progress and peace of mind, all for a world that hated him.

On the third day of Bucky’s absence, your body begged for sleep. For a respite from the worry. For a meal that didn’t consist of Doritos and Gatorade. But you didn’t have the energy or the attention required to assemble a decent lunch. When Bucky got out of the medbay, you told yourself, the two of you would have a nice dinner together. You’d share his bed with him as you often did. And you’d both find solace in the arms of the other.

“I’m guessing we’re not going to spin class?”

Nat’s voice yanked you out of your spiral, scaring you half to death. She leaned against the wall nearest your bed, her arms crossed over her chest. How long had she been standing there?

Nat took in the scene before her. You laid sprawled out on your bed, resembling roadkill. Your head rested where your feet should’ve been, and your feet leaned against the headboard. Your arms were stretched wide against the bedspread like a dead starfish. And your gaze rested firmly on your phone, as though you were waiting for a call.

“What?” You eyed her for a moment before dropping your head back to your mattress. “I forgot about that. Sorry.”

“You need to get out of this room,” Nat gave your shoulder a gentle shake. “And you need to stop moping. Your life can’t come to a screeching halt because Bucky’s hurt.”

“I know…” But Bucky was your life- or at least, a very, very big part of it.

She was right, though. You knew she was right.

But it wasn’t just that he was hurt. It wasn’t just that he was alone. Of course, those were both massive, contributing factors. But it was the missing him. It was the not seeing him, the not talking to him. The not knowing if he was scared and panicked and lonely. The two of you were inseparable; being without him felt like losing a part of yourself. Like half of your heart was missing.

An unsettling cold seemed to worm its way under your skin without Bucky around. The world was a darker, utterly freezing place. No number of sweatshirts or blankets could keep the chill from biting at your skin. No heating pad could stop the frequent shivers. Somehow, your insides fell to subzero, Siberian temperatures. But after a while, you didn’t care anymore. You stopped trying to rid your body of the piercing, bitter cold. Only Bucky could do that. And he wasn’t coming back to you any time soon.

“It just sucks,” you groaned. A small shiver rocketed up your spine.

“I know. But it’s not like he’s dead.”

“I’m talking about the whole policy change thing in the medbay. It’s bullshit. Bucky needs me,” you let out a frustrated huff. “I mean, when did they put that in place? And why? It doesn’t even make sense.”

Nat furrowed her brow, “policy change?”

“Yeah, the new rule that doesn’t allow any visitors,”

“Oh. Right. That.” Nat threw her gaze to the window. Cleared her throat. “Well, I don’t know why they’d do that. But yeah, it sucks. Anyway,” she took a seat on your bed, “if you get changed, we can still make it to cycle. Maybe it’ll make you feel better?”

You shook your head against the mattress. “You should go without me. I haven’t slept at all the last few nights- I barely have the energy to breathe. I can’t even fathom taking a spin class right now.”

It was the truth. You didn’t have it in you to spend an hour burning calories you desperately needed. To waste your limited energy on something so trivial. But if you were completely honest with Nat, you’d tell her that the class would force you to focus on something other than your phone. And if you missed a call or text from Bucky because of something as stupid as a workout class, you’d lose your mind.

“Okay, that’s fine,” Nat sighed. “We can-”

“Hey!” Hill leaned against your doorframe, dressed in her workout clothes. “Are you guys ready for class?”

Nat stood and took a few steps in maria’s direction. “Well, I am. But she’s not coming with us.”

A frown pulled Maria’s features downward, “What? Why not?”

“She wants to stay here and wallow about Barnes,” Nat told her.

“They’re not letting me visit him in the medbay,” you groaned in Maria’s direction. “And I haven’t heard from him at all. So, I’m just-”

Confusion pulled Maria’s brows together. “But he got out of the medbay,” she said. “Yesterday.”

The energy you claimed not to have sprung forth all at once. In a matter of seconds, you were standing upright and crossing the room toward Maria; the quick nature of it all made you a little dizzy.

“What do you mean he got out?”

She was shocked by your intensity, “Um, I mean, he was released-”

“Released to where?” you demanded. “Like, they transferred him to another hospital? Or-”

“No, released as in discharged,” she said. “They let him leave around six-thirty last night.”

Last night? If Bucky was released last night, why hadn’t he called? Why hadn’t he sent you a text or dropped by your room? Was he that depleted? That worse for wear? The suffocating worry rushed back in full force. But you didn’t care about the crushing weight on your chest or the restriction of your windpipe. Bucky was back. He was healed enough to be released. And he was right down the hall.

Before Nat and Maria could stop you, you took off like a bat out of hell. Clumsy steps carried you down the hall and sent you careening into passersby every few feet. They mumbled curses under their breath and told you watch where you were going, but you didn’t have it in you to care. Stopping wasn’t an option, not when Bucky was finally within reach once again.

As you screeched to a halt outside his door, you raised your fist to knock frantically against the wood. But before your knuckles could strike the door’s surface, you recoiled. There was a very substantial possibility that he was sleeping. He was hurt, after all. And he needed his rest. Instead of a boisterous, borderline-obnoxious knock, you opted to lightly tap the wood with your knuckles. If Bucky was awake, he’d hear it.

But no answer came. After a few moments, you gave the door another gentle knock. Again, nothing. If he was asleep, there was no telling when you’d see him. He could be asleep for half the day, and you’d have to wait as long to reunite with him. Would it be too pushy to just let yourself in? Bucky was used to it by now- you both were. If one of you was already asleep, the other would often let themselves in and crawl into bed. It was just what you did; it was commonplace within your friendship.

And though you didn’t want to disturb him, your selfish side won out. Your hand found the doorknob and gave it a slow turn- but it didn’t fully give way. It stopped after twisting only a few millimeters. Locked.

“He needs to rest,” Nat called from down the hall. “I don’t think you should bother him- just let him sleep it off.”

Again, she was right.

And so, with slumped shoulders and shattered hopes, you dragged yourself back to your room. Once you’d collapsed onto your bed, you snagged your phone from its resting place and fired off a few quick messages to Bucky.

“Hey, Hill said they released you from the medbay!”

“I just dropped by your room but got no answer. Call me when you wake up :)”

“I don’t wanna disturb you or anything, but I miss you, Buck.”

The hours inched by with no response from Bucky. You did your best to avoid staring at your phone, reminding yourself that a watched pot never boils. But you couldn’t help yourself. Every few seconds, you had to sneak a peek at the screen in search of Bucky’s name. And every time, you found yourself disappointed. Broken-hearted, really.

Of course, this wasn’t the longest you’d ever gone without seeing Bucky. Many past missions stole him from your side for weeks at a time- sometimes even months. But the complete and utter lack of communication was new. No matter how dangerous a mission got, not matter how risky it was- you both still found a way to contact the other. Whether it was a short “I’m okay” text or a seconds-long phone call, a quick correspondence from the battlefield provided a reassurance that was desperately, desperately needed.

Sitting at home while your best friend faced life-threatening danger was never easy. When Bucky was away, you tore off every fingernail, biting them down until they bled. And anytime it was you on the frontlines while Bucky rode the bench, he started climbing the walls; he didn’t sleep, didn’t eat, until you got home.

The two of you simply weren’t meant to be apart.

Without those reassuring texts, you felt yourself losing your mind. You did your best to hook your nails in, to fight and claw to retain your grip on your sanity. But you didn’t have it in you. And so, your nails fell by the wayside. In only a matter of minutes, your fingers were reduced to a bloody horror scene. Every cuticle was in tatters, every quick exposed. Your hands throbbed and stung, but you didn’t care. It didn’t matter.

Four more days passed without word from Bucky. You texted. You knocked on his door. You called. You even slipped a note or two under his door. And still, nothing.

The worry slowly devoured you, one piece at a time. With your sanity long gone and your optimism dashed, nothing remained but pure, undiluted panic. And though you already decimated your nails, you gnawed at them anyway, digging your teeth into any free piece of flesh you could find. You wondered if this was how things were going to be forever. Would Bucky ever return to you? Or would you always feel this empty, aching void?

On the seventh night without Bucky, you didn’t have it in you to even lay on your bed. You knew it would take what little life you had left to heave yourself up onto the mattress. And the effort simply wasn’t worth it. Had there ever before been anyone this pathetic? This broken and utterly hopeless?

“What are you doing?” Nat loomed over you, taking in the scene. She found you lying face down on your bedroom floor, utterly despondent. “You didn’t want to lay in your bed? It’s almost midnight, you should-”

“I still haven’t heard from him,” you muttered into the carpet. “Why haven’t I heard from him?’

Nat knelt down next to you and gave your shoulder a tug, rolling you onto your back.

“Hi,” she gave you a wave.

“Hi.” You didn’t wave back- you didn’t have the energy.

Nat gave you a long look. She noted your messy hair, your limp body, the dark circles under your eyes. “I’m not trying to be a dick here, but you don’t look so good.”

“I don’t feel so good, either,” you shrugged. “I think I might be dying.”

Nat eyed you with pity. She knew how deeply you cared about Bucky. How much he meant to you. And she knew just how hard you were taking his injury and subsequent absence. For the past week, she hadn’t seen you eat anything other than a few chips here and there. She knew for certain you hadn’t gotten even a wink of sleep. And the bloody splotches where your nails used to be sent up a litany of red flags.

“I’m so… I’m so worried about him, Nat,” tears trailed down your face. “This is so unlike him- we never go this long without speaking.”

Nat stoked your arm a bit, “I know.”

“What if he’s not okay? He could be dying, and we wouldn’t have any idea.”

She gave your hand a squeeze, “Come on, don’t think like that. I’m sure he’s alright-”

You shook your head, “I keep calling down to the medbay. I keep telling them that there’s something wrong- that they need to check on Bucky. But his doctor is…” you gave a frustrated huff. “He’s being weird. It’s like he’s being evasive, or something. I don’t know why he isn’t more worried- I don’t have any idea what’s going on.”

Nat let out a long, heavy sigh. She squeezed her eyes shut and pinched the bridge of her nose for a long moment. This was the moment she’d hoped to avoid, the moment she dreaded all week.

“Alright, um, I wasn’t supposed to say anything- I wasn’t supposed to tell you this. But…” She gave you another long, sympathetic look. “You’re very obviously not okay. And I think that, if I don’t tell you the truth, you might actually die-”

Suddenly, you bolted upright. “Tell me what?”

“Bucky’s fine.”

Your shoulder’s slumped forward and you ran a hand down your face. Nat had no proof to back up her claim. No evidence. “But how do you know-”

“Because I’ve gone to see him,” Nat said, just above a whisper. “Multiple times.”

The world came to a screeching halt. Nat was allowed to see him? But you weren’t? Of course, Nat and Bucky were friends. But they weren’t nearly as close and you and Bucky- hell, you didn’t think anyone had ever been as close as you and Bucky.

Nat continued. “He’s a little banged up, but he’s alright. He’s just been hanging out in his room. Reading. Watching tv. That kind of stuff.”

The confirmation that Bucky was, in fact, okay helped you breathe a little easier. The pounding headache pulsating behind your eyes relented a bit, the knots in your stomach loosened ever so slightly. But you didn’t find ease. Not yet.

“But why didn’t he-”

Nat didn’t want to say it. She didn’t wanna tear you apart and burn your world. She didn’t want to be your personal messenger of destruction. But one look at you and your pitiful, heartbroken form gave her the resolve to be honest. You deserved honesty.

“Because he’s mad at you.”

It was the most preposterous thing Nat could’ve said. Not once over the course of your entire friendship had Bucky ever been mad at you. Sure, he pretended to be mad when you snuck a bite of his dessert or beat him at cards. But he never got mad at you for real.

But, you told yourself, there’s a first time for everything.

You knew you were capable of fucking up. Of committing transgressions against others. But for the life of you, you couldn’t think of a single thing that would make Bucky angry enough to completely ignore you like this. You racked your brain, shaking loose its contents in search of anything that might warrant the coldest shoulder you’d ever experienced. But you found nothing.

It didn’t matter, though. If Bucky felt slighted, if he felt like you hurt him in some way- who were you to say that you hadn’t? Who were you to claim innocence?

“What? Why?” You looked to Nat for help. “What did I do?”

“Something about a broken promise,” Nat shrugged. “But that’s all I’ll say. This isn’t any of my business. And I-”

A long silence filled the room as you thought about this new revelation. Nat’s words allowed you to look back on the past week with a new perspective. You saw things in a new light, a new context.

“So, there wasn’t a policy change-”

Nat gave a somber shake of her head. “He just… he didn’t want to see you.”

And just like that, Nat gutted you. You could’ve sworn she ripped out your still-beating heart with her bare hands and splattered the carpet with your blood.

He didn’t want to see you.

The words reverberated inside your inside your skull. Their razor-sharp edges sliced into you time and time again, leaving you breathless and aching. Over the course of the last week, you thought you’d reached the deepest pit of despair, the darkest possible recesses of agony. But you were wrong. There were deeper and darker, more excruciating places- and you found yourself in the depths of the most miserable, agonizing one of all.

“I was able to visit him in the medbay. So was Sam,” she told you. “He wasn’t all alone like you thought. He had us there with him to make sure he was doing okay. I mean he still struggled- you’re definitely better at giving him peace of mind than I am- but…”

Nat gave a shake of her head, clearing from her mind the image of Bucky having a massive panic attack in the medbay. His raspy inhales, his shaking hands, his wide, vacant eyes. Flashbacks plagued him each and every day down in the medbay. Medication didn’t touch his violent, soul-crushing episodes of PTSD. And Sam and Nat found themselves at a loss.

They did their best to be there for him, to help him find ease and comfort. But there was something missing. And that something was you. Nat even suggested to Sam that they sneak you into Bucky’s room. She proposed that, just maybe, Bucky’s need for your reassurances would outweigh his anger. And maybe upon seeing you, he’d drop his grievances and allow you to help him wade through the dark, choppy waters.

But super soldier senses be damned, Bucky overheard her idea; he vetoed it immediately.

“And his doctor seemed so unconcerned on the phone because he knows that Bucky’s fine- he checks on Bucky every day.” Nat let out a sigh of relief, as though she’d been holding her breath for days. “So, at the very least, you know Bucky’s okay. And now, you kind of know what’s going on. Do you want me to-”

Nat didn’t get to finish her sentence. Or maybe she did. You weren’t sure. Because before she could get the rest of the words out, you were gone. The panic coursing through your veins reinvigorated your depleted body, carrying you frantically in the direction of Bucky’s room.

Your knuckles struck his door before your feet came to a stop.

“Buck. Buck, it’s me-” you pounded on his door. “Can we please talk? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Silence.

Your knuckles stung against the wood, but you paid them no mind. “Please! I just want to- please, let me apologize.”

No answer.

“Buck, I’m…” Tears flowed freely down your cheeks. Your lungs burned from lack of oxygen. A crushing ache settled into every fiber of your being. And your strong knocks deflated into weak, pitiful pats. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so…”

He wasn’t going to answer. You knew he wasn’t. But some part of you didn’t want to accept it. Didn’t want to acknowledge that you’d lost Bucky- possibly forever. A tidal wave of weakness launched itself at you, robbing your body of the faux strength granted by the adrenaline.

Your hands found purchase against the opposite wall and guided you clumsily to the floor. With your back propped against the wall and your knees tucked into your chest, you stared at Bucky’s door. Waiting. He couldn’t stay in his room forever. Eventually, he’d have to return to work or visit the kitchen. And when he did, you’d be ready.

Because no matter how grim it all seemed-no matter how soul-crushingly hopeless your situation- you had to try. Bucky was worth it. Your friendship was worth it. Of course, if he told you to fuck off and never speak to him again, it would hurt. It would destroy you. But at least you’d never have to wonder. If you didn’t try, the not-knowing, the what-ifs wouldn’t haunt you in the middle of the night.

You didn’t care if the odds were egregiously stacked against you. If there was any chance at reconciliation, you were going to do everything in your power to make it happen.

It didn’t matter if you had to wait hours, days, weeks- you’d be there. You’d sleep in the hall, eat in the hall. Whatever it took. You’d wait a lifetime.

Lucky for you, a lifetime wasn’t required. Because after only four and a half hours, Bucky’s door opened. And for the first time in a week, you caught a glimpse of your best friend.

He was unshaven, his facial hair a little longer than normal. The gash on his forehead was almost completely healed. And the bruises that used to stain his cheek and jaw were nowhere to be seen. The knuckles of his right hand, though, retained their dark purples and inky blues. And the skin under his eyes matched; you knew instantly he hadn’t been sleeping.

But he looked so good, so beautiful. They way his hair fell in his eyes. The worn sweatshirt- the sweatshirt you gave him. Had he always been this perfect? This breathtaking? Of course, he had. It was stupid of you to even ask.

Seeing him again was like being saved from drowning. Like the first gulp of air after being swept away by a rogue riptide. Your lungs filled to capacity for the first time in a week. Your muscles released their hardened knots. And the ever-encroaching sense of biting cold vanished. In its place grew the warmest, most comforting summer.

Somehow, he didn’t even notice you sitting across hall. You knew he must’ve thought he’d waited you out. That you were long gone by now. But he clearly underestimated your stubbornness. Your determination. Your love for him.

The door was only open wide enough to allow him to place a tray of used dishes on the floor. And in the few seconds it took for him to do so, you launched into action.

“Hey!”

Bucky’s head snapped up. He locked eyes with you for a moment. And in that moment, you could’ve sworn he looked happy to see you. Relieved to see you.

His momentary pause gave you just enough time to rush to his door. You placed your hand along the frame, curling your fingers inside the jamb. If Bucky wanted to slam the door and shut you out, he’d have to crush your hand in the process. And no matter how angry he was with you, he’d never hurt you.

He let out an exasperated huff at the site of your strategically place hand. This was exactly the kind of thing he used to applaud you for. The quick wit and sharp thinking that he so admired about you.

“Buck, can we please talk?” you pled. “Whatever I did, whatever promise I broke-”

A sigh deflated his chest, “You talked to Nat.”

“I’m sorry, Buck. I’m so sorry,” the words fell frantically, wildly out of your mouth. “I’ve never been sorrier in my life. I’d never, ever want to hurt you-”

“That’s the problem.”

He said it so matter-of-factly, as though it made perfect sense. As though it made any sense at all.

You wiped a few stray tears from your cheek, “What does that mean?”

With a huff, Bucky encircled your wrist with his fingers and pulled you inside. He didn’t like the looks the passersby shot your direction. The way they ogled and whispered as though witnessing a car wreck on the highway.

Finally, after the longest week of your life, Bucky granted you entry to your favorite place. He did so begrudgingly, but you didn’t care. This room felt more like home than anywhere else in the world. It wasn’t the furnishings or the design that you loved so much; both were rather sparse. It was the memories. The countless nights spent watching movies in Bucky’s bed. The laughter, the tears, the deep heart to heart talks.

When Bucky first moved in, he didn’t leave this room for quite some time- not even for meals. And that was how you first got him to trust you. Every day, you gently knocked on his door and delivered breakfast, lunch, dinner, dessert, and snacks. It was your way of welcoming him to the building, of making him feel comfortable in a new place with new people. And of course, you couldn’t let the soft-spoken man with the kind blue eyes starve to death.

It took him weeks- maybe months- to finally invite you in. And once he finally did, all bets were off. The two of you became inseparable from that moment on, spending nearly every night in this room, seeking the comforts of one another.

But this moment was nothing like those of the past. This was awkward. Cold. Quiet. The tension hanging in the air grew so thick, so heavy that you wondered if your lungs might actually collapse. You waited for Bucky to speak first. And waited. And waited. And waited. But he didn’t say a word. He simply leaned against the wall, avoiding your eyeline.

Finally, the uncomfortable, permeating silence pushed you to speak.

“I’m- I don’t understand what’s going on. I just know that I fucked up somehow. And I know-” you rolled your eyes at yourself. “I know I said this a million times already, but I’m sorry. Whatever I can do to fix this and make it up to you, I’ll do it. I’ll do anything.”

Bucky considered your words for a while, letting the silence drag on as he mulled over your sentiment. He knew you were serious, knew you meant what you said. But it was too late.

“You made me a promise,” he said. “And you broke it.”

Truth be told, you’d made him a lot of promises over the course of your friendship. Promises to give him the pickle spear that came with your sandwich at the deli. To watch all of Game of Thrones with him without spoiling anything. To listen, to be open-minded, to never judge him for his past. You promised to always be there when the nightmares tore him to shreds and to be honest with him when he needed to hear the truth. You promised to be kind to him, to protect him. To remind him of his goodness when his demons called him a monster.

And above all else, you promised to never, ever hurt him. You took these promises upon yourself without Bucky even asking. And as far as you knew, you’d kept them all.

“Which promise? I don’t-”

“What’s my worst fear?” Bucky asked. His tone calm, like he was asking you trivia questions about himself. “The thing that scares me more than anything else? The thing that keeps me up at night and makes me sick to my stomach every time I think about it?”

And without skipping a beat, you answered, “Being taken by Hydra again.”

Your eyes opened wide. It was then that the puzzle pieces fell into place.

A guttural sound burst from your lips. It was haunted and broken, like a wounded animal’s final cry of pain before surrender. It ripped through the room and echoed off the walls; Bucky flinched as the sound barreled into him. Your nose burned, warning you of oncoming tears. Both of your hands clapped firmly over your mouth in an attempt to muffle the sounds of sorrow and shame. The attempt was unsuccessful.

And the deepest, darkest pit of guilt opened inside your stomach.

The promise. That promise.

“When I told you about that fear- my greatest fear,” Bucky continued. “I asked you to make me a promise. Do you-” his voice wavered ever so slightly. He did his damnedest to fight it, to build a blockade against the oncoming emotion. But his eyes grew glassy with tears, anyway. “Do you remember what that promise was?”

Even with his enhanced senses, Bucky struggled to hear your thin, hollow whisper.

“That I’d kill you…” you rasped. “If you were ever at risk of being taken by Hydra again, I’d kill you.”

The memory of your latest mission with Bucky barreled into you like a train.

He was overwhelmed- buried- by the deluge of Hydra operatives. They came at him from every possible angle, swarming him before he even had a chance to react. Even with his super-human strength, he was no match for the volume, the sheer barrage of assailants. Seconds after they descended upon him, his weapons were lost, ripped from his hands and thrown far out of reach. He didn’t have enough room to breathe, let alone fight. Knives plunged into his flesh, setting loose a river of crimson. And heavy batons pummeled his face and head, leaving him dizzy. No matter how hard he tried to resist, he felt them pulling him, dragging him toward a doorway. Toward an unknown, and certainly horrific, fate. But through it all, he managed to call to you- to scream to you- one phrase.

“Do it!” he begged. “Do it! DO IT!”

The pain, the sheer terror in his voice, sent a flurry of goosebumps rushing over your skin. The head trauma you received only moments before left you dazed, and the knife wound in your side made breathing almost impossible. Blood oozed down the side of your face and painted your vision red. But you found the wherewithal to aim and shoot- at everyone except Bucky.

“Oh, Buck, I’m…” you stumbled back a few paces, the sheer weight of your guilt knocking you off balance. Your back crashed against the nearest wall with a thud. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” Hot bile rose in the back of your throat, saliva coated the inside of your mouth. You forced greedy inhales through your nose, hoping to stave off the nausea. “I don’t know what to say…”

Bucky didn’t say a word. He didn’t move. You wondered if he was even breathing. He just stood there with a broken, tormented look on his face. He didn’t allow himself to blink, didn’t allow the tears gathering along his lash line to fall. He simply curled his metal fingers into a tight fist before spreading them wide again. Over and over and over again. It was a subconscious act, an anxious tendency he often displayed when his mind grew dark and uninhabitable. And, more often than not, it was your cue to step in. To rush to his side and save him from the torment.

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. You were the last person he wanted to see- he’d made that abundantly clear. And even if he wanted to you hold his hand as you always did, you couldn’t move. The guilt weighed you down, turning your feet into blocks of cement.

“I know- I know I said that I’d do it, but I…” A fresh wave of tears crested over your lash line and flooded your cheeks. “I couldn’t.”

“You promised,” Bucky’s voice was so anguished, so despondent. “You swore to me that you could- that you would.”

“The backup team was in my ear,” your words dripped with deperation. “I heard them in my comm- I knew they were there, I knew they were only a few feet away-”

“But I didn’t!” he erupted. “My comm fell out- I had no idea they were there! I thought-” His voice splintered; his rage shattered, setting free a tsunami of despair. “I thought I was going back!”

And finally, his tears broke through. They saturated his skin in seconds as they rolled down his cheeks and dripped into his beard. Shivers rippled up and down his body. Goosebumps covered his skin. The hair at the nape of his neck stood on end. Just the thought of being dragged back to Hydra doused him in a cold sweat.

His shaking hand swiped at the tear tracks dripping down his cheeks. He would’ve given anything for a hug from you. For your reassuring, comforting words. But he couldn’t find it in him to ask. Couldn’t find it in him to allow you so close. And so, he forced the tightness in his chest to relent, to accept the voracious inhales he pulled into his lungs. He couldn’t surrender to the panic attack looming on the horizon- not yet.

It was confusing, his need to touch you. His craving for your comforts. You’d betrayed him, hadn’t you? You’d broken your promise to him and almost fed him to Hydra’s meat grinder. But it wasn’t that black and white- he wasn’t sure it ever was. No, this situation lived deep in a gray area, never giving Bucky a cut and dry solution. And deep down, he knew it. He knew you never would have allowed him to be taken. He knew you had your reasons for leaving him alive. But anger was easier. Betrayal was easier.

“I’m sorry, Buck. I know- I know for sure it’s not enough”, the shame dragged your eyes down to the floor. “But I’m so sorry.”

What could you do, what could you possibly say to fix this? Nothing could ever make it okay. Nothing could ever heal what you did- or didn’t do.

“It was… it was selfish of me,” you admitted. “I just hoped you could hang on for a few more seconds until backup came in. Cause I- I wanted you to come home with me. That’s all I could think about. Just getting you home safe. I didn’t even consider k-” You couldn’t bring yourself to say the word. “Doing that to you. But it’s- I was wrong. I made you a promise. And I broke it. And if you ended up back at Hydra,” you took a deep breath. The truth was ugly, hard to swallow. It poked at your throat like a mouthful of push pins. “If you ended up back at Hydra, it would be my fault.”

Only silence followed.

Bucky hated the heartbreak in your voice, the tears streaming down your face. He hated seeing you in pain. The urge to wrap you in a bearhug yanked at his muscles, desperately trying to drag him in your direction. But he couldn’t, could he? He was mad at you- he was supposed to be mad at you. Once again, the strange, conflicting emotions needled at him. All week long, he forced the gray area behind a wall and chose, instead, to live in the black and white. To lean into anger. To side with the demons calling you a traitor and a liar.

But now that you were finally here, standing in front of him, the voices quieted. It was just the two of you, together. You weren’t the villain he’d painted you to be. You weren’t heartless. You weren’t evil. Hell, this whole thing would’ve been a lot easier if you were. And jus like that, Bucky found himself smack dab in the middle of the gray area he tried so desperately to fight.

“I understand why you’re mad, Buck. It’s-”

“I’m not. I- I was mad. Now, I’m just,,,” he gave a shake of his head. “I don’t know. There’s a lot going on inside my head.”

“I get it. And if you don’t,” you cleared your throat, fighting against the words that tasted so vile. “If you don’t want to be friends anymore, I get that, too. This was a- a really major breach of your trust. We always say that we have each other’s backs, but I didn’t…” You used the collar of your sweatshirt to wipe the tears running down your neck. “I didn’t have yours. So, if you want to be done with me after this, I-”

Bucky’s heart leapt into his throat. “No, that’s not what I want. I don’t want to cut you out of my life. I’m-” He gave a frustrated huff. “I’m just- I’m confused. Cause I genuinely wanted you to shoot me in the head back there. I wanted you to mercy kill me.”

The words tore through you.

“But now,” Bucky raked a hand through his hair, “I’m glad you didn’t. Because everything turned out okay. And I’m here. With you. But I…” He dragged a shaky breath into his lungs. “I almost wasn’t. I was almost there. With them. Again.”

All you could do was nod. What were you supposed to say to that? Nothing you had to offer could assuage his deep-seated, stomach-turning terror. You could never understand what he went through. Could never imagine the horrors. And it never even crossed your mind to put a contingency plan in place for yourself. To ask your closest friend to kill you in order to save you. You’d never understand that level of desperation.

“I don’t care about dying,” he shrugged. “I’m not scared of death anymore. I wished for- I prayed for death when I was-” he cleared his throat. “When I was there. I would’ve welcomed it.”

The mental image nearly brought you to your knees.

“I’m just scared of being their prisoner again. I’m scared of the torture, and the blood, and the-the…” His breathing grew shallow and erratic. His voice faltered. “The way they fucked with my mind.” Anxious tremors rendered his hands unsteady. And his attempts to wipe away the tears fell short. “And the killing, and the pain, and the-”

He was losing his battle against the fear. Against the spiral. It grabbed him by the ankles and yanked him downward, plunging him the darkest, most hopeless recesses of his mind. He found himself lost, adrift in the deepest, most sinister sea. The ice-cold waves crested over him endlessly, nearly drowning him with each thin breath he took.

But the sensation of your hand in his dragged him to shore. With the warmth of your touch, he found his way back. He returned to his body. He always knew you were his saving grace, his life preserver.

But holding Bucky’s hand didn’t feel quite right. Not after what you did. Especially because, deep down, you knew this was partly selfish. Knew that you enjoyed the feeling of his fingers braided with yours. But who were you to relish in it? Who were you to make this about you, and your needs?

And so, when he finally found his way back to the present, when he finally breathed evenly, you freed his hand from yours and gave him his space.

“Thanks for that…” he ran a hand down his face, still recovering from his trip to hell. Still needing you.

“Yeah. Of course- anytime.” You already missed his touch. But you refused to reach for him again- not unless he needed it. You pulled your sleeves over your hands and balled them into fists.

“I just- I’m never going back there. I can’t,” he said after a while. “And I get it- you didn’t want to kill me. I wouldn’t want to kill you, either. But I’d choose a bullet between the eyes over being their chew toy. Every single time. Cause it’s…” he absentmindedly let his hand drift to his face, to the scar the sat atop his cheek bone. The scar left behind by the device they used to wipe his mind over and over and over. “It’s worse than death.”

The vitriol burning in your chest smoldered and scalded your soul. You’d never hated anyone- never detested anyone- as much as you hated yourself. You were supposed to protect Bucky. You were supposed to be there for him. You were supposed to be the person he could trust no matter what. But you failed him. He was completely terrified. Retraumatized. All because of you.

Bucky rubbed at a hard, tense knot in his shoulder, “But you’re my best friend, and-”

“Exactly,” you scoffed. “You should be able to trust me. But you can’t. Cause I’m selfish.”

“I do trust you,” he said, almost immediately. There was something in his voice- offense, maybe? Like he took your self-flagellation personally. “You’re smart. You- you knew back up was down the hall. You knew I’d be okay. And now that I’m home, I know you made the right call. I was-” He pulled his vibranium hand into a right fist. “I was just really scared, you know?”

He flashed back to the moment the Hydra agents descended. To the moment the encapsulated him completely. He couldn’t fight, couldn’t move, couldn’t think. Bodies swarmed his vision. Voices deafened him. And the coppery smell of blood- his blood- filled his nostrils. He felt his boots sliding across the concrete floor. And deep down, he knew they planned to drag him out. To make him theirs once again.

He shook his head, clearing the image from his mind.

“Um, what I was going to say,” he continued, “is that you’re my best friend, and I shouldn’t have iced you out. I shouldn’t have lied to you- I shouldn’t have made Nat lie to you.” He gave a heavy, remorseful sigh, “I should’ve talked to you. You deserved better from me.”

“No- no, you deserved better from me.” You couldn’t believe his ridiculous sentiment. “You shouldn’t be apologizing- you honestly should’ve kicked my ass for this.”

If he’d wanted to hurt you, to make you bleed, to show you even a fraction of the pain Hydra put him through, you’d let him. He deserved some revenge, some retribution, against you. And if he wanted to act on it, you wouldn’t fight back. You’d sit perfectly still and quiet, allowing him to beat you black and blue. To drag a knife through your flesh. To break your bones and steal your will to live.

But you knew he’d never do anything like that- and he’d never want to. He wouldn’t even slam your fingers in the door.

“I never want you to be scared like that ever again, Buck. I never want you to go through something like that- I should’ve…” Saying it didn’t seem right. The words had razor sharp edges that carved into your throat as you spoke. “I should’ve done what you asked. And if this ever happens again,” You paused, banishing the oncoming flood of emotion. “I’ll do- I’ll do what you asked me to do. What I promised you I’d do.”

The words kicked the floodgates wide open. Another wounded, rasping sound escaped from your throat. And the sheer volume of tears threatened to drown you. Promising to end Bucky’s life was hard, but something about this second round was worse. More painful, somehow. A weak, wobbling sensation made your knees unsteady. And your face fell into your hands.

But Bucky was at your side in the blink of an eye. He rested his hands on your shoulder, unsure of how much physical contact to make after a week of silence and hurt. He let his thumbs sweep over your clavicles every few seconds, waiting for the storm to pass. And when the clouds finally parted, he gently pulled your palms from your face.

He cradled one of your hands in both of his, ensuring that you couldn’t slip away this time. “I’m not asking that of you anymore- I can’t ask that of you.” He freed one of his hands for only a moment, and only to angle your chin upward. He needed your eyes to meet his, needed you to know that he was serious. “It’s not fair for me to put you in that position.”

“No, Buck, it’s- it’s fine,” your voice wavered. “I can-”

“I’ve been thinking a lot over the last week,” he shrugged, “cause I- I haven’t been sleeping…”

Of course, he hadn’t been sleeping. Of course, the nightmares returned in full force. He’d worked so hard to correct his sleep schedule, to find a way to get the rest he needed. It just so happened that the cure-all to his sleep-related woes was you. He trusted you. Knew he was safe with you. He felt at home with you. Sleep came easy with you by his side.

But his recent assault by Hydra’s forces left him almost irreparably shaken. And his misguided anger pushed you from his side. Together, it was a recipe for sleepless, tormented nights full of flashbacks and panic attacks.

“I realized that I never should’ve put that on you- I never should’ve asked you to make me that stupid promise.” Bucky wanted to go back in time and throttle his past self. “And I shouldn’t have been mad at you. But I- I had a lot going on, you know?” He squeezed your hand tighter, as though searching for an anchor. “All of my old wounds were ripped open again and I was so fucking miserable and scared and…” He wasn’t proud of how he’d treated you. Wasn’t proud of the way he handled things. And though he was working hard in his therapy sessions, his coping mechanisms were still scant. “I needed to feel something other than fear. So, I chose anger. And I directed it at you.”

“And that’s perfectly fine.” You tried to take a step in the opposite direction, to put some space between the two of you. You didn’t deserve to have him so close, to hold his hand. But he held firm. He wasn’t going to release your hand- not now, maybe not ever. “You asked me to make a promise- a big, important promise- and I broke it. You’re allowed to be upset with me-”

“But it wasn’t fair to you- none of this was fair to you.” He kicked himself for ever asking you for something so heavy. So burdensome. “I can’t imagine what it was like for you to make that promise. The way it must’ve hung over your head. If you asked that of me, I’d…” He squeezed your hand a little tighter, “It would eat me alive.”

And he was right- it had.

Promising to kill him, in turn, killed you. It devoured you from the inside out, feasting on every moment of joy, every restful Sunday, every waking moment. Your promise to him came with sharp, jagged teeth that dug into your soul day in and day out. And while Bucky found peace in knowing that you may end his life one day, it brought you nothing but pain. Torture. Endless heartache. The darkest, heaviest storm clouds sat just above your head, shielding you from all sunlight, all warmth.

While Bucky slept soundly next to you each night, you laid awake, wondering when it would happen. If it would happen. How it would happen. Your appetite vanished. Your stomach tied itself into knots. And on more than one occasion, your doctor had to increase the dosage of your anxiety medication. Because no matter how many pills you popped, the weight of your promise sat on your chest like lead.

Each time you and Bucky boarded the jet for a mission, you wondered if it would be the last time you ever saw him alive. If you’d be forced to kill him in only a few hours.

And you knew, deep down, that if it was your bullet that sent Bucky to his grave, you’d never be able to live with yourself. That your very next bullet would find a home in your chest.

This dark, heartbreaking promise directly contradicted the first- and most important promise- you’d ever made him. Late one night, back when the two of you first started spending time together, Bucky found himself at the bottom of a pit. His PTSD snatched the reigns and nearly drove him off a cliff.

Flashback after violent flashback rocked his mind and stripped his body of all strength. He was weak, hollow, completely spent. And just as you tried to smooth the hair out of his red-rimmed eyes, he flinched. He yanked himself backward, hoping to avoid whatever blow he thought you might strike against him. He forced his shoulders into a corner and tucked his face to the side, hiding from the pain he so often anticipated. And it broke you. It was then that you promised- that you swore to him- you’d never hurt him under any circumstance.

And killing him seemed to you like a violation of that promise.

“It makes sense, though,” you said, pushing back against his all too generous rationalizations. “It makes sense that you’d ask me to- to do that. And I don’t want you going back there, either. So, I guess if I…” A sharp pain twisted through your stomach. “If I knew that we were alone. And there was no back up. And you only had two options: Hydra’s prisoner or death- I guess I’d…” Hot tears streaked down your cheeks, “If it meant saving you from them, I’d choose death for you.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that, okay?” He wiped a stray tear from your chin. “I’m not holding you to that anymore. And I’m talking to Rhodes tomorrow. I’m gonna see if we can do away doing these two-person missions,” he said. “Cause they’re pretty impractical and risky, if you ask me. It’s safer when there’s a group of us, you know?”

You gave him a small nod, still too overcome by the anguish coursing through your veins.

Finally- mercifully- Bucky wrapped his arms around you and pulled you tight against his body. In an instant, your arms snaked their way around his back and pulled him ever closer. You’d missed him so intensely- so severely- it was like experiencing withdrawal. You could practically feel your body breaking down without him by your side. And he felt that same emptiness, that same aching void. He was convinced that he was never supposed to exist without you next to him. That he didn’t really live until he met you. The two of you were a package deal, two halves of a whole.

After witnessing Bucky’s attempted abduction by Hydra, spending a week without him was a living hell. You needed to see him, speak to him, touch him. You needed to know that he was there. That he was okay. That he was home. You needed the confirmation that he made it out alive. But he’d disappeared from your life. And part of you wondered if he really was safe and sound in his room down the hall. Or if your mind made it all up just to save you the pain of losing him.

Time seemed to stand still as the two of you held each other. This was what Bucky needed all week. You were what he needed. The residual fear and torment brought on by his latest Hydra encounter seemed to fizzle out as you buried your face in his chest. It didn’t vanish completely- he feared it never would- but you put it on mute. You helped him breathe easy again.

After was felt like half an hour, you unwillingly unwound yourself from Bucky’s battered body.

“It’s late. I should get out of your hair,” you couldn’t mask your disappointment. “I know you said you haven’t been sleeping. But you’re still healing. So, you should probably try and get some rest-”

He nodded, but didn’t even attempt to hide just how much he hated the idea of your absence.

And though you knew you should leave, you couldn’t find the will to move toward the door. Nor did Bucky try to show you out. The two of you just stood there, staring at each other. Leaving soft touches against the other’s skin. Relishing in the reunion.

“Um, you could stay,” Bucky finally said. “If you want.”

You hadn’t even considered it. He was going to need time to deal with everything. To sit with what happened to him. And you felt that your presence would only make it more difficult. Sure, he wasn’t mad at you. But did he really want you sleeping in his bed like you used to?

“Oh, okay. Yeah. Would it-” you pulled at the hem of your sweatshirt as uncertainty got the better of you. “Would that be okay?”

Bucky gave a fervent nod. “I want you to. So, if it’s okay with you, it’s okay with me.” He cupped your cheek in his massive hand, examining the dark circles under your tired eyes. “Plus, Nat said you haven’t slept all week. So, I thought we could both get some rest. Together.”

He took your hand and led you to his bed, the bed you’d shared with him so many times before. The bed you’d curled up in almost every night. The bed in which you’d watched countless black and white movies. The bed you’d tossed and turned in every night after promising to end Bucky’s life. But with the offending promise lifted from your tired shoulders, you crawled under the familiar covers and breathed a sigh of relief. Bucky took you in his arms, molding his body around yours as he so often did. And with him lying safely next to you, you thanked your lucky stars that you didn’t keep your promise.

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togeppy · 1 year ago

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the waiting game ;

tsukishima kei x reader

reader is childhood friends with tsukki, and has an ongoing bit where she'll ask him out periodically. she's grown used to him saying no, and doesn't expect it when he actually says yes.

You would easily consider Tsukishima Kei your closest friend. You grew up on the same street, went to the same schools, and were in the same class on multiple occasions, so your frequent proximity had forced the two of you to become very familiar with one another. Though he had a personality that others may find sour, knowing him for so long meant that you had seen every version of him, and knew that there was more to him than the reputation that he had gained. Sure, he was arrogant and standoffish a vast majority of the time, but you knew that he was also kind and considerate towards those he cared about.

You didn't think that it was possible to gain feelings for a friend so close to you, but over the years you couldn't help but find yourself growing more and more intrigued with the idea of being in a relationship with your best friend. You cherished the friendship that the two of you had, but you couldn't help but wish that it could blossom into something more. Even as a child, you knew you wanted to make a move, but were held back by the fear that he would take it negatively, and you would lose a friend that meant the world to you. Sure, you both had other friends outside of each other, but a life without Tsukishima Kei by your side was not something you wanted to risk.

The first time you asked him out was a joke to test the waters. The situation had been perfectly laid out for you, so you figured you might as well give it an attempt.

At twelve years old, you, Tsukki, and your deskmates sat chatting about how White Day was approaching, with some members of the conversation more enthusiastic than others. One boy excitedly announced that he had started dating another girl in the class, and was planning on surprising her with candy on the special day. One by one, each of the boys rattled off who they wanted to give a present on the holiday, while the girls helped pitch ideas on how they could make their surprises even better.

"Who are you getting a present for, Tsukishima?" a voice sounded next to you, a bright eyed girl addressing the one member of the circle who had not made a contribution.

Tsukki stared blankly at her, before shaking his head, "No one, I don't have a girlfriend."

The boy seated next to him accusingly pointed a finger in his direction. "There's gotta be someone you want to get a gift for. It's White Day, this is your chance to get one!"

Your best friend scoffed, folding his arms in defiance. "It's a made up holiday, and a girlfriend right now would be a waste of time and money. Why would I buy chocolates for someone I don't have any interest in?"

Sounds of protest came from everyone sitting at the table. Upon hearing his thoughts, you supposed that should have been a clear enough answer to whether or not he had an interest in anyone, but you couldn't help but think that he was only staying quiet because you were present at the table. While somewhat disappointed, you knew that this was your chance to prod him further and get a more concrete answer.

"Date me, I'm your best friend and I'll gladly take the chocolates," you half-joked, trying to play it off as cool as a twelve year old possibly could.

Your answer came quickly, not in the form of an answer, but in the ease of him brushing you off, not even considering the possibility that you could genuinely mean what you had just said.

"I'm not getting anything for anyone, find someone else to buy your chocolates."

Following that conversation, it had been a whole year before you took another chance at proposing the idea of a relationship, fearing that you would be shot down once again. It was a similar situation; the environment had given you the chance to casually slide the idea into the conversation, and you couldn't give up the opportunity.

You and now-thirteen-year-old Tsukishima Kei stood in a convenience store on your way home from school, picking out snacks after you had spent a long day with your clubs at school. You were in the art club and had to take home a painting that you had done on a disproportionately large canvas. As you decided you wanted a barbecue pork bun, Tsukki picked yours up on your behalf, seeing as your hands were fully occupied with your artwork. Standing at the till, he gave the payment to the store owner, an elderly man with a strong gaze, and took the bag that was handed to him in return.

"Young man, why don't you give the food to your girlfriend and carry that massive painting for her instead?" the elderly man chimed as the two of you began to pull away from the counter.

Both your eyes widened, and you could see that the taller boy's cheeks had gone slightly red at being criticized by the man before you, along with the realization that you had been incorrectly identified as his girlfriend. He opened his mouth in protest, but the store owner gave him a pointed look, forcing him to place the bag back on the counter and take the painting from your arms. A large grin broke out on your face as you picked up the buns and gave the man a toothy smile while the two of you gave him a small bow before exiting the store.

"That's more like it," you heard the owner's voice carry from behind you as the doors to exit the store chimed while you walked into the evening air.

The second you were out of earshot of the man, you broke out into laughter, immediately turning to the boy who had turned an even deeper shade of red.

"Hear that Kei? Carry the massive painting for your girlfriend," you mocked, taking your bun out of the bag and taking a bite, ensuring to make a grand show of the amount of freedom your arms had in that moment.

"Tsk," was the only response heard from the boy as he turned his face away from you to try and hide the red that was slowly disappearing from his cheeks.

"I say we should start dating so that you can become my personal artwork carrier," you quipped as you skipped ahead of him along your path.

"Never going to happen," his voice sounded from behind you, unamused.

"Go out with me!" you called back, continuing to skip ahead of him.

"No."

That incident had begun the joke that ran between the two of you. You would ask him out, and he would respond with some form of deadpan denial. Your friends had grown accustomed to it, expecting you to make the joke from time to time. On the days you spent with both Tsukishima and Yamaguchi, the shorter boy would even occasionally play along.

"What in the world is that poster for?" you asked one day, noting an obnoxiously coloured poster stuck to a pole near the corner where you and Tsukishima split off from Yamaguchi on your paths home.

"A couples dancing competition," the green haired boy read off with a laugh.

"I wonder what the turnout would be, based on how ugly that poster is," your best friend commented, leaning forward to get a better look at the image before the three of you.

"The two of you should sign up," Yamaguchi responded jokingly, matching the smile that was growing across your face, "It would be a sight."

"You're so right, both of our incredibly above average dancing skills would blow the competition away," you joked, "the only thing we're missing is being an actual couple."

"I'm not going out with you."

"It was worth a shot."

As you grew older, the two of you continued to remain best friends. You had shared sentiments over schoolwork, had jokes shared between each other, and you knew the ins-and-outs of each others' lives. You were closer than ever, but the fact that you two had only grown closer meant that it hurt even more that the two of you wouldn't be anything more than friends. As far as you were concerned, he only thought of you as a cherished friend, and all the times you had asked him out were nothing more than a gimmick resulting from a comfort level obtained from your level of friendship. You loved having him as a friend, but as you grew older and more mature, your feelings grew with you, and your childhood crush developed into infatuation with the boy living down the street.

When high school came around, you both joined Karasuno together, acknowledging that it made sense for you to attend the same school once again. After the incident when you were thirteen, he had formed a habit of helping you carry your larger paintings on the walk home, and in turn you feigned some interest in the volleyball club, hearing what he and Yamaguchi had to say about their matches.

When the boys volleyball team qualified for the finals of their tournament, you joined your school in supporting your two friends as they faced the top school in the prefecture. You were one of many loud voices cheering the boys on, though you liked to believe that amongst them all, you were cheering the loudest. When Tsukishima made the first block against the opposing ace, you felt a burning pride to see the boy you liked finally begin to show some emotion on the court, your excitement visible from the stands.

Though you didn't understand the game well, it had you on your toes; everything that took place was crucial to the boys' success in the game. So encapsulated by the gameplay, and cheering on the series of blocks that Tsukki had done only moments before, you were confused when murmurs started to pass through the crowd and the players began to crowd around the tall blonde. It took a few seconds for you to realize that he was injured and was gripping his hand while the others spoke to him. Concerned, you left your spot amongst your classmates and approached his brother, who had a matching look of concern etched upon his face.

"Akiteru, did you see what happened? Is Kei injured?" you questioned, standing next to the older Tsukishima brother.

"I hope not," he muttered back, eyes carefully watching what was going on below.

You both watched intently as your friend wrapped a towel around his hand and began to walk towards the gymnasium exit.

"C'mon, let's go see what happened," he stated, as you both left the stands along with the first-year Karasuno manager to go meet his younger brother. Walking down the steps you could feel the anxious energy radiating off of all of you, and you tried to shake it off so that the injured boy would not sense it too. The three of you met him outside the doors of the gym.

"Kei, are you okay?" you asked, somewhat redundantly; of course he wasn't 'okay' if he was leaving the game because of an injury.

"I'm fine," he quipped back, trying to act more nonchalant than you could tell he felt inside. You observed your friend as he had a back and forth with his brother over his physical state. He commented on how it was nice to rest after all the sets- you could tell that there was some truth to the statement, but you could also see that he had finally found his groove, and really wanted to be back in the game. As he began to walk away, you could see the frustration emanating from his stance, and you and his brother decided to follow him and the older manager to the infirmary.

You ran up to catch him, and walked alongside Tsukki, Kiyoko and Akiteru. You walked in silence, knowing that the middle blocker was busy ruminating on the events of the game, and could only think of getting back on the court, despite his efforts to pretend otherwise. As the four of you arrived at the infirmary, you sat beside him and the two others stood near the door behind you while the nurse took a look at his hand. You could tell that he was scared that the nurse would announce his hand was too severely injured and he would have to sit out the remainder of the match.

To try and ease some of the nerves that he would be feeling, you grabbed his non-injured hand and gave it a small squeeze.

"I'm sure it's fine and you'll be back soon," you whispered so that only he could clearly hear, "and once you get back, you'll win the game and go to nationals."

You gave him a small encouraging smile, finally meeting his eyes, and for a few moments the boy did nothing but stare back at you.

After a short pause he finally responded with a nod, "I hope so," before dropping his eyes as the nurse analyzed and dressed his wounds. The remainder of the visit, you four sat in silence, the volleyball player evidently deep in thought over what he would do when he returned to the match, however his eyes occasionally fluttered away, as if something were distracting him.

Soon, his finger had been wrapped and immobilized, and the nurse announced that he would be allowed to return to the game. The four of you sprung up, and began jogging back to the gym, Tsukki slightly out-pacing the rest of you. You and Akiteru stood by the doors as the other two ran to the coach to explain his condition and request that he be put back in the game. You and the other Tsukishima brother ran back up to the stands to watch upon seeing him take a seat on the bench, the substitution card in his hand.

You watched as the remainder of the match unfolded, Tsukki back on the floor, knowing that he was still in pain though he tried to hide it. You didn't think it was possible, but you were even more captivated by the game in front of you, every movement drawing you closer and closer to the edge of your seat, more and more in awe of your best friend’s tenacity. When the final point was scored and Karasuno were announced as the winners, you jumped out of your seat, cheers and hollers all around you as your entire section cheered on the victory of your school's team.

The victory party had begun, with Karasuno staff and students overjoyed alike, excitement filling the air. The team bowed to your cheering section, and you let out more cheers to your two friends before you. You first made eye contact with Yamaguchi, who had found you in the crowd sooner and you gave him a smile and a thumbs up to show your congratulations. Noticing his teammate's line of vision, your best friend found you as well and you beamed even more, changing your thumbs up into a heart that you made with both your hands. You could almost hear the half-laugh, half-scoff that came from the boy as he immediately turned away from your antics. You couldn't help but laugh as well when you turned away from your seat and started to join the crowd that had begun to trickle out of the stands.

When everyone had finished mingling in the lobby, you excused yourself from your other friends to go greet the volleyball players who were dispersed outside the gym. You easily spotted the blond head of hair that stood taller and slightly apart from his teammates, the green-haired boy nowhere in sight.

You decided that the best course of action to get his attention was to launch yourself at his back. So you did, and he let out a yelp as he caught you behind him, a small exasperated laugh being let out. You let go of him and gave him a proper hug, but from the front, despite his protests.

"What did I say, go back soon, win the game, go to nationals," you said matter-of-factly, pointing a joking finger in his face once you had finally freed him of the hug, "I think I can see the future."

"I mean we were already so close to winning, the prediction was right in your face," the boy responded sassily, obviously trying to get back at your outrageous remark.

"I don't know, I think I have a gift," you continued joking, "I'll show up to all of the nationals games and start predicting who's going to win, just you wait and see."

"There are too many games going on, you'd never go to them all," the boy responded, trying to shut down your new aspirations.

"No, I'll do it, just you wait and see. I'll go to all of yours too, up until you win it all."

"You'd look like a stalker, the crazy fan of Karasuno who won't leave us alone."

"Hmm... no," you responded back, "The best course of action is for us to start dating because then I would no longer be a crazed fan and instead a loyal girlfriend there to support my boyfriend."

"Mhm okay."

"And then if anyone asks I could just say that I... wait did you just say okay?"

You had continued on your rambling, so focused on the dumb situation that you had thought up, that you had completely failed to notice the boy's response, or the way that he had been looking at you since the moment you had met him outside the gym.

He now stood, smiling smugly at you, and you realized that while you had been going on and on, he had been looking down at you, a newfound admiration on his face. You couldn't say when exactly the change had been made, but you realized now that he was looking at you in a way that he had never once before, and you began to feel the butterflies in your stomach.

"I did say okay," he stated plainly, placing a hand on the top of your head, making light of the fact that he towered over you.

You were speechless and could do nothing but stare back at him in confusion.

"After all this time, did you want me to say no again?" he asked, when almost a whole minute passed without a response from you.

"NO, no not at all," you said finally, accepting that he wasn't just messing with you and actually meant it, "it just caught me off guard."

The boy removed his hand from your head and smiled once again, less smug this time.

"Okay, so now I'm expecting you to show up to all our games at nationals and be the supportive girlfriend cheering me on constantly."

"Girlfriend already?" you retorted, once again taking his non-injured hand in yours, the difference being that now he held it as well, the feelings no longer one sided, "What happened to taking a girl out on a few dates before claiming that title?"

"Did you really ask me out all those times just to not even want to be called my girlfriend?" he asked back, eyes narrowing in disbelief at the comment that you just made.

"Nevermind, girlfriend it is."

Bonus:

A week had passed since the volleyball team had won the game against Shiratorizawa. The boys had been busy following the win, so you finally had a moment to treat both your friends to a congratulatory dinner. The three of you walked in the direction of the restaurant on a Sunday, with you standing in between your two friends. You passed a hideous poster, identical to the one that the three of you had previously joked about.

"Now that we've mastered volleyball, I think it's time for you two to take up dancing seriously," Yamaguchi smiled, recalling the previous joke that you had made over the poster.

"I wholeheartedly agree," you said back, "this time we even meet the couple criteria."

Yamaguchi stopped walking, turning to look at the two of you. You innocently looped your arm into Tsukki's, though your boyfriend stood still, no reaction evident on his face or through his body language.

A few seconds passed before Yamaguchi unfroze and continued walking, a smile now plastered on his face.

"Congratulations," was all he said at first, before he finished his train of thought, "but it was really about time."

#tsukishima kei #kei tsukishima #tsukki x reader #tsukki x you #tsukishima kei x reader #kei tsukishima x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #tsukishima x you #tsukishima x reader #togeppys

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preqwells · 1 year ago

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nsfw!! mdni — 18+

——————————

thinking about simon getting back from a long mission. his muscles ache from the constant tension coursing through his veins— constantly being in an environment where someone could take you out in mere matter of seconds wasn’t the most ideal place for anyone to be. but alas, someone had to do it.

he was looking forward to getting home— no really, he was. seeing you fresh-faced after a nice shower, your pajamas draping over your figure. all he could think about was burying his face in your chest to inhale your scent like a man starved, which he practically was at this rate.

that all changed when he did eventually settle in your guys’ shared apartment and you couldn’t help but poke and prod the mountain of a man. you always had a tendency to ‘poke the bear’ as the saying goes— you loved to annoy simon for reasons not unknown to him. it wasn’t a secret you liked annoying him so he’d fuck some sense into you.

this time was a bit different, though— he felt himself growing truly agitated. why were you so insistent on having his attention? his cock couldn’t help but stir at the thought of pinning you against the couch, heavy frame flush against yours with him pressed so nicely against the walls of your cunt.

he didn’t disappoint as he reached for your wrist, using it to guide your arm to your side as his forearms rested on either side of your head. the warmth of his breath fanned against your temple, the tension suddenly palpable as his knee pressed firmly into your clothed heat, a small whimper eliciting from you in response.

“you wanted my attention, yeah?” simon’s voice was smooth, low, vibrating through his chest as his hand trailed down, the roughness of his hand biting into your skin as he dipped two fingers underneath the waistband of your underwear. he hid his smirk well as the pad of his finger grazed across your clit, prompting you to twitch in response. maybe you’d shut up and stop being so needy after he fucked any remains of cohesion your mouth could form since you’d be too busy stuffed full of his cock.

#simon riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #cod smut #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost riley x reader #cod x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x y/n #simon riley smut

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amomentsescape · 1 year ago

Note

Hey I love yanderes and slashers and used to have a sleep walking problem where I would try to crawl through windows, can you do a yandere slasher x reader where the reader has developed Stockholm syndrome and been loving to the slasher so they trust them and let them have more freedom. Then they see them try to crawl out a window in their sleep? How would they react? Would they believe the reader? What would make them believe them if they didn't? If they didn't believe them the how would they react to finding out the reader told the truth?

Thank you so much! And merry Christmas! 🎄 🎄🎄🎄🎄🎅🎅🎅🎅🎅

Slashers with Reader Who Sleepwalks & Tries to Leave

Yandere! Slashers x Reader (Separate)

Warnings: Yandere behavior, of course. Mentions of abusive behavior

A/N: Merry (late) Christmas! I hope you all had a great holiday! For this request, I decided to leave Eric out. He's just the complete opposite to a Yandere in my opinion, and it was nearly impossible for me to write him as such. I hope that's okay!

Freddy Krueger

He knows you would never purposefully leave him

Like, he actually knows

His (undead) life revolves around sleep

He knows when you're awake and where you're actually sleeping, even if he keeps you stuck in his dream world

So when he finds you trying to escape out of the little window he built for you, he just laughs

He had already known you sleep walked

He'd been haunting your dreams for weeks prior to actually taking you

Freddy just keeps watching you, not really doing anything about it

You're stuck in his world either way

Might as well see how far you'll go

He'll almost use this as a test of sorts

He'll let you wander to wherever you want to go in your sleep, and he may even change the environment to something you don't recognize

When you wake up, his name better be the first thing that falls from your lips

If it's not...

Well, he'll just have to try harder at getting you to need him

Michael Myers

It took a very long time for Michael to get to this point

The fact that he lets you sleep without chains is a huge decision on his part

He doesn't trust easily

And any feelings of trust he did have come crumbling down the moment he wakes up without you beside him

It didn't take long to find you

There you were, pushing and prodding at the boarded up window

He's truly pissed

And a little hurt

He really thought you were growing to actually like your situation

But when he spins you around and sees your eyes staring blankly through him, he tilts his head

You don't seem... right?

He'll shake you harshly until he sees the life come back to your eyes

When you finally look up at him with a similarly confused look on your face, he starts to realize

He understands you well enough to know when you're not acting like yourself

When he finally explains what you were doing after you repeatedly asked him, you sigh

You explain that sometimes at night, you wander around without realizing it

A sleepwalker, huh?

Sadly, the chains will need to come out again

Jason Voorhees

You wouldn't actually leave him, right?

You seemed so caring

He actually believed you when you said you needed him

But here you were, trying to leave your shared home in the middle of the night

He almost breaks down as he picks you up and takes you back to your room

He finds it a bit odd that you don't fight back at all, but he assumes you just don't care to

He locks you up and makes sure that you can't go anywhere

How could you do this to him?

When you wake up the next morning in chains and not in your shared bed, you begin to cry for Jason

He tries to ignore you, but he can't bring himself to hear your sad voice calling out to him

You try your best to tell him that you don't remember what happened, and that you would never leave him

And maybe he's too trusting, but he believes you

You just seem so sad and so genuine that it's impossible for him to think it's anything other than honesty

You couldn't be that stupid anyways

You'd get lost in those woods alone at night, he knows that

So he just has to believe you

He loves you, and love means trust, right?

Thomas Hewitt

But you were being so sweet to him just hours before

How could you lie to his face like that?

He wakes up without you in his arms, and he just about loses it

Frantically searches for you around the house and finally finds you at one of the nailed in windows

He pulls you away quickly, staring at you sadly

He's waiting for an explanation, but you don't say anything

You just stare

You weren't acting like yourself

He pushes you back towards the bedroom and you walk the rest of the way yourself, climbing back into bed with ease

He's confused, but decides to see if it will happen again

You can't leave anyways

The whole house is locked up, and you don't even know where the keys are

You act just like your normal self the next day

And that night, you're back to walking around with a blank stare

He figures this just might be a thing you do

Doesn't really try to stop you, but he does follow you most nights to make sure you don't accidentally hurt yourself

On nights he wants you in bed, he ties some old fabric around your ankle and holds you tight while you sleep

You might not ever know about your late night adventures unless he decides to tell you

Bubba Sawyer

He's quite literally blubbering to you

He's crying, he's frantic, he even shakes you a bit, and you just stand there not responding

He keeps waiting, and when you start to just wander around again, he loses it

What's wrong with you? Why are you acting like this?

He ties you back into bed and stays up the rest of the night, watching you

The next morning, he confronts you stressfully

You keep telling him over and over that you don't know what he's talking about

But he refuses to believe you

(He wants to believe you, he's just scared)

He only finally realizes you were being honest when in the middle of the day during your nap, he finds you wandering back to the window with his whole family watching you

You weren't stupid

Why would you try to leave when literally everyone could see you in broad daylight?

His family begins laughing and saying things like "looks like you got yourself a sleepwalker"

So you weren't purposefully trying to leave him?

He cries tears of joy and spends the next couple of days pampering you and giving you just about everything you want

He does his best to show you that he's sorry

Brahms Heelshire

It's quite literally known that Brahms has abandonment issues at this point

So when he catches you climbing up onto the window sill

He loses it

Will grab you and roughly pull you off, your body falling to the ground

This immediately wakes you up, your eyes searching around frantically

When you see Brahms standing above you, you try to reach for him, but he only shoves you away

You look so sad and confused at this, but Brahms is too stubborn to give in

He starts tying you up again each night, still very hurt that you would try to leave like that

It takes weeks for you to gain his trust again

And the one night he lets you sleep freely, he catches you by the window again

But instead of grabbing you immediately, he decides to just watch

He wants to see how far you'll go so he knows just how severe your punishment will need to be

But instead, you just give up on unlocking the window (it was jammed), and you just turn around and walk straight back to bed, not even registering Brahms being right there

This is odd

You need to explain the concept of sleepwalking to him the next day

He still remains skeptical for a while, but he'll come around

You just need to be extra attentive for a while...

Norman Bates

Norman already knows a lot about sleepwalking

(It's what he thought was going on for a while when he couldn't remember large chunks of time throughout the week)

When he finds you opening a window in the middle of the night, he bolts at you, ready to lock you back up in one of the motel rooms again

However, when you don't respond or reveal any emotion on your face, he immediately knows what's going on

He's surprised

He didn't know you'd be a sleepwalker

He decides to just lead you back to bed, knowing that waking you isn't the best idea

Sits you down the next morning and talks with you about it

When you seem very apologetic, he uses it to his advantage

Has you cuddle up with him even more than normal and stay by his side at all hours of the day

He still gives you some freedom

But he's always watching

He does take some precautions and ties your wrist up in the middle of the night

He has to, for your safety of course

Billy Loomis

To be honest, you don't make it very far

Billy has an iron grip on you at all times, and he's a light sleeper

The moment you get up, he's awake, observing you carefully

Sometimes you have to pee in the middle of the night, but he still makes sure you aren't lying to him

His ability to trust is practically in the ground

The moment you turn the wrong way, he's up and chasing after you

Were you that dumb? You knew he watched you every time you got up from bed

He grabs your wrist quickly and points a knife at your throat as a threat

He can't bring himself to actually hurt you though, not that you knew that

Or did you?

Because you just stand there not even moving away from the blade

Billy becomes very confused

He takes his hand and begins to wake it in front of your face, looking for some sort of reaction

You don't give him one

Are you still... asleep?

He shakes you a bit until you finally look at him, confusion written all over your face

You're a sleepwalker, aren't you?

He just rolls his eyes annoyed and drags you back to bed, not explaining anything

Just another thing he needs to look out for now

You sometimes wake up to bruises on your hips and waist from how hard Billy holds you in the night, but he's just trying to protect you, right?

He doesn't mean to hurt you, he just refuses to lose another person in his life

Stu Macher

Stu literally sleeps on you, so it's nearly impossible for you to leave the bed most nights

But if you somehow wiggle your way out, you wouldn't make it outside the house

The windows have been nailed so that they only open a small amount

When he finds you the next morning, curled up under a partially opened window, he just smiles

Call it naive, but he just assumes you were getting too warm in the bed

When you wake up in a confused state however, he becomes concerned

What do you mean you don't remember opening that window?

He honestly just becomes more worried that there's something wrong with your memory rather than you trying to leave him

He'll likely talk to Billy about it

He just hears laughter from the other end of the phone

"Sounds like they sleep walk," he'd say

Stu does a bunch of research on it later

He doesn't really mind though

All of the unsafe objects are already hidden away, and every possible exit is locked down

You aren't going anywhere

If anything, he finds it fun to wake up some mornings and look around for you

It's like a game, and Stu loves games

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cheesus-doodles · 6 months ago

Text

A Twist in the Tale

Leona Kingscholar

Masterlist

‎

well that took a lot longer than I expected...glad for this to be done to completion though! merry christmas and happy holidays everybody, I hope you have a good time <3

Piercing, half-lidded green eyes watched you from across the bustling cafeteria, lion ears occasionally twitching as Leona picked up on your ongoing conservation with Ace. “....urgh I can’t believe there’s so much!” The red-haired whined, ruffling his hair in dismay as he dropped onto the table. “Crewel is a monster, I swear.”

“There is quite a bit,” came your rather sympathetic answer, unnecessarily kind if you asked Leona. “It will definitely take a while.”

On any other regular day, you, Grim and those two annoying Heartslabyul flies that you hung around were hardly worth his attention, let alone being eavesdropped on - mundane, brainless chatter that actively lowered his IQ with every passing minute. Crewel’s class wasn’t particularly difficult, not by a long stretch. Yet here he was. Clearly, today was as far from a regular day as possible.

Because there had always been something off about you, Leona mused to himself, his tail whipping from side to side, observing with as much discretion as a predator stalking its prey as you took another bite from your sandwich, covering your full mouth with your free hand in an attempted politeness when Deuce’s crass remark had you chuckle. He had known as much since orientation, when you failed to be sorted by the Dark Mirror - there was just something fundamentally different about your smell compared to everyone else that couldn’t simply be chalked up to otherworldliness.

It’s just that he never bothered. You had been just another nobody, hardly worth his notice or time to investigate.

Up until his overblot incident, of course.

‎‎

A steaming plate of hamburger steak clankering down onto the table in front of Leona was enough to startle him out of his train of thoughts. “Leona, why ya glaring like they owe you money?” Ruggie quipped, thumbing in your general direction as he fell into the seat with a sigh, lazily lounging across and occupying the entire bench - not that anyone else dared to share. “Wait, do they actually owe you money?”

Despite it being well past peak-lunch hour, the cafeteria was still rather packed with students milling about, the cacophony of noises from loud and hushed conversations alike only adding to the growing headache Leona felt starting to pound from the depths of his mind. Far from his ideal environment of a quiet, peaceful area where he could nap undisturbed, the constant din was one of many reasons the Sunset Savannah’s second prince avoided this wretched place as much as going home.

And the rest of his dorm certainly took note of his unusual appearance in such a public area, whispering among themselves even as they kept a respectful distance, picking a careful semi-circle around the table where Leona and Ruggie sat - easy enough to ignore, really. They knew better than to prod where they weren’t welcomed, if not risk learning the hard way that their housewarden was lazy, not weak.

Leona picked up his fork, stabbing it into the minced patty rather viciously, tearing his gaze away from you and down to the plate. The food looked especially unappetizing today. “He smells different.” The words slipped from his lips before the lion beastman could stop it, surprising both himself and Ruggie in the process, the sandy-brown haired boy whipping his head up to stare at him in disbelief. Right before said hyena thought it appropriate to dramatically turn to look at you, immediately earning him the prince’s ire. There was no denying who Leona was referring to, but why did he have to be so obvious about it?

You, fortunately, did not notice.

”The Ramshackle prefect?” Ruggie wondered aloud, nose tweaking, before turning back to face his housewarden. “I suppose so, given he’s from another world and all. What about it? If they don’t owe you money then it doesn’t really matter what they smell like.” A pause, the gears clearly turning behind the other’s blue-gray eyes, before he leaned forward, a cheeky grin plastered on his face, eyebrows wriggling. “Unless…”

He should have guessed where this was going. “Forget it.”

“Come on Leona, I ain’t a blabber.”

“If you keep flapping your lips Ruggie, you’re about to find ‘em sewn shut.”

The hyena beastman simply smiled knowingly even as he threw his arms up in defeat, instead turning his attention to his feast of sandwiches.

Rubbing his forehead in annoyance, the rough texture of the glove dragging across his skin did not help in the slightest with his headache. Why was he bothering with this again? Whatever he could learn surely wasn’t going to be worth this amount of irritation.

But two weeks on from having you thrusted straight to the centre of his life and much to his dismay, Leona finds himself unable to get you out of his head, well after you seemed to have moved on rather easily. It’s not that he liked you (perish the thought). He just had to find out, Leona assured himself, and then he could put this whole fascination behind him and move on with his godforsaken life. He needed to know what made you different.

‎

He watched you stand, your empty tray in one hand, the other waving to the group. His ears stood up instantly, his attention returning to you. Were you going somewhere?

“... be heading out to the town, do you guys want anything?”

Town? A quick think, and he understands. Memorizing your group’s class schedule wasn’t difficult, and as a non-mage, you wouldn’t be able to attend any of the usual classes that your friends would have that involved magic. The first year Heartslabyuls were having flying class next, which meant that you weren’t attending.

“Again?” Grim whined, slouching to rest his head on the table top. “How come you always get to go and have fun without me?”

Chuckling softly as you held your history textbooks to your chest, you shrugged. “I’m just going to pick up some supplies since I have a bit of free time.”

It seemed Ruggie had joined in on the eavesdropping. “Planning to follow him?” Said shameless hyena smirked, propping his two hands behind his head, though that move made him wince slightly; seems like Ruggie hadn’t yet fully recovered from the whole Spelldrive incident just yet. Serves him right though.

Leona scoffed, standing from the bench. He wasn’t hungry anymore. “I need a nap.” Stalking wasn’t quite his thing, and you weren’t going anywhere anytime soon, given how your way home was literally dependent on that dirtbag of a school principal. He’ll solve this nagging puzzle at his own leisure.

A look of alarm washed over Ruggie’s face. “Wait, Leona! Can I have your plate if you’re not eating it?”

‎

His opportunity came sooner than expected.

The sky above Savanaclaw Dorm had turned dark an hour ago, the moon hanging above the darkened desert illuminating the swirling sand blown along by a gentle breeze. Outside his closed room door, the dorm was still lively with activity, students mulling about the corridors discussing the recently past final exams and Spelldrive tournament or gathering by the waterfall in the lounge to enjoy some peace and quiet.

Leona, however, was locked away inside his room, his brain still annoyingly fixated on you. He hadn’t been able to follow you out to town from NRC yesterday, not without having to answer some very uncomfortable questions about his motive. Tapping one nail rhythmically on the hard wood top of his desk, the second Sunset Savannah prince continued to think and brainstorm - not mull about like some lost little lover, mind you - all the possibilities to the mystery that was you. He had a few theories, a few ideas, but none of them fully made sense with all the information he currently had.

Letting out a sigh, the man leaned back, running one hand through his mob of brown hair. He had to be missing something somewhere, a piece of the puzzle. Right then, as if on cue, as if there was some divinity out there who had decided to shine down on him, lion ears picked out an unusual stir of disgruntlement emulating from outside. Leona tried to ignore it, as he always does, but the commotion refused to die down even after a few minutes. So with great reluctance, he stood from his chair.

It was your begrudgingly familiar smell wafting through the otherwise still air that his sensitive nose instantly picked up the moment Leona opened his room door, quickly followed by your mob of hair amidst the rest of the beastmen that he spotted as he made his way over to the lounge. Well well well. “Of all the places to find you in,” he drawled out, his tail flickering behind him as the room fell silent, the murmurs quickly dying out in his presence. “Savanaclaw ain’t no place for herbivores.”

You scratched the back of your head awkwardly. This clearly wasn’t your first choice.

Jack stepped forward, almost as if to shield you from the housewarden’s line of sight with his larger stature. “Leona, they-”

“We got kicked out of Ramshackle!” Grim wailed out, clutching onto your leg, the purple anemone sticking out grey fur a dead giveaway to the lead up to this conundrum.

“Not a chance,” Leona drawled out, crossing his arms even as his mind whirled behind those half-lidded green eyes. This was it: his chance.

You had always lived alone - or rather with Grim, though the fiery racoon hardly counted as a proper roommate - at Ramshackle Dorm since your arrival in Twisted Wonderland. Out of reach from him and any potential other students that Leona could have intimidated for information. But now, it seems you made a deal with that cephalo-punk Azul Ashengrottel, and Jack had delivered you directly to him like a good little puppy, unknowingly helping you straight right into his grasp.

The white-haired beastman blinked. “You didn’t even pause before answering…”

“No pets allowed in the dorm,” the Sunset Savannah prince shrugged. “They shed all over the place.” He hadn’t quite figured out where he could put you up temporarily (three days was more than enough for him to solve his little vexing puzzle, hell he’ll take one day and hopefully kick the two of you out by tomorrow evening).

Leona couldn’t roll over so easily, no matter how much the pit in his gut yearned for it. He had to at least put up a decent fight in front of his dorm’s students, and most of all, Ruggie. He’ll never live this down otherwise.

‎

Okay, so perhaps you sharing his room wasn’t ideal, nor was it really part of his spontaneous plan. But what was done was done. It’s temporary anyway.

Your footsteps, light as a fae’s, were easy enough to pick up against the otherwise silent dorm. Picking your way carefully through the dark room, you made your way out, the room door clicking shut behind you and blocking out the little light that poured in momentarily from the dim corridor. If you had been the slightest bit more observant, you might have noticed Leona’s green eyes sliding open to watch you, lion ears twitching as they followed the ambient sound of your rustling clothes.

It was the middle of the night, way past his usual bedtime - and it should be way past yours as well. Grim was fast asleep on the spare bedding at the foot of his bed. Very telling that you didn’t take your little minion with you.

Waiting for a few more seconds, the lion beastman carelessly tossed off his blankets, following you out of his room. And your telltale smell led him past closed doors and loud snores that echoing down empty hallways, straight towards the bathroom.

Interesting. Time to find out what you were hiding.

‎

You hummed a light tune under your breath, allowing the warm water to run over your body. You had expected Savanaclaw Dorm to be different from what you were used to, with the sneakpeek you’ve gotten before the Spelldrive tournament hinting that it was different enough from the life you knew back at Ramshackle, but you had to admit to yourself you hadn’t expected it to be this different. Imagine your surprise upon realizing that there was only one communal bathroom - and only learning that fact as you entered. You hoped no one noticed how fast you turned and left.

Shaking your head, you focused on rinsing off the shampoo from your hair, the stall walls though open at the back at least giving some privacy from the side. The water splashing down onto the tile from the showerhead echoed through the otherwise empty room; exactly as you had planned. It was only at this time of night that you would be able to get any semblance of privacy, and you silently pledged to yourself to never take Ramshackle Dorm’s silence for granted again.

You scrubbed down, trying to shake the thought of losing Ramshackle to Azul out of your head. You would do everything to make sure that didn’t happen, and you weren’t going to forgive Grim, Ace or Deuce that easily for all this mess they got you in.

Lost in the what-ifs, you failed to notice the patter of footsteps entering the shower room, right up till a deep voice piped up from behind you.

“So that’s why you don’t smell like the others.”

You froze.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still, the water cascading down your body and your very obviously female chest. You didn’t know what to do, didn’t dare to breathe, racing to think.

Fuck.

In a snap, you screamed, picking up the nearest object and hurling it straight at the intruder without looking, your other hand immediately reaching for the towel you had hung over the stall wall. The shampoo bottle was narrowly dodged, bouncing off the wall behind him and clanking to the floor. “W-what the fuck- get out!” You squeezed your eyes shut, your face beet red as you grabbed another bottle, throwing it with all the strength you had. Someone saw you. Some guy’s seen you. You should have been more careful, maybe you shouldn’t have showered at all, maybe you have-

“Shut it!” One large hand was quickly slapped over your mouth, the other grabbing your hand and stopping you from flinging your third munition. “Do you want the entire dorm to wake? Just breathe, dammit.”

You shook off his hand, moving to secure your towel around you before you took a deep breath, looking up to see who had walked in on you.

Leona Kingscholar, the Savanaclaw Housewarden himself, looking mighty amused at the revelation that you were, in fact, of the opposite gender. A red-faced lady in the house of men.

“Does that crow know?”

“Crowley? Of course he does,” you snapped, clutching the towel wrapped around you tightly. “Now can you get out?”

The lion beastman only leaned onto the stall door, crossing his arms. “So how have you been hiding that all this time?” He drawled, pointing at your chest with his chin. You picked up another bottle threateningly, and Leona immediately raised both hands in surrender, taking a step back and behind the stall door.

“Peace,” he drawled. “I’m just here for answers.”

“And I’m here to bathe,” you barked back. “Chest binding is what I do, now out.”

The chuckle as the second prince strolled out reverberated through the still bathroom. You groaned, sinking to a squat and hiding your face in your hands. You were never going to live this down now, were you?

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spr1ngpvrinbwunnie · 4 months ago

Note

This just popped into my head but… how do you think Harley would be if his coworker/partner didn’t really talk much? Like as in they mostly would speak when spoken to (kinds npc mentality in a way).

I think when they’re working together he wouldn’t mind it but I also feel like, if he compares them to the others in Playtime Co., he may be a bit concerned to a degree and maybe even think something is wrong with their mind?

(I know the way I wrote it is more pre-“The Doctor” but it could be post as well maybe? If they somehow survived the Hour of Joy?)

Oh, that’s an interesting idea. If his coworker/partner was really quiet—only speaking when spoken to, almost like they were running on autopilot—I think it would depend on when this is happening in Harley’s timeline.

Pre-"The Doctor" Harley

If this is before he fully embraced "The Doctor," he’d probably be concerned in his own way. Playtime Co. is already a strange and stressful place to work, so seeing a coworker act like an NPC while everyone else is either terrified, miserable, or manically trying to stay ahead would definitely stand out to him.

At first, he might just think they’re introverted or really focused, but over time, he’d start to question it.

If they were competent in their work, he wouldn’t mind much—he values efficiency—but he’d still observe them closely.

He might test them in small ways: asking unexpected questions, trying to throw them off to see if they react normally. If they’re just quiet, fine. But if they seem off? That would nag at him.

If he starts thinking something is wrong—whether mentally or even experimentally wrong—he’d get curious. And with Harley, curiosity is dangerous.

Post-"The Doctor" Harley (If They Somehow Survived the Hour of Joy)

If this is after Playtime Co. collapsed into chaos and they survived? Oh, that’s a different story.

If they’re still acting that way post-Hour of Joy, it would unnerve him more than anything. Silence isn’t normal in that environment. Either you’re screaming, scheming, or surviving.

He’d wonder: Are they traumatized? Are they hiding something? Or worse... are they like him?

If they don’t react much to the horrors around them, he might even think they’re already broken—mentally or physically altered in some way.

At that point, he might start pushing them just to get a reaction. Prodding, provoking, maybe even threatening just to see if they feel.

And if they remain eerily silent through it all? That might be one of the rare things that actually unsettles him.

Harley likes playing with people, getting inside their heads. But if he can't get inside theirs? That’s a puzzle he won’t be able to ignore.

#╰₊✧ ﾟ⚬𓂂➢ 👁📺💉🩸#harley sawyer #harley sawyer x reader #poppy playtime #poppy playtime x reader #the doctor x reader #the doctor #dr harley sawyer

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mama-qwerty · 6 months ago

Text

Sonic 3 - Shadow

My hopes for Shadow’s portrayal in Sonic 3 were that they’d show him not as the ill-tempered edgelord, but as the grieving, hurt child he truly was. And I was not disappointed.

Sonic 3 spoilers ahead

The movie opens with Shadow in containment, suspended in a holding vat of fluid to keep him under control. He’d been in this suspended status for 50 years, and now he was waking up. As he awoke, his memories flashed of his time at the facility, where he met Maria and developed a close friendship with her.

He woke up and chose violence. All he remembered was losing Maria, and before him stood the same organization that took her from him. The same uniforms, the same aggressive stance. To him, that raid at the facility was still fresh. It happened very, very recently. We’re not privy to the timeline between when the raid happened and when he was put into stasis, but I don’t think it was longer than maybe an hour. If that.

So from his perspective, these could very well be the same people who had raided the facility and murdered his friend. Maybe he thought the raid was still going on. So he was thrust into a fight or flight situation, and did both—take down the enemy, and then retreat to regroup.

Except he found himself in a very different environment than he’d ever experienced. He’d only known the inside of a government facility. Tokyo was bright, and loud, and big, and there were so many people. But GUN wouldn’t leave him be, and he found himself fighting yet again.

And then these three other creatures showed up. Ones who were more like him than any he’d seen before. Especially the blue one, which was strange and confusing. He was the only alien on Earth, wasn’t he? He was different than anything else the scientists had ever seen. But there was another who looked like him? With two other equally strange creatures trying to stop him?

No matter. They were working with GUN, so they were the enemy.

And again, he took them down, and retreated.

Because ultimately, Shadow was dealing with anger, grief, confusion, and pain. He didn't know what to do with all that, because the person who helped him understand himself better was gone. Everything he knew was gone. The people he and Maria had trusted had turned on them, killed Maria, locked him away, and taken Gerald from him. He's lashing out because he doesn't know what else to do. All he's been faced with his entire life was pain and mistreatment, except for Maria, and they killed her.

Shadow has no idea who or what he is. He came from space, but he doesn’t remember anything before that. He’s on this planet with creatures who look nothing like him, being poked and prodded for who knows how long. Being studied and experimented on because he’s different, and has powers no one’s seen before. No one looked upon him with kindness, or reached for him with gentle hands.

Until Maria.

She looked at him and didn’t see an alien. A monster. A creature with unimaginable power.

She saw a lonely little boy. And she reached out to him.

Who knows how long it took him to trust her. When she first found him in his tube, he didn’t seem very interested. He’d likely had scientists of all kinds coming through to gawk at him, to stare at him and pluck his quills and shave some fur and take some blood, all the while never speaking to him. He was just a thing to be studied. An oddity to figure out.

But this girl was different. She would come and talk to him as he floated in his watery prison. Draw on the glass. Maybe she even taught him to speak, and read. And over time, maybe he looked forward to her visits. And she became more bold to sneak him out of the lab when the scientists ran their experiments.

We don’t know Gerald’s relationship with Shadow. The most we see is after Gerald had gone mad from his own grief from losing Maria. Maybe he thought Maria would tame this creature, and allow him to be more successfully controlled for whatever Gerald wanted. Maybe he actually did care about Shadow, at least somewhat, and the raid on the facility—he claimed they were actually after Shadow as he dragged them behind him in an attempt to escape—made him blame Shadow for Maria’s death.

We don’t know.

But when Shadow saw Gerald again at the abandoned facility, he was relieved. Finally a familiar face. Someone he could trust, and ask questions about what was going on, and what their next step should be. And when Gerald corralled Shadow into this quest for vengeance, Shadow went along with it because he trusted Gerald. And it felt right to want to hurt those who’d hurt Maria. It felt productive to turn that anger outward onto the people who deserved it.

Except . . . it didn’t.

Gerald said this was what Maria would have wanted. Shadow wasn’t so sure that was right. But he was still running on pain, and he looked to Gerald for guidance, just as he had looked to Maria for it.

So he did as he was told. Capturing the others when they’d found the facility. Initiating the black hole that swallowed the facility and destroyed all evidence of the torture, the pain, the love and acceptance he’d endured in his time on Earth. Taking every shred of evidence of Maria, and erasing it.

Did it feel good to him in that moment? Having all those reminders of her wiped away?

Or did it just make that ache in his heart worse? Because it was like losing her again. And now it was as if she’d never existed. No roller skates. No guitar. No little tent with the stars and lights casting a warm glow inside.

Just . . . gone.

Just like her.

Focus. He had to focus. Gerald had a plan. And if he said this is what people deserved, then Shadow would believe him.

So he stayed behind as Gerald and the other Robotnik infiltrated GUN. Tried to focus on the bigger picture.

But that nagging little thought remained.

When things went south at GUN, he stepped in, took the key from Walters. It had felt satisfying to deliver a blow to one of the men who’d been there that day, all those years ago.

Only it wasn’t Walters. It was . . . someone else. Someone that blue hedgehog cared about very much. And oh, that brought back painful memories. And that pain he’d felt that day—so long ago but so fresh to him—flared anew, and he’d felt so, so guilty for causing that pain to someone else.

No. That didn’t matter. Whoever this was had been in Shadow’s way. He had a mission to complete. He’d only done what he’d had to.

Aboard the ARK, he continued to question the validity of this plan. But Gerald assured him this was what Maria would have wanted. So he went along with it. Things were moving the way Gerald wanted.

But that ache in his chest refused to go away.

And then a golden something hit him, smashing him out of the ARK, and drawing him into a fight. It was the blue hedgehog, and whatever power flowed through him bled out and merged with the power inside Shadow himself, changing him as well.

And it had felt so good to fight. To unleash his strength upon someone who was hurting as much as he was. Someone who understood his pain, someone who wanted revenge as badly as he did. It was normal to want to hurt the person who’d hurt someone you loved.

Because Shadow was tired of living with the pain. He didn’t understand how he could want to hurt others, to get revenge, but at the same time felt wrong for doing so. But he’d hurt someone the blue hedgehog cared for, and if Shadow could have his revenge, then so could the other hedgehog.

But the blue hedgehog wasn’t fighting as fiercely as he should have been. So Shadow had taunted. He’d poked. He’d pushed and eventually gotten the other hedgehog so angry, Shadow had been taken by surprise.

But that was okay. That’s what he wanted. An eye for an eye. A pain for a pain.

He was tired. He was confused. He was hurt, and guilty, and just wanted to stop seeing her face every time he closed his eyes. Didn’t want to hear her voice in the quiet moments. Feel her hands as they gave a gentle tug on his quills, or massaged his ears after a bad batch of testing.

She had been his safe haven on this planet that seemed to want nothing more than to hurt him.

And now she was gone.

And he didn’t know who he was without her. Didn’t know what he was or where he belonged, if not with her.

So he ordered the other hedgehog to end him. Practically begged him.

But he hadn’t. He’d stopped, a look of almost horror on his face as he’d released Shadow.

And they’d talked. And Shadow had found someone else who understood his pain. Felt it, but didn’t let it consume him. Didn’t let it change him.

And this other hedgehog gave Shadow a chance to decide for himself what he would do. Decide what kind of person he wanted to be.

Because that’s what Maria wanted for Shadow. To discover who he was, and who he wanted to be. To find his own place in the world, to be happy.

And so Shadow chose.

He helped the blue hedgehog save the planet, and used the last of his strength to make sure the ARK was far enough away so the final explosion wouldn’t hurt anyone else.

And in those final moments, he thought of Maria, and kept her love for him in his heart.

He acted not out of pain, or out of revenge or anger.

He acted out of love.

~~~

Check out my other Sonic 3 analysis posts

#sonic 3 #sonic 3 spoilers #shadow the hedgehog #sonic the hedgehog

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anantaru · 2 years ago

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cw. first time, repost, fem! reader

alhaitham suffocates upon his own words, fighting for breath at how teasingly good you were rubbing yourself on his cock.

the worst part? he cannot do anything about it— ephemeral authority over his own muscles, the sparse quiver of his large hands on your hips and how his swollen length couldn't stop throbbing against your folds, he has no reoccurring knowledge of this, by all means, he knew how it worked, he wasn't stupid! though can he really assure himself that it will feel good to you as well? because what if it doesn't and it'll all end in an undeniably lumbering mess of ponderous emotions.

you on the other hand— vulnerable and uncovered, were wriggling your sweet hips on top of his large cock and attempting to pacify his worries by your delicate trace. Perceptibly, alhaitham did not want you to see how openly tensed and frenzied he had become, but you really didn't phase any difficulties to see it yourself.

the air environing on you felt persistently hot and when you lower your chest on his own— with his tip prodding at your entrance, you hug him and fuse into his sizzling graze.

a push, just one, with a little help of both his hand and your hips mashing down, alhaitham bumps his tip into your tight opening, now he does little to hide his excitement because the scratchy hum from far inside his chest left nothing to the imagination. for you, it was unexplored and the untried split of his tip in you was a bit afflictive, though eventually you could sense yourself get more tolerant and easygoing— one second in an awkward situation, next you tried to take another inch of his.

"look— look at me." alhaitham's voice was rough and hurried, inhaling down his common reservations, "please just look at me."

#genshin smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham smut

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lorelune · 1 year ago

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O4O: part ii

|| jing yuan x reader || E/18+ || omega 4 omega, hurt/comfort || wc: 11.5k || ao3 ||

After your swift departure following his heat, Jing Yuan copes with your strange behavior. He only hopes you will crumble, so he may catch you.

minors, antis and ageless blogs dni

✨O4O masterlist✨ // part i - part ii - part iii (part 1 & part 2) //

notes: ohhhh mommy jing yuan how you continue to captivate me. this piece has been so fun to dive into!! and has gotten longer than anticipated :'^) though o4o was a planned two shot, it will now be in three parts!! please enjoy this part and all the goodness of caring kind and patient mommy jing yuan <33 thank you soo much to @ofmermaidstories, @owlespresso, & @honeyedgifts for beta reading and providing invaluable feedback. KITH!! now ENJOY!!

CW: a/b/o, omega jing yuan, omega reader, reader with afab anatomy and referred to with they/them pronouns, a burgeoning mommy jing yuan, hurt/comfort, sick fic, angst that WILL resolve (i prommy), author-cooked omegaverse lore, one threat of spanking, a single named OC, medical environments, past dan feng/jing yuan/yingxing

Jing Yuan remembers his first heat startlingly well.

It occurred only a day or two after he presented. He’d been Jingliu’s apprentice for less than half a decade. Fresh-faced and young, soft in his cheeks with youth. His scent had sweetened rather suddenly while out in the field with his fellow Cloud knights. His normally neutral aroma turned to something balmy and honey-like in the space of an afternoon. Jing Yuan had felt tender in the days leading up to this change, however, he hadn’t thought anything of it.

He was raised by two betas, after all. They had not bothered teaching Jing Yuan the signs to look out for when nearing the precipice of presenting and the symptoms of an impending heat. Jing Yuan hadn’t understood why the aggressive scents of sweat and musk that clung to the bedclothes and sleep sacks of his fellow recruits bothered him so much. He hadn’t understood why his chest and inner thighs ached, despite not being bruised or overworked by Jingliu’s training exercises. He did not understand why a few of the squirrelier recruits in his company seemed to follow a few paces behind him after their afternoon exercises, lingering around the communal shower as Jing Yuan washed himself.

Jingliu, however, was a coupled alpha with a very kind, loving omega mate. And the moment Jingliu smelled Jing Yuan, freshly bathed and without the reek of sweat on him, she quarantined him to a private quarter with as many blankets and pillows as she could find.

Jingliu was not an affectionate master. She was rather cold and rarely gave Jing Yuan any type of leniency during his training. She did not know restraint, she knew mastery and passion like they were her lovers and not the chipper Foxian that Jing Yuan would one day come to call one of his most beloved friends.

Yet, as Jing Yuan ripened and his first heat rolled over him, Jingliu was outstandingly kind. She stayed with him in his nest of scratchy, ill-suited blankets and scented him as gently as she knew how. Wrist-to-wrist, nosing at his sweaty temple tentatively. She saw to him until Baiheng could arrive and take up the task.

Jing Yuan can still recall hazily watching Baiheng and Jingliu exchange scents at his bedside, caressing each other so tenderly in a mere greeting. He remembers thinking:

“Will I be held like that one day?”

The thought was violent back then. Jing Yuan had not yearned in such a way before and he immediately assumed such a deep desire for intimate companionship surely had to come from his heat-addled mind.

Jing Yuan now knows that this assumption is wrong.

He had been held kindly, one day, by Yingxing and Dan Feng who tended to him so well. The kindest mates, sweet in their own ways, though always sharp-tongued. They both carried attitudes, but Jing Yuan didn’t mind the teasing and prodding they exchanged. The banter was half the fun. Jing Yuan knew that it would one day end, as Yingxing was short-lived and Dan Feng would’ve (should’ve) outlived Jing Yuan.

(It did end, but so differently than he expected. Yingxing, an abomination torn asunder that barely recognizes Jing Yuan as an old, scorned friend and not a lover. Dan Feng— now Dan Heng— he who wears the face of the man Jing Yuan loved but who cannot ever give him the same things. He who will never want the same things.)

Jing Yuan carried (carries) his broken heart well. What’s done is done. Jing Yuan never expected to be loved again, cherished or held like something to be cherished or held. Gentleness, he gives to others when he can, though he would never expect to receive it.

Maybe he craved it.

How could he not?

Regardless of secondary gender, everyone needs care.

In the throes of his heat, he craves the presence of a lover and companionship so deeply it makes him feel sick. His heats now are nothing like this first heat, where Baiheng wiped his brow with a cold rag and whispered to him kind praises like a mother would. They are nothing like the many he shared with Yingxing and Dan Feng, who fought over the best ways to please and sate him.

His heats now are lonely things. They are seldom more than a grudge match between the repetitive stress injuries in his arms and the knotting toys he keeps at his bedside and his motivation to be fucked and knotted by a false phallus made of silicone. His heats are unpleasant, truthfully, and if it wasn’t detrimental to his health, Jing Yuan would take an abortive medication before each one and stop them from occurring at all.

Until recently.

You somehow snuck your way close to him (he invited you to do so), and offered him the thing he had craved for centuries without a second thought. No expectations, no transaction. Your earnestness had always been a point of attraction for Jing Yuan. Sincerity as a turn on. You offered him your presence, body, scent and a smile for nothing more than an assurance that he wanted you.

And, of course he did. Jing Yuan is not a proud man, and he will admit his faults readily. And whether it’s a quirk of biology, his own psyche, or some combination of the two, he wants you.

And now he has had you.

And yet, you left him and his bed cold.

...

Jing Yuan worries in the days that follow his heat. Post-heat makes him antsy and anxious in a way that is uncommon for him. He alternates between pacing the courtyards in the middle of his estate and burying his face in the linens and pillows of his nest, soaking up as much of your fading scent as he can. He lives in the robe you had favored. He brings the wide, silk neckline of the garment to his nose frequently to inhale the strongest smell of you that lingers there.

He feels, notably, a bit pathetic.

It isn’t like him to stew like this even in post-heat. Usually, he’ll be on edge and fatigued, spending a day or two in bed before returning to the Seat of Divine Foresight to catch up on paperwork. It’s unpleasant, but not unbearable, and he doesn’t carry the same pit in his stomach that he does now.

His palms sweat during the day hours. He sleeps poorly.

It doesn’t help that you hardly contact him during the days that follow. He received a single text from you, just after you had left so abruptly:

[name]: i just got home safe. i apologize again. i hope you are well.

And nothing beyond that.

Jing Yuan assumes your own heat had hit. This is the most logical conclusion, as occasionally one omega’s heat can trigger another’s. It explains your erratic behavior and the scent-blocking patches plastered to the side of your neck. And Jing Yuan supposes it is fair for you to want to be home, near your nest your instincts would urge you to.

However—

(Jing Yuan is pathetic and a bit petty, and cannot deny that he is upset that you didn’t think to ask him to be your heatmate, after you so diligently and tenderly cared for him.)

Jing Yuan is not used to the conflict between his omegan urges and his own sense of reason. It makes him feel sick with a headache during the final day of his post-heat. He can’t even enjoy his usual tonic of ginger, lemon, and lyran root without a roll of nausea. His post-heat finishes with him alone (naturally, it seems, as it always is) and with a tummy ache that would flatten him were he a weaker man and not Arbiter-General.

...

Jing Yuan does not expect you to appear at your weekly, scheduled lunch. He assumes you are in the throes of your heat. He assumes you are—

(Suffering alone, in an empty nest probably. Or, had you contacted someone? There’s an insecure murmuring in the back of Jing Yuan's mind that worries you had flagged down someone else to keep your company. Maybe an alpha coworker from the Sky-Faring Commission. Maybe a sensible beta acquaintance who can keep an eye on you, but never get too close. Perhaps, you had hired a handsome, pay-per-heat alpha to warm your bed. Jing Yuan hasn’t indulged, but there are plenty of services on the Luofu that offer a catalog of vetted alphas to knot and sate a needy omega.)

It’s an easy spiral to fall into. One Jing Yuan worries himself in until your next lunch.

His worries turn to confusion upon arriving at his terraced garden to find you already at the gate. You idle, bouncing on your toes with a basket thrown over your arm. Jing Yuan can smell the aroma of freshly baked bread and rich, warm butter emanating from the basket. It mixes with your... scent beautifully. It soothes something in him instantly.

You give him a timid wave and a soft, “Hello, Jing Yuan.”

(Something in him aches.)

Jing Yuan assesses you quickly as you, together, set up the picnic for the meal in silence. Your neck is bare, soft, and unblemished. Not a single bite mark peaks above your collar which provides Jing Yuan with so much relief, that he almost sighs aloud. You seem well-fed, cheeks filled out and soft. Most interestingly, your scent is not heat-stricken. There’s not a hint of pre, post, or standing heat on you. The only difference to your scent is the taste of smoke that lingers in the back of his throat, something charred and acidic. Displeasure. Anxiety.

This all leaves Jing Yuan with more questions than answers, however he asks none during the meal.

Perhaps, Jing Yuan is feeling fragile. Your relationship feels tenuous, despite the seemingly consensual, pleasurable intimacy you so recently shared. Regardless of that, you sit across from him at the low table, picking over your plate quietly and nipping at the skin around your cuticles when you’re not. You can barely meet his eyes as Jing Yuan makes surface-level small talk.

“The weather is lovely today, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

...

“This bread is wonderful. What bakery did you pick up from?”

“The one at the edge of Aurum Alley. With the striped banner in the window.”

...

“How is Yukong and the Sky Faring Commission these days?”

“Just fine.”

...

Just fine.

It’s stilted and odd. You are clearly aware of the tension, with your shoulders drawn up to your ears and a half-scowl fixed on your pretty lips. Jing Yuan does what he can to parry around it, and draw out what he can from you gingerly. He doesn’t wish to pry at you; he knows it won’t do any good with you this guarded. He’s never known you to be anything other than earnest, so it is easy to conclude that your current demeanor and behavior are based within some type of discomfort.

He does not want to worsen it.

Lunch ends quickly that first week. You do not linger, only offering a quick goodbye before escaping him through a back entrance to the gardens. You offer him a single, fleeting look that echoes a pain Jing Yuan isn’t sure he has a name for yet. It makes something in him shudder and fracture, the soft-hearted omega in him begging the rational, sensical parts of him to chase you down, drag you by your scruff into his nest and explain yourself.

However, Jing Yuan does not. Instead, he leaves you with a melancholy smile on his lips and worn lines under his eyes.

...

Over the next few weeks, your lunches follow the same pattern. You arrive first, act cold and sad during the meal and leave promptly without lingering once it is over. Your scent remains acrid, varying sometimes to sickly sweet in a way that makes Jing Yuan nauseous. You hardly touch your food and offer him little in the way of conversation. Or information. Or anything remotely in the same realm as the soft closeness you had shared in his nest, or the lilting banter you exchanged before.

Jing Yuan bides his time and does what he can to put you together, outside of your scheduled, weekly meetings.

He reviews your social media for any new postings (there are none). He is keen to take note of any others’ scents that linger on you during your lunches (there are none that are unusual). He even trails you to the evening markets a few times. You’re sullen even then, picking veggies and fruit with a darkened expression. Tired and cold.

It is perhaps... invasive for Jing Yuan to keep such an intense eye on you. He can accept that. It seems like the wiser option than prodding and poking you and your off mood when you clearly want to spend the least amount of time with him as possible. Jing Yuan knows he must maneuver about your relationship carefully.

And truthfully? This is unknown territory to him. He is cautious.

And ultimately? Jing Yuan surmises that you will come to him before he must prod you. You are honest and Jing Yuan is certain (certain) that it must be very difficult for you to hold your tongue and fester the way you are. He resolves to allow you to wallow for a bit longer, before stepping in. He’ll examine you more closely then and find the weak points in your facade if necessary. He’ll lance through them then, and some type of catharsis will follow. The outcome of which he hopes is favorable.

(He hopes that it ends in companionship. Coupling, if he is to dream. He’ll take scraps as long as it is you.)

This behavior of his could, theoretically, destroy your relationship.

(Dan Feng never liked prying. He was a very private person who was so, so careful with what he shared. Even with his mates. Inversely, Yingxing was far from private. He complained and groused about anything and everything that rubbed him the wrong way. There were times when Yingxing would attempt to contain his poor moods, though this was rarely successful. It would inevitably lead to an evening-long outburst between the three of them. Explosive anger and sadness would fade into a sweetened dusk as they shared Jing Yuan’s nest, comforted by the warmth and lack of space between them.

What destroyed their relationship was the unnamed thing that Yingxing and Dan Feng shared that did not include Jing Yuan.

Jing Yuan never minded it. Both Yingxing and Dan Feng operated in their own unique niches on the Luofu, as High Elder and a rare short-lived genius, and they found a special type of kinship in that. Jing Yuan was not jealous within their polycule.

Perhaps he should have been.

Dan Feng’s brooding anxiety was a quiet thing. Like a storm out at sea, writhing as one looked on it from the shoreline. Something to watch out for, to run from, to seek high ground away from, but so distant that it was easy to dismiss.

Dan Feng feared Yingxing’s inevitable, looming death. Dan Feng loved so deeply and he would lose it so soon. Jing Yuan felt similarly but tempered the feeling. Dan Feng, despite his many meditations and mantras, did not.

Dan Feng had been given so little that was truly his in his lifetime. To have the life of a lover ripped away by something as trivial as biology incensed him.

Yingxing entertained Dan Feng too much. Spurred on things too large for him to truly understand. It’s belittling to say, but Jing Yuan believed it then, and believes it even more in retrospect. Yingxing researched and fed Dan Feng’s hope and anxiety in tandem. He kept Jing Yuan in the dark near the end, with lust-filled nights, a fat knot, and a well-cared-for nest.

When Jing Yuan pressed the two of them about their shared absences, their oddly timed visits to Scale Gorge and peculiar demeanors, he was pushed away. Shut out. It made him hurt and shake and only the two of them could put him back together in those instances. To be squeezed between them, fucked out and full, would soothe any wounds their distance left. Temporarily. They’d only be more distant the morning after and the cycle would begin again.

For all of his sharpness, Jing Yuan was unable to stop them in the end

Truly, how does one stop the mighty storm, born from the sea and the volcanic belches beneath its surface? Jing Yuan is only a man. To be caught in the ocean’s swirling undertow and the sky’s gales would have been a fruitless struggle. Treading water in the calm sea was hard enough. Under the tempest Dan Feng and Yingxing birthed? Jing Yuan could not bear it. He did not know how. The mutually-assured destruction that the duo brewed was not meant for anyone other than each other.

Jing Yuan wonders if his own aches had pushed the two away from him and closer to each other.

Was it guilt they were both too stubborn to name? Or, something worse like dislike or even hate? Did they only tolerate him, by the end, when they were too engrossed in their plans to achieve immortality to care about their omega anymore? Was Jing Yuan’s long-faded claiming bite a burden to them?

Jing Yuan tries not to dwell on it. It makes him too sad.

He will not deny the effects that their departure had on him. He is tentative to entertain lasting bonds like the ones he once had. He rejects every suitor. He is far too careful in sharing his burdens with those who do care for him. He dances with his words and feelings better than any street performer in Aurum Alley.

He worries for you because he has created some type of bond with you, and he worries that if he pries, you will run off and away from him, into a storm that he cannot weather, only to be swallowed by it.)

So, Jing Yuan is careful.

...

Things boil over exactly a month after Jing Yuan’s heat.

It is sooner than expected, though you are a tender-hearted thing. Perhaps Jing Yuan should’ve suspected that you would break within your own turmoil sooner rather than later.

On this day, you are not early to lunch. You are absent from the gates at the appointed time. Initially, Jing Yuan thinks you perhaps went in without him (you never do, always waiting to walk in step with him), though you are not any place in the garden when he does enter. The low table is bare as he steps under the gazebo and settles himself onto one of the silk pillows.

Jing Yuan can’t help but be nervous, rubbing at the scent glands on his wrist without thinking of it. As the minutes tick by, his unease grows like an oily bubble in his chest.

(You haven’t sent him any messages indicating you wouldn’t be here. You haven’t ever been so late before, never left him idling like this without any sort of communication. Your silence seems to speak more than anything else you’ve said to him in the past few weeks.)

(‘I don’t want to see you anymore, Jing Yuan.’)

Before Jing Yuan has further time to catastrophize, the back gate to the garden opens with a slam. It shuts far more quietly a moment later. You stand next to it, fumbling with the mechanical latch.

As your scent bleeds over the garden, Jing Yuan stands without thinking. His own spiral shatters.

Your scent is sour. Like something rotten, like a fruit ripened and laid with the eggs of insects. It’s far more alarming than the off notes that your scent has carried recently. It’s sickly sweet, earthen, and fleshy in a way that is startling and putrid. The sweet warmth of it is gone, not even a layer of it remains as you mutter to yourself, continuing to struggle with the gate, visibly panicking.

You speak before Jing Yuan can further acknowledge you, “I’m s-so sorry to be late. I-I got caught up with something in the Alchemy Commission, and the Starskiff tram— it filled up and I had to catch the next one, and then— I missed my stop? I’m sorry—”

You run a hand through your hair and tug.

Jing Yuan must attempt to soothe you, yes? He keeps his voice even and low as he says, “It’s alright.”

You do not look well, Jing Yuan realizes as he nears you. Your appearance matches your scent. Sweat soaks your temples, running in rivulets down your neck to visibly soak the collar of your innermost garments. Your pupils are pinpricked, gaze far away even as you (attempt) to speak to him. Your lips are chapped, chewed raw. The petal-softness looks almost busted open on one side from the abuse.

You scowl at him and shake your head.

“It hardly is.” You mumble. “I—I didn’t mean to make you wait. Or worry— if you did. I’m sorry to assume.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Jing Yuan approaches you carefully, slowly, the way one would approach a frightened, soaked kitten. “How about we sit, hm? I’ve already poured us both water, and it looks like you could use some.”

You open your lips to protest, and the bloody scab at the corner tears. Fresh scarlet bleeds over the puckered flesh and you turn away from him, just enough to paw at the wound obscured.

“I’m sorry.”

Jing Yuan’s heart breaks a fraction.

Your unwellness strikes something in him, and a white-hot dread burns from the base of his skull, down his spine, and settles in his hands and lower core. It is the physical reaction to the lucid understanding that something is clearly wrong. He can’t quite parse what, but he knows he needs to find out. Mend. Do something because if he has to hear the broken inflection in your voice for much longer, he will shatter. His nerves and resolve are more frayed than he thought.

With his voice soft and gentle, he says, “I appreciate you thinking of me, however, you truly do not need to apologize. If you’d like, you can continue your apologies once we get you into the shade and get some water in you. It’s already chilled. I’ll pour you a glass. How does that sound?”

It’s a belittling way to speak to you. He knows this, yet cannot stop the way his tone sweetens and lightens. It feels— natural, instinctual. It makes his mouth feel dry and tacky because—

(God, when was the last time he allowed himself to respond to his own anxiety and need to care in this way?)

(Will you be receptive to it?)

You stare at him, scowling and wet-eyed, “It— sounds f-fine. I can pour the water, though.”

(Perhaps.)

Jing Yuan steels himself, “Would you let me? I’d very much like to.”

“I always p-pour it though,” you sniffle. “You don’t need to.”

“I’d like to.”

He would.

Jing Yuan offers you his hand, palm up and inviting.

(He anticipates a rejection. There’s an afterimage, a fragmented memory of Dan Feng scolding Jing Yuan for this flavor of soppy vulnerability. Yingxing once laughed in his face for this type of sober-minded, sexless tenderness. They didn’t mean it to be cruel. They didn’t know how it bruised part of him so deeply that centuries later, his hand trembles the slightest bit as he holds it out to you with the same feelings warming his chest down to his toes.)

You take his hand.

Jing Yuan feels himself relax, if only a little.

He guides you back to the table, rubbing his thumb along the meat of your palm. He deposits you next to him at the table, rather than your usual spot across. You don’t seem to mind, you’re too focused on immediately fussing with the pillows and mats below you. Jing Yuan idles, watching.

You’re so uncomfortable in your own skin.

It takes you a while to settle. You shift from your knees, to cross-legged, then back to your knees. The pillow you’re atop clearly isn’t to your liking as you wobble on top of it, frown deepening as you try to get comfortable. You don’t look at him— or you won’t look at him, he isn’t entirely sure.

Jing Yuan pours each of you a glass of water and sets yours close to you.

“Drink?”

“Not yet,” You shove at the pillow between your legs. Your voice pinches. “I— I need a moment.”

“Take your time,” Jing Yuan assures you.

(He will not let you hurt for long. He can’t.)

You push and pull at the cushion. Your thighs quiver as you barely manage to hold yourself up to try and sit more comfortably. Jing Yuan watches you, taking note of how your body seems to struggle with its own weight. When your outer garment spreads open around your legs and he gets a peak of your inner layers, he can see that you’re soaked. Though, there’s no scent of slick on you. He presumes it must be sweat.

Poor, poor thing.

You gnaw at your bottom lip, teeth digging into the wound that’s already there. It weeps blood, a little smear of it dragging onto your chin.

That’s enough.

Jing Yuan snatches your water glass up. Gently, he presses the rim of it to your lips.

“Drink, please.”

It’s a gamble, truthfully. This much proximity and care could scare you off. It could make you turn tail and run, really. But, Jing Yuan needs this, he thinks. He needs to show you he cares in a way that is tangible and touchable and maybe then—

(You will understand the depth of his feelings. Maybe, you’ll even learn you can lean on him.)

You look over the top of the glass at him with widened eyes, “I—”

“Perhaps it will help you settle. You look quite dehydrated.”

“B-But I feel gross, I don’t want to drink anything.”

Jing Yuan implores you, “Will you try?”

“I don’t want to.” Your tone edges to that of a petulant child, fists balling up over your thighs. “I-I don’t know if it will help.”

Jing Yuan hums thoughtfully. “It certainly won’t hurt to have a small sip, would it?”

“... Probably not.”

You flash him a teary look before jolting your gaze away from him, blinking rapidly.

“For me, then?” Jing Yuan asks. “Just a little sip. If it makes you feel worse, you don’t need to drink any more. But, I really do think it will help.”

“... Okay.” You concede.

Jing Yuan expects you to take the glass from him. You have been careful not to touch him since his heat after all, and with how cagey you are, this hardly seems like the exception. And yet, you wrap your hands around his own that hold the glass, and tilt it back to sip. He follows the motion, careful to make sure you don’t choke.

Jing Yuan watches you take a small sip, then another, then a third, and suddenly you throw back the glass and take a gulp.

It soothes something in him.

He’s careful to keep the glass tilted just right so you do not drown yourself. You take large sips, water spilling from the corners of the glass, down your chin. Jing Yuan feels soothed as you finish it, allowing him to pour you another. You shake like a leaf next to him as he does.

“Slower with this next one,” Jing Yuan urges. “Would you like me to help you again?”

“I—I— No. You shouldn’t.” You shake your head. A moment later, you lay forward, face down on the table, bracing your forehead against the wood and hiding your face from him. Your arms wrap around your middle. “You shouldn’t have to.”

You curl in on yourself.

“But, I’d like to. If it would help you and make things easier.”

Jing Yuan moves to pet the back of your head but pauses, just before he does. He hovers there, considering, assessing—

He can’t be entirely sure what state you’re in. It’s clearly not heat, nor is it pre-heat. Perhaps you are ill regardless of your heat cycle, but he hadn’t noticed any other symptoms other than sweating, a clear fever, and your rancid scent. He cannot be sure any type of contact, intimate or otherwise, will be wanted, let alone welcomed.

He takes a chance.

(Jing Yuan remembers that you are a soft creature. Fragile and craving. You need contact, even if you think you don’t. Jing Yuan will remind you of this.)

He sweeps any hair off the back of your neck and lays his palm flat over the nape of it. His fingers wrap around the sides of your throat, just barely, and squeeze. Not enough to cause discomfort, just applying enough pressure that you can both be grounded in it. Jing Yuan nearly growls when he feel the absolutely torched state of your scent glands—

You keen. It’s a warbling thing and tension leaks out from you. Like a half-built home, you collapse in on yourself. You sniffle a moment later and press your face harder into the wood. Jing Yuan— he can’t have that. Seeing you hurt hurts him. He coaxes your head up as much as he can and rubs at the skin of your neck. Not near your scent glands, they’re too sensitive, even with the barest touch. He leaves them alone as a concern to sort out later.

You allow him this contact. You even lean into it and toward him as he pets you. Your shoulder bumps into his own and Jing Yuan can feel the heat coming off of you in waves. He hates this. He hates seeing you in pain, suffering, and he wants to fix it, but biding his time is the best option. He must be coaxing and gentle regardless of how he’d like to heft you over his shoulder, take you back to his nest, and make sure you are safe and well-cared for. It would help. Whatever state you’re in, suffering alone can’t be helping you. But being too rash could scare you off so easily.

You shiver beside him. Poor, poor thing. Your eyes are red-rimmed and glassy. He squeezes your neck reassuringly. Instantly, you’re hiding and burying your face in your hands.

“Jing Yuan,” you say softly. “You must stop being kind to me. Please.”

“I don’t think I can, dear.” His tongue slips and his heart aches. What a foolish idea for you to have. “Why do you not want me to be kind to you?”

“Because—” You chew on your words and shake your head. “I— I haven’t been good to you. I’ve actually been shit to you, and— it’s not fair for you to be so kind to me when I have been so vile.”

‘Vile’ is too strong of a word. Too cruel to yourself. You’ve been avoidant, yes. Unwell and dealing with so poorly, entirely. But vile? Hardly. Though your actions stung, he doesn’t hold the previous weeks against you. Especially in this moment, where his concern far outweighs any other feeling he carries. Any other pains you’ve caused him can be addressed later. There is more to parse. But nothing that takes precedence now that you are beginning to crumble.

“I disagree.” Jing Yuan says your name, sweet on his lips and aching between his ribs, “Please do not speak of yourself so poorly.”

“But it’s true,” your voice wobbles. Your shoulders shake. “I deserve it, don’t I? You are too kind to me, Jing Yuan, but I have been cruel to you. I left you in post-heat. I continue— to see you and pretend everything is fine, and that we’re fine, and that I’m fine even if we both know that something clearly isn’t. Yet, I-I’m too much of a fucking coward to say anything to you. I k-keep withholding things from you. I keep messing up and I hate that I’m doing it. I feel awful, lying to you and keeping you away. And yet, you are still kind to me—”

A sob breaks your last word and your hands fly to cover your mouth.

He says your name again, voice threatening to break, “It’s alright—”

“But it’s not!” You snap. “I-I care about you so much, Jing Yuan. I really do and I keep messing up. And I-I don’t know how to fix anything. I’m sorry.”

Jing Yuan collects himself and makes a series of decisions very quickly. It’s necessary. Your scent is putrid. Angry and rotten now. And Jing Yuan can’t bear to watch you struggle like this anymore.

He acts. It’s a flurry of motion in which he snakes his arms around your waist. In a single heave, he pulls you into his lap. He hauls you close, against his chest your legs thrown over his thighs. You fight him, just a little. A bit of squirming and a shove or two at his chest, but he isn’t perturbed. His arm stays securely wrapped around your middle as he tugs you closer still. You push against his shoulder with a frown.

“Jing Yuan—”

He tilts your chin up with a wide palm. You startle when you meet his gaze, almost cowering.

“I will not sit here and listen to you berate yourself any further for my sake,” Jing Yuan levels his gaze. He will be stern. He thinks you need it. “Do you understand?”

You bare your teeth at him, “I’m being honest—”

Jing Yuan reaches up and tears one of the scent-blocking patches on the side of his neck off and tosses it aside. His scent radiates. It’s concerned, worried, hurt but the achy kind of pain. Bitter and wind-whipped. You stiffen as his scent mingles with yours. There’s a sharp quality to his own scent that makes you cower just a bit, sinking further into his lap and the support of his arm wrapped around you.

“You are being incredibly harsh to yourself,” Jing Yuan tells you, softening his voice. He pets your cheeks and watches your eyes begin to water once more. “It doesn’t serve me, and it certainly doesn’t serve you. I know that you are upset, I have been able to smell it since the moment you entered the garden. I would like to help, but I can’t if you focus on being cruel to yourself, rather than telling me what is hurting you so badly.”

“I—” You swallow and wring your hands in your lap. Your words fade off and you only nod.

Tears slip down your cheeks anew. Before you have a chance to try and wipe them away, Jing Yuan ducks his head lower, closer to yours, and swipes the tears away with his thumbs. You sniffle when he does, meeting his eyes, only to look away quickly and fix your gaze on the ground. Your shoulders stay slack, though.

(A sign of submission.)

Jing Yuan will take it. He adjusts so that you’re fully bundled in his lap and he buries his nose in your hair. Ideally, he would drag you to lie down in the piles of satin blankets and pillows but Jing Yuan thinks better of it. He’s unsure he’d be able to get up if he were to get tangled up with you. The instinct to nest feels too intense to not heed if he were nestled any closer to you and the soft cushions.

You shiver against his chest. Whether it’s fever or nerves, it is hard to tell. You almost vibrate, sniffling and allowing Jing Yuan to tend to your cheeks. You even let him press his lips below each of your eyes. A little sob cuts off as he pulls away from you. He squeezes around your waist.

“Will you tell me what is going on?” He asks, voice hardly above a whisper.

You gather yourself, then nod. Your cheek squishes against the plate of armor on his chest and you bear into him. It doesn’t even seem like you’re doing so on purpose.

“I m-messed up,” you tell him quietly. “Really bad.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing that can’t be fixed,” he assures you.

“But, Jing Yuan, it is bad. Even if it’s fixable, I don’t even know where to start.”

“That’s alright,” he replies. “I’d like to help, but I can only do that if you tell me what’s wrong. What happened, dear?”

It takes you a moment to gather yourself. You grab one of his hands and cradle it in both of yours. Sweetly, you rub at the meat of his thumb and over his palms. You glance up at him as you do.

“I was foolish.”

Something in him cracks.

“Do not insult yourself again, or I will put you over my knee.” The words fly from Jing Yuan’s mouth without any forethought. “Do you understand?”

It’s too far— it should be too far— but it’s clearly not as you squeak and nod, compliant. Something to be addressed... later. One thing at a time.

“I—” You nod your head erratically. “I understand. I won’t. I promise.”

“Good, dear.” He is brazen enough to lean his nose into your temple. You lean into him with a wet hiccup. “Please continue.”

“Okay,” you say. “I—I messed up while I was helping you with your heat. Like, really messed up. I d-didn’t mean to, but I didn’t take my suppressants the entire time I was with you.”

Jing Yuan barely keeps himself from stiffening up.

“I see,” he breathes. “Do you take the variety of suppressants that need to be taken daily?”

“Uh-huh,” You nod with a gulp. “I u-usually take them at night, right before bed. But I didn’t even think about them while I was with you. I was... having such a nice time that they completely slipped my mind until the morning I left your home. I started to feel a little weird in the shower, and my scent got all muddled, and I remembered.”

“I see,” Jing Yuan replies with a nod. “You did not smell like heat the following week if I recall.”

“I t-took an abortive heat-onset p-prescription I keep on hand,” you tell him softly. “I have a bottle of it that was prescribed by a healer I see at the Alchemy Commission. I have... severe heats. It’s better to stop them at all costs than to weather one.”

You haven’t ever told him this before. Your own heat cycle was always something private and kept to yourself. It makes sense, really. You were under the impression he was an alpha until relatively recently, and you had no reason to share the intimate details of your cycle and its apparent difficulties.

You continue, “My sup— sup— suppressants aren’t a great type, I think? They work well, but they need a high dose to do so. Going off of them cold turkey, even f-for a short time has r-really messed up my heat cycle. I’ve been taking them consistently again, but it’s still a-awful, Jing Yuan.”

Your voice wobbles and breaks when you say his name, and you bury yourself in his chest. You hide there and Jing Yuan can’t help but to huddle over you, rubbing over your arms and waist and hushing you. The urge to soothe overtakes him.

“It hurts, hm?” He speaks the words into your ear, and you shudder and nod profusely. Your scent is spiking, sweetening next to the rot. It’s better, at least by a fraction.

“Y-yeah. It’s so much. I keep getting little fevers and think I am going into preheat. Then—then I feel sick, like properly sick, and I think that I’m getting heat sick. I— get heat sick really easily, so it always feels likely and then I’m worried I’ll have my full heat and be sick. So, I—I take more of the abortive medication.”

“Each time you believe that you’re approaching your heat?”

You look down at your lap, shame clouding your eyes, “Y-Yeah. I know it’s bad. It keeps making me ill. My cycle just won’t even out— I feel so stupid— I shouldn’t say that. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I—I just don’t know what to do.”

Your last word shatters you and you bawl into Jing Yuan’s neck.

He lets you. He brings his knees up, boxes you into him and lets you scent him feverishly. Jing Yuan so badly wants to scent you back, but he is ever-aware of your own inflamed scent glands and thinks better of it. It would bring you more pain than relief at this point. Instead, he does everything else he can think of to ease you. He lets you nose into the scent glands on his neck, open-mouthed and panted between labored breaths. His hands run up and down your back and arms, smearing his own scent all over you.

“It’s alright,” He, instead, assures you through your panic. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Of course,” you hiccup and rub your cheek against his. “I just want it to stop.”

Of course, you do. Jing Yuan feels awful that you’ve been suffering and struggling and he hasn’t lent a hand this entire time. He feels— a bit foolish himself for not putting together that this was why you have been so avoidant and reclused recently.

“I know,” he replies gently and cajoles your face away from his neck. You start crying harder and with your full chest when you don’t have direct contact with his scent gland anymore. Poor thing. He rubs under your eyes and softens his own. “It’s been scary, hasn’t it?”

“Mhm,” You turn into his hand, seeking him. God, Jing Yuan is going to crumble along with you.

“I’m sorry you’ve had to weather this alone.” He says gently. “I’d like to try and help you, if you’ll let me.”

“... Only— and I m-mean only, if I am not burdening you.”

“You are not a burden to me.” You could never be. Jing Yuan speaks seriously and presses his lips, now chapped and dry with his worry, to your forehead. He lingers. “Even if you are struggling, it does not burden me to help you. It is much more of a hardship to think about you suffering alone or watching you suffering alone in the present. I would very much like to help— perhaps with a visit to the Alchemy Commission is in order firstly. How does that sound?”

“B-but, I already tried to see a healer today.”

He hums, “Is that why you were a bit tardy?”

You flush and nod, “Uh-huh.”

“What did the healer say?”

“They didn’t have a proper healer available for a walk-in, since they said it wasn’t an emergency,” you reply. “J-just an apprentice. He told me to get bed rest and try to take some time off of work.”

“Sound advice,” Jing Yuan nods, but notes the fact that you’re still soaked through with sweat and severely unwell. “However, I’d like it if we got you in to see someone for a full exam.”

“They said they were all full today— no appointments.”

Jing Yuan hums, rubbing over your ribs, “I have a personal healer at the Alchemy Commission. I am sure she will be able to make some time for you.”

“... Are you sure?”

“I’m certain.” Using his perks as Arbiter General hardly ever is appealing these days, not anymore. It would be a good use of status to get you into an urgent appointment for what is increasingly becoming an emergency with a physician he trusts.

“... As long as it doesn’t cause any trouble,” you chew your lip and settle back into him.

“You are not trouble,” he reminds you simply. “I only want to help relieve what is so clearly troubling you. Do you trust me to help?”

He asks you directly. Something is emerging between the two of you, he can tell and sense it, even if he doesn’t have a name for it yet. He knows that he will need your explicit trust to hatch the strategies that he wants to. You must trust him if he is going to take care of you well and properly, in the way that he is almost certain you will need.

“Of course.”

Of course, you trust him. You press a kiss to his jaw and linger there. Your neck, with your inflamed scent glands (are those hives rising up over top of them?), bared to him.

Jing Yuan could cry.

You don’t fight him anymore. There’s no bite in you now, just the afterburn of tears and the last dribbles of them that soak down your neck and jaw. Jing Yuan can’t help pressing a few kisses to your burning cheeks. You let loose a warbling whine that breaks the stillness of the garden. Jing Yuan wants more of it, more of you, but there is work to be done first.

You tuck into him as he takes out his phone. It soothes him to see you there, burnt out, but soft-lipped against his chest. He pets over his cheeks as he shoots off a few important messages.

...

The Alchemy Commission is quick to accommodate the General and the omega that the public will come to presume to be his mate. They tend to move heaven and earth when he requests anything of them (The last two High Elder’s have been quite fond of him, and that bias persists throughout their delve.) He has never been so happy to be in their good graces.

With haste upon your arrival, you are situated in a spacious exam room. It’s perfectly quiet; it’s the one they always keep Jing Yuan confined to when he requires attention. He’s glad they afford you the same care. It’s quite necessary.

You’ve wilted on the journey over. Though Jing Yuan offered to arrange a house call so you could rest in the comfort of your home, you shot down the offer immediately and without debate.

(“My ne— my house isn’t presentable.”)

It’s fair. A cagey, sick omega rarely wants a stranger in their home.

Besides, the atmosphere of the clinic seems to soothe you— both of you. The exam room is outfitted with a long line of cupboards and jars for dry storage. Various mortars and pestles for mixing and grinding of remedies sit on a bench. There’s even a small stove made of black rock to be used if a medication requires heating. The smell of dried herbs and medicinal oils permeates the air, and each lungful settles something in him. It reminds him of the many nights he spent bothering Dan Feng while he concocted the High Elder’s pearl panacea for his patients. It brings Jing Yuan back to his own bouts of illness, when Yingxing would chide him for being reckless while slathering his chest and the bottoms of his feet with minty salve.

Your scent dulls with the environment as well. The white noise of rushing water, just beyond the delve, surely helps relax you too.

(You still do not look well. Jing Yuan tries not to fixate and spiral on the fact that you are so deeply unwell, as it will not serve him further than working himself up. He instead keeps close to you, bearing your weight as you lean into his side and slump. You burn beside him.)

You only perk up when Jing Yuan’s healer enters.

His healer is a silver-eyed Foxian named Lei Huiling. As she enters the exam room, a gentle wave of budding jasmine flowers and rock sugar follows. It’s a gentle scent, clearly of an omega. It’s non-obtrusive, but still calming. Jing Yuan has always appreciated its quality, and he can see that you do as well as you sniff toward her and relax a degree.

She bows politely, “I apologize for any sort of wait.”

“It’s alright.” You reply, voice crackling and parched. “Thank you for making some time for me.”

“It’s my pleasure. I am happy to accommodate any request of the General. The Divine Foresight owing me a favor is an added bonus.” She gives a snaggletooth smile with a tilt of her head. Despite your condition, you stifle a laugh.

Jing Yuan appreciates the levity.

“The General is good for them.” You tell her. Your voice is crackling and dry.

It makes Lei Huiling’s brow furrow. “The General is an honorable man, you think?”

“I know.”

You squeeze Jing Yuan’s hand. It’s painfully heartfelt and vulnerable. Jing Yuan doesn’t think you’d reveal your affection with such ease if you weren’t so terribly beaten down.

Lei Huiling seems to sense this as well. She wheels up a chair and situates herself across from the two of you. “I know a bit of what you’ve been struggling with based on your intake information, along with the General’s messages. Could you describe it to me as well? As much detail as you can provide.”

Lei Huiling’s words make you look afraid. You look trapped, ensnared, and Jing Yuan wishes you wouldn’t. It’s the mixture of both guilt and fear that twists your pretty lips and has you mincing in the round, pitted chair you are sitting in. This is frightening for you, all of it, he knows. To have to bear details of something you’ve been so diligently trying to cope with (and hide, but that can be addressed later) clearly is causing you distress.

You squeeze his hand. Jing Yuan squeezes back with more force, and takes to rubbing his thumb over the back of yours. Only then do you begin to explain.

Your explanation is largely the same as the one you provided to him earlier. You do, however, add a handful of (concerning) details.

(“I-I took my abortive medication... maybe eight times. I know that’s too many—”)

(“I’ve been avoiding social s-settings, yes.”)

(“I don’t have much of a pack.”)

(“I haven’t slept well since this has all started.”)

Each admission sends Jing Yuan into a minor panic. He is so, so grateful he carries an extra scent patch on his person and was able to reapply his after tearing it off earlier. The last thing he needs is for you to be aware of his own spiral and machinations through his storm-charged scent.

“It must have been very difficult to go through what you have so far.” His healer gives you a sympathetic look. “Given your symptoms, I’d like to complete a standard exam, if that is alright with you. It would give us a baseline and establish the best ways to proceed to get you feeling better. Does that sound alright?”

You nod, “I’m o-okay with that. Can Jing Yuan— um, can the General stay?”

“Of course. He is welcome to stay for the exam if that would make you the most comfortable. I would like to check the cortisol levels in your slick, however, and that will require you to disrobe while we collect a sample.”

You eye him, think for a moment, then reply, “... He can leave for that part.”

Jing Yuan laughs and scents you with his wrist, “As you wish.”

He doesn’t enjoy leaving you alone, even if he’s only idling in the hallway outside of the exam room. The door is thin and draped with woven curtains, so the sounds inside are muffled, but he strains to hear you regardless. Never mind the various whispers and looks he garners from the various staff who see him keeping watch over an (his) omega. He needs the confirmation that you are—

(Okay.)

...

His healer taps through a tablet with a schooled expression but regards you warmly.

“So, let’s go over things. I will say, that the results of your exam and the few tests we ran are not all that surprising. Your slick does contain a high level of cortisol. You have severe pain in your major scent glands, which is indicative of internal inflammation and imbalance within your pheromonal system. It seems like your fever is lower than it has been, however your temperature is still not within normal range. These symptoms can be attributed to withdrawal symptoms for your specific suppressants.”

“... But, I’ve been taking my suppressants again. On a good schedule too.” You sound like you’ve been kicked.

Jing Yuan doesn’t mean to, he swears. But, maybe, he shoots the healer a sharp look. Maybe.

She takes it in stride, “You have been, but sadly this type of suppressant isn’t very efficient at regulating after an intense withdrawal. I have not prescribed alyan root-based suppressants in many, many years due to this unfortunate quirk. I also believe your symptoms have been compounded due to overuse of your abortive medication that you took when you felt your heat was beginning. It’s a bad cocktail, though you have done well in trying to get you and your cycle back to a healthy stasis.”

“How do we start to remedy things?” Jing Yuan asks.

You look nervous.

“Really, there are two options, in this case. The one that I would recommend first is that we titrate you down on your current suppressants, until you are fully off of them. I’d prescribe a regulating medication as well to ease your symptoms while doing so. Once you’re titrated off, you can go through a heat. ”

You flinch like you’ve been slapped.

Lei Huiling continues, “... This option would be my recommendation. The best way to help your body recover is to allow for a natural heat cycle to re-establish. We can look into suppressant types and abortive varieties that are gentler on your body, and less prone to the types of side effects you’re experiencing, following your heat.”

You stare at your lap.

“... Is there anything else we can do?”

“There is only one other option that could be potentially viable. I can double the dose of your current suppressants and your symptoms should stabilize within the next several weeks. The downside of this is that, given that you take suppressants in the alyan-root family, the already high, necessary dose typically leads to difficult heats down the line, whenever your next occurs. Heat sickness is a given, and with your personal history and disposition to develop heat sickness already, I wouldn’t recommend this option.”

“I see.” You sound like you’re about to cry. “I can understand why.”

Jing Yuan, who hasn’t spoken hardly at all, finds his voice carefully, “May we have a moment?”

“Of course.” She nods to him and offers another look. “Would you like a warm blanket? I can fetch one for you in the meantime.”

“... Yes, please.” You reply.

You’re quiet until Lei Huiling returns with a linen blanket, perfectly toasty. It probably isn’t a good idea to swaddle you in something so warm when you’re already feverish, but Jing Yuan concurs that you need the comfort in this moment. He wraps it around your shoulders and lingers.

“Would you like me to step out as well—?”

“No.” You interrupt, rapidly shaking your head. “... Please stay.”

Of course. Of course, he will.

...

You decide to proceed with the first option.

It is not a decision made easily, even though you agree with Lei Huiling’s assessment that full cessation off of your suppressants is the best course of action in the long run. This decision is made with trepidation regardless. Lei Huiling procures several prescriptions (a tincture of dian orchid nectar, a tea of ginger and myrel root, some tablets that can be dissolved under the tongue that she specifies tastes like apricots, but aren’t made of them—) and writes a detailed, surprisingly legible course of treatment. Her phone number is scribbled at the bottom for you.

You receive the piece of paper with shaking hands.

Lei Huiling prepares your first treatment right in the exam room. It’s a regulating tincture that smells almost too sweet as she unscrews the bottle and shows you how much to dose with the glass pipet (two-thirds of the way full) and where to eject it into your mouth for best results (the corner, under your tongue without touching your lips or tongue to the pipet.)

Jing Yuan commits the details to memory as you smack your lips with the taste. You grimace cutely.

You leave the Alchemy Commission in a daze. Jing Yuan keeps you steady with a hand on your lower back, lingering and keeping you walking in a (mostly) straight line.

He has— much to think about. To ruminate on. The bevy of information he received during your visit and the path forward to remedying you requires careful consideration. There are plans that need to be made, and relatively quickly. The sooner and more keenly Jing Yuan can make them, the sooner he can provide you ease—

(This is under the assumption that you want him involved in your heat.)

He thinks you do. He could be wrong. He could. However, given the way you lean into him, and scent his bicep every few steps, he doesn’t think he has much to worry about. Even if, perhaps, it will take you some time to come to this same conclusion.

He is willing to wait.

There’s a little shop a few blocks down from the Alchemy Commission clinic that is selling noodle jelly bowls, iced and hot. You must be feeling better, as when you pass by the size, your eyes widen and you slow your already-slow pace.

Jing Yuan orders you a bowl to split (iced, you need the cold—) and you settle at a table, tucked in a little courtyard, away from the midday foot traffic. You poke at the desert with a frown, spooning up some of the sweetened puffergoat milk that swirls at the top of the bowl.

“I’m sorry.” You glance up at him, then back down at the bowl.

(Ah, there it is.)

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

“That’s hardly true. If I had remembered to take my suppressants during your heat, we— I— we wouldn’t be in this situation. I wouldn’t have hurt you and I wouldn’t be hurting like I am. I wouldn’t require all of this... excess attention. And for that, I apologize.”

“... I accept your apology.” Jing Yuan acquiesces. “Though, I do find it unnecessary.”

“But you shouldn’t find it unnecessary. I know— I know I have been inattentive to you and hiding this from you. It’s not fair to you. You should be upset.” you exclaim, angrily shoving a mouthful of bright green tapioca noodles into your mouth.

“It doesn’t please me that you hid your situation. However, I understand why you did. You were afraid, weren’t you?”

“I mean, yes. I am still frightened, but that’s not an excuse to hurt you. And as a result, you now have to deal with all of... this. Which you don’t, I want to assure you, Jing Yuan. I appreciate your concern and help and presence, but I am capable of handling t-this on my own.”

You gulp. Jing Yuan didn’t think you would be so stubborn.

“You speak as if I’m pulling teeth to simply be in your presence,” Jing Yuan says softly. Your hands ball into fists on the tabletop. “Do you think that?”

“I mean... maybe to a degree? Under current circumstances. You just c-care for me, and keep caring for me, and it must be hard, right?”

“It isn’t.” Caring for you has been the easiest thing he has done in centuries. He probes, “Why would you think that?”

“Jing Yuan,” you steel yourself and look at him. Into him. “Y-You care for so many, so much already. You are the helm of the godship and bear its burdens as your own. You are as dutiful a general as you are a person, and I can only imagine the effort that is required of you, unrelentingly, at the helm of this vessel. I struggle to find my lapse in judgment and its consequences as anything other than another load for you to bear.”

He stares at you. You stare back. He folds his hands into a steeple and rests his chin on them.

You bring up a logical, fair point. It’s a valid concern to raise, and one that he has already considered. The Luofu is in peacetime. Looming threats have been accounted for and there are always several sets of eyes scanning for any potential new calamities waiting to happen. There are contingency plans, written out in various forms, and backed up across six different systems. Jing Yuan doesn’t exactly derive pleasure from his current duties as general, but there is a satisfaction in knowing that he has ample safeguards in place and is confident in his own abilities to handle unexpected scenarios in stride.

Over the seven centuries that Jing Yuan has been the Divine Foresight, he has become used to the vigilance and protection the Luofu requires. The care he extends to the Luofu is... almost a burden. If he were less duty-bound, it would be.

The fact of the matter is that caring for you is not something he is duty-bound to do. He is not sworn and expected (beyond social convention) to be kind and caring to you. The careful, fledgling connection of something more vulnerable and adoring is his choice to have, keep, and hold. The softness that you share with him is just for him, and the care he provides to you is just for you.

He does not think that telling you this fact so simply will satisfy you.

Instead, he steeples his hands, sets his chin atop them and asks:

“Dear, why do you see caring for yourself as an innate burden?”

You freeze, like you’ve been struck under the belly of a storm. Like you’ve been caught.

“I don’t.”

“I’d implore you to reconsider. I do not know you to be a liar.”

“I— it’s not that simple.”

“It could be, couldn’t it?”

(If you were honest, like he knows will allow you to release the painful-looking tension wound in your shoulders. It would ease you.)

You stumble over your words, chew them, and look close to tears. Jing Yuan does not falter or waver, not yet, not yet—

“It should be my job, shouldn’t it?” You say softly, down, through the bowl, shooting the sentiment down towards the Luofu’s core engines. “I shouldn’t need anyone to look after me, especially not you. E-even if it would be nice. And I like when you do.”

Jing Yuan thinks about what you divulged in Lei Huiling’s exam room. Your lack of a proper pack, thin familial connection, infrequent scenting— It all paints a clear picture of someone who has taken every opportunity to bear their burdens alone.

(It makes sense, then, why you offered yourself up to be Jing Yuan’s heatmate without hesitation. You intimately know the suffering of a lonely heat and you didn’t want him to struggle in that way.)

“You are very capable, I can hardly think otherwise,” Jing Yuan itches to reach out for you, but not yet— “But, what if I want to care for you?”

“... You want to?”

“Yes, I would.”

“... Just during my heat?” You ask, looking up at him demurely. It’s a submissive gesture, one that clearly portrays this insecurity that you shoulder. “Or, after too?”

All of it.

“However you’ll have me.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“How would you have me, though?”

“All ways!” You sniffle and your eyes shine. You’re reaching your limit, close to cracking. “I like that you care for me, Jing Yuan. I just don’t want to cause you any trouble or make you feel like you need to.”

“That’s one of the reasons why I enjoy caring for you so much,” Jing Yuan confesses. Now, he reaches across the table and sweeps his wrist across your own. Your scents mingle. “Because, it is wholly my want and my choice to care for you.”

It all slots together for you then.

Your expression morphs first to one of relief, then intense sadness, followed by grief that makes your lip wobble. You are sharp, sharper than you seem often, and he knows that your own revelations hit you deep in the chest. Your warm scent goes to cloves and cinnamon and you look so, so sad.

Your bowl of dessert soup is forgotten as Jing Yuan ushers you into his lap, turned away from any passerbys, covered and protected from any potential, curious eyes.

“Do you believe me?” He asks, nosing at your neck to emulate a scenting. His touch is ginger and careful. He wouldn’t dare aggravate the ache there any further.

“I-I do.”

And he knows you do. He knows based on how you cup his jaw and barely resist kissing him on his lips. You’re too shy to in public; your eyes dart left and right to ascertain if it's a safe action. Jing Yuan makes the decision for you and presses a firm kiss on your forehead.

“I’m glad you understand.”

“Uh-huh,” your voice goes weepy and weak. It stirs something in him, an unnameable thing he doesn’t know what to call still, but its presence feels just as familiar as it is intriguing. “T-Thank you for being patient with me.”

“Of course.”

He considers his next course carefully, choosing indulgence in the end. It’s something you both need after today.

Jing Yuan ensures that you are nestled close to his chest, beneath the curve of his chin. He pushes the tip of his index against your lips. It rests on the seam. You make a sweet, confused noise in front of your mouth. Jing Yuan only hums in reply, bundling you up a little closer still. It’s not the best venue for this, but he has never been known for his propriety in casual settings anyway. You are more than hidden enough. Only the ochre and violet lily thickets will be witnesses.

He pushes his fingers into your mouth.

You startle, just barely, as Jing Yuan strokes your tongue with gentle motions. He watches how your lips part around his calloused fingers, how you shift your gaze from his eyes to his fingers, then to his eyes once more. It’s hopelessly endearing. Your trust is such a precious thing to covet, he only will treat you well.

Your eyelids droop a moment or two later, tears dripping from the corners of your eyes as he rubs the pads of his fingers along your gums, feeling the ridges of his teeth. Your scent still tinges with sickness but the blooming, plush quality of it is unmistakable.

“Is this alright?”

You nod, bashful.

He reminds you, “You may always tell me no or reject any advance, same as I can to you, understood?”

You nod again, cheeks warm as he thumbs over them. He knows you must know these things, but he wants to remind you. You do well with reassurance.

Pheromones are present in spit, just as they are in sweat and slick. The amounts differ per body fluid, but in your current state, your saliva is potent. The small amount that leaks from the side of your lips is fragrant, spinning the scent of you around him.

Jing Yuan allows himself to be content and a bit smitten.

He whispers to you, lips against your ear, “What will the people of the Luofu think, hm? Their General with an omega in his lap, toying with them in public.”

You look up at him hopelessly, but do not bite his fingers. You are so good, so so good.

Jing Yuan only pulls his fingers away when he notices the uptick in the pedestrian activity in the streets nearby. It’s rush hour, and the sun will set soon. As pulls his fingers from your mouth, drenched in spit (and your pheromonal musk that comes with it), you flush and tuck your face against his neck. He can feel the heat of you still, a reminder of what must be remedied and tended to.

You sense this as well, kissing his jaw fleetingly.

There will be more, he knows. Your heat will come sooner rather than later, and there will be ample time for hidden tenderness in the comfort of your nest (which he is sure will be a splendid thing to lounge about, should you permit him entry.) Desires will be sated, and Jing Yuan will, if allowed, wet his palette with the scent and feel of you. There will be time to enjoy you, and for him to be enjoyed by you once more. Jing Yuan does not know what you will ask of him explicitly, or what you will need, but he is happy to ample his way to understanding. Morsel by morsel, bite by bite, you yield to him as he does to you.

(You are no alpha to own him, he reminds himself. You lay no claim on him, his soul is untethered to yours, and the relief of that is immeasurable. The connection laid between you will be built in teeth and touch, but in a different way than the ones he was once so familiar with long ago.)

Jing Yuan finds himself almost eager to learn.

#lore writes #collab: spring fever #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x you #hsr x reader #poking my head out of hiatus for with this offering :3c

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valleyian · 15 days ago

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Thoughts on Tom Felton and Cursed Childs new casting

Oh boy, time for another long rant nobody asked for because I legit cannot go any longer without expressing my utter devastation and anger at this.

Let’s start with this. I hate JKR, and due to Toms connection and support of her, I hate him by proxy. Here’s what made HPCC stand out from the regular franchise. The casting was diverse, nuanced and even bold at some times, with multiple trans and queer actors having gotten lead roles. What does adding Tom Felton to the mix do? Ruin that “safe” environment that previously was made by trans/queer actors to spite JKR. The entire rewrite, the actors who helped shape the show for I inclusivity, that’s all gone now.

And before it’s mentioned, I know HPCC could never be a truly safe space for queer and trans people due to it being a part of the HP franchise. However in all of its years running, there have been so many castings of specifically queer actors to the point it feels like type casting. The changes to the script issued by trans/queer actors is also so important to acknowledge, because it combats at least SOME of JKRs stances. Previously I had assumed the HPCC show had taken their stance by doing these diverse castings. Now it is clear they’d rather prioritise money and profit.

Which leads to the next point, being that this is so obviously a cashgrab. I know HPCC isn’t selling well, especially because these past few months they’ve been doing so many collabs with old actors in a desperate attempt to stay relevant, in addition to the Brazil prod being cancelled. What breaks my heart is that HPCC BW does Genuenly have good and specifically queer fan base, that see nuances and good in the show. Not to sound sappy, but the “actual fans” of the show are what makes being in this fandom so fun. People who go to see the actors and appreciate what the show has previously stood for, especially after the rewrite.

Now the show is going to infiltrated by Draco fangirls who couldn’t give to shits about the actual show, and are only there to thirst over a middle aged man past his prime. Stage door is a nightmare, and rip to ANY new actor, especially Draco actors that will cover for him, because nobody is going to acknowledge em anymore. The fact the show is about ALBUS and SCORPIUS, yet the show is advertising more about Draco now, who mind you has like 30 min screen time in the films and even less on stage. Plus I bet there will be an influx of hate towards the actual plot of the show, because BW is running with the new even shorter script, which in my honest opinion sucks.

Lastly, Toms involvement in the show I believe will force the BW actors to be more careful about their outspokenness against JKR, in addition to NDAs being stricter. Previously BW had gotten away with so much, like nearly kisses on stages, and so many other things that and undeniably queer coded. Having Tom, and then by proxy JKR be this close to the show will ruin all that. Not only that but I doubt and hope no trans/queer actor would feel safe sharing a stage with him. Idc if he’s not directly transphobic or homophobic, he has chosen to side with JKR and that’s enough for me to not like him. Previous actors, and current ones now at West-End, constantly repost stuff about trans rights and are vocal about their political views. Being political is a part of theatre, and queer identity and the creative arts. This casting ruins that entirely, and just goes to show how in the end they’re willing to negate 4 years of the progress they made for a quick buck.

Good luck to my US fans out there 🫡🫡

#hpcc: rant #harry potter and the cursed child #hp next gen #the cursed child #harry potter #scorbus #hpcc #albus potter #scorpius malfoy

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hello-eden · 1 year ago

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The Stars Reborn

Damien was always jealous of Timothy drake. If anyone asked he would say it was because he was the previous robin. That father always called him the next greatest detective. That grandfather always wanted him to be Heir more than him, But the real reasons he held close to his chest. When he saw him skateboarding. When he saw him with his friends, But most of all when he saw him take pictures of the night sky.

Stars always held feelings for Damien. He was drawn to them more than he would say animals or his art. There was something about space and the constellations that made his body vibrate with excitement. It was one of the things that never made sense to Damian.

A lot of things didn't make sense about Damien, Things that he would never tell anyone. The fact that he found Harley's prods for psychological evaluation to be comforting or when Ivy would rant about the environment to be soothing. He would never tell anyone about the fact that his brain called Oracle Tucker more than her name in his mind. There are some things that he would take to the grave and maybe even Beyond.

#dc x dp #dp x dc #danny phantom #dpxdc #damian wayne #danny fenton #dc x dp crossover #D!Damian au

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glimmeringtwilight · 1 year ago

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Gilded Cage (Part Three)

ok. i'm not going to try to come up with a clever name for this one, this is just. part three. please send an ask or a DM if I missed any CW's! been a while.

Pairing(s): Dottore/Reader, Pantalone/Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

CW: NSFW, drugging (painkillers and other ment), rough sex, biting, threats of mutilation (mild. but it's Dottore), yandere themes, noncon/dubcon, AFAB reader, overstimulation, humiliation

Dottore has been on edge lately.

You can tell. You can see it in his jaw when he’s sedating you as you lie on the operating table, eyes burning and dark as he stares through you at something presumably only he can see. You can see it in the way his hand sometimes twitches slightly– which bodes terribly for you– as he makes a small incision into your thigh, or your stomach, or your arm.

Most of the time, you think he just cuts into you simply because he can. Because he likes to watch the blood welling from the wound, dripping down your skin. He’s been doing it a lot more lately, sometimes forgetting to sedate you, sometimes forgetting to give you something for the pain, sometimes cutting too deep.

It feels like there’s a storm brewing that you can’t see; curtains drawn so you can’t look out the window and see the magnitude, brace yourself for wind or rain.

His clones seem to be affected by it, too; usually it’s only ever the younger clones of his that lash out, but even the supposedly older ones are starting to show signs of agitation. You haven’t seen the same test subject twice in what feels like weeks. All of them seem to enter and leave the lab only once– something that should horrify you more than it does, whenever you watch them wheeling the covered bodies past.

It’s this way for weeks. Dottore stalks around his lab like a harbinger of death, practically oozing poison and malice despite the deceptively calm mask he dons.

You find out what it is that’s been agitating him when he opens the door to your cell one morning. Not a clone. Not the occasional trembling Fatuus. Him. His eyes burn into you. You can’t make out the emotion in them, but the complete coolness in his expression makes your stomach sink. You wonder, briefly, if he’s going to finally kill you– would that be a mercy, at this point? Killing you? Perhaps not. Knowing him, he’d draw it out. Make it hurt.

Still, despite the terror that curls its fingers around your throat, you follow him quietly out of the cell and into the lab, staring at the back of his head as you walk and wishing you could read minds so you could at least brace yourself for whatever this is.

The two of you enter the lab and you finally realize what it is that’s crawled under Dottore’s skin, sat at the desk in the corner as though he’s not terribly out of place in the sterile environment.

Pantalone sits comfortably in one of the chairs near the desk Dottore rarely seems to use, smiling as though he’s received a warm welcome and a parade. Dottore, meanwhile, looks palpably annoyed as he strides past the banker and takes a seat behind the desk, motioning for you to follow.

It’s… Intensely uncomfortable, to say the least. You rarely find yourself sitting at Dottore’s desk, considering the doctor usually prefers to be conducting experiments rather than sitting and compiling data; he usually delegates that to his clones, who bitch and moan about the boring task.

So sitting in a chair, next to the two men who’ve each held you captive at different points, as Dottore practically radiates anger… You don’t know what to do. You fold your hands in your lap, avoiding looking at either one, even as you can feel the two of them just… staring.

You feel like you’re under a microscope, worse than any other time before when you’d been laid out on the operating table under Dottore’s invasive prodding.

Pantalone speaks first, breaking the charged silence.

“I take it you don’t mind if I verify that this one’s real,” He says, rising from his chair and smiling at the way Dottore visibly bristles. “After all, I’m paying for this, aren’t I? I deserve that much.”

It takes you a moment to realize he’s talking about you, and the demeaning way in which he’s referring to you as though you’re some object that might be counterfeit is both unnerving and irritating. You’re careful not to let it show on your face as Pantalone approaches you.

“What-” You start to ask, but you’re swiftly interrupted by gloved fingers prying open your mouth, prodding around in search of something that isn’t there. You feel them press down on your tongue, ghost over molars, then press against the back of your throat until you gag.

Somewhat satisfied, the banker pulls his fingers from your mouth and grips your chin firmly with a now-damp glove, turning your head this way and that and ignoring the obvious discomfort painted on your features as the action smears drool on your skin. What is he doing?

You shoot a glance towards Dottore, who is still just watching. He’s obviously pissed– you can see a vein popping in his forehead, belaying his anger on his otherwise blank face.

Pantalone lets go of your chin in favor of grabbing you by the arms, pulling you up from your chair and motioning for you to spin around in a circle. You do, though you’re still confused, unsure of what’s happening as the banker seems to be appraising you like a precious gem. It’s a different type of poking and prodding than Dottore’s usual tests and checkups, but it’s invasive nonetheless. It’s doubly unsettling that this is the first time you’ve seen the banker without his usual smarmy smile.

Hands find your shoulders and stop you again, and you bristle when they trace the curve of your spine, exposed thanks to the open back of the hospital gown. You feel them stop, tap something just to the left of one of your vertebrae, and Pantalone spins you back around to face him, clearly pleased.

You try not to flinch when he takes a lock of your hair in his hands– it’s gotten so long since you’d been brought back to the lab– and brings it closer to his face. His nose crinkles, palpable disgust on his features, and he mutters something about “that vile soap he makes you use”– likely referring to Dottore– before turning around to face the man in question.

“Are you done ogling?” Dottore asks, his tone clipped. You can’t see him around the banker, but you’re sure he still looks as pissed as before.

Pantalone tilts his head slightly, smiling, then glances over his shoulder at you. “Perhaps not yet, but I’m satisfied enough for now. You’ll get the funding for your little… project, and I expect to see this one at my doorstep every other month from now on.”

Every other month? You frown. Is this some sort of… custody arrangement that the two men worked out? You don’t know if you want to laugh or not at the absurdity of it all; like you’re the unfortunate child of two divorced bastards, except this is much, much worse.

“Fine,” Dottore grits out, in a tone that suggests it’s anything but. He gets up to shoo the banker out of his lab, but Pantalone merely tuts and makes his way back over to where you’re standing, confused, and rests one hand heavily on your shoulder.

“One month starting today, of course,” Pantalone continues, “It’s only fair, after all, when you’ve been hoarding my poor pet this whole time. I have to make up for lost time, after all.”

He delivers those words with a smile that only seems to irritate Dottore further, red eyes boring holes into him as Dottore visibly seems to be contemplating murder. Pantalone speaks up again before he does anything, however, offering a hollow consolation: “Of course, I’m not cruel. How about a farewell? A parting gift, to… tide you over while they’re gone?”

You don’t like the sound of that, and Dottore seems to pick up on the banker’s suggestion as you’re spun around once more and ushered towards the exam table you’ve become intimately familiar with for the last several months.

For this supposedly being Dottore’s “parting gift,” Pantalone is awfully remiss to keep his hands– and commentary– to himself.

“Ah, what a cute noise that was,” You hear him coo, a finger tapping your nose with just enough force to startle you so you flinch, “Don’t you think you’re being a bit rough though, Doctor?”

“Quiet.”

You jostle against the table, gripping the edge of it for support as hips snap into yours with bruising force. Dottore’s fingers are gripping your hips so tightly you’re sure they’ll leave bruises– that’s probably the point, honestly; he’s fucking you like he intends for you to feel it for the entire month you’ll be absent.

Pantalone’s comments aren’t helping things either; despite the banker’s comment about roughness, it only seems to have encouraged the doctor to go even harder.

Thankfully, you were given something for the pain, but not from Dottore. Pantalone had pressed a pill into your gasping mouth when Dottore had started, telling you that you were going to need it, and though swallowing was a struggle, you’re glad he did.

Dull pain and sharp pleasure mingle together, and you’ve long since lost track of the orgasms that have been dragged out of you. You’re starting to numb, honestly, overstimulation bleeding into pain, and you gasp into the table with every sharp thrust into you.

“Tsk– don’t pass out now,” Pantalone chides, fingers curling around your jaw and biting into your cheeks when your eyes threaten to flutter shut, and Dottore snarls something about cutting your spinal cord if you do; something you sincerely hope is an empty threat, given the black spots dancing in your vision. “You still have another thirty minutes to go.”

You don’t remember there being a timer set, much less a time limit, but you certainly know you can’t last that much longer. Your knees have already long since given out, and Dottore had to hoist you up further onto the table so he could continue, leaving your feet dangling a few inches above the ground.

You feel weight against your back, heat, smothering you as Dottore leans down to sink his teeth into your shoulder as he spills inside you once more, and you shudder through another weak orgasm in response, your eyes rolling back and your vision blacking out for several long moments.

Pantalone shakes you back awake before you can slip too far, and you sob as Dottore starts to move again. You already know that you won’t be able to walk for the next few days, if not for the next week.

Tears blur your vision, the world spinning around you as a gloved hand comes to rest against your head, petting you in what’s likely intended as a comforting gesture but only seems to frazzle you further, overwhelmed and overstimulated as you are.

It must be Pantalone, because Dottore lets out an irritated noise, sinking his teeth into your skin to leave a new mark as he resumes the harsh pace he’d set earlier. Another hand, this one not gloved, curls around your throat to dig two fingers into your racing pulse as he tries to engrave himself into your flesh through means slightly less violent than cutting you open.

You can barely keep track of who’s doing what– your vision is too blurred and you’re too far gone to fully piece together a coherent thought before it and the breath are knocked out of you by another snap of Dottore’s hips. One of them reaches down to rub circles into sensitive nerves, and you sob as another climax is ripped unwillingly out of you.

You black out for longer this time, shaken awake once more by Pantalone. He’s cooing something at you that you can’t make out, drowned out by the rush of blood in your ears and the sound of Dottore’s ragged breaths mixing in with your own.

It feels like you’re burning up, shivering weakly under Dottore’s crushing weight as the man seems to be pouring every ounce of frustration into his thrusts, and darkness encroaches on the corners of your vision with every movement.

Another shuddering orgasm. You twitch weakly through it, your body registering the sensation more than your mind does.

The world seems to tip, swaying like a vessel rocked by choppy waves before finally capsizing. Your vision goes, and you’re pulled into a sea of static.

It smells like lilacs.

It’s the first thing you notice when you slowly come to, a stark contrast to the smell of bleach and copper that you’ve become accustomed to. You’re also dressed in some proper clothes– or rather, ”proper,” compared to the usual paper-thin hospital gowns you’ve worn since being brought back to the lab.

Opening your eyes, you’re greeted with the familiar luxuries you remember seeing when you were last in Pantalone’s care, and the sight would nearly be a relief if consciousness didn’t bring with it the unbearable ache in every inch of your body. There’s a budding headache building behind your temples, stinging pains from various bites and bruises littering your skin like brands.

It aches most between your legs, but there’s an ache in your thighs and your stomach like you’d pulled every muscle within; you probably did, honestly, but you try to push back the memory invading your thoughts and you sit up in bed.

“You’re awake,” A silky voice drawls from behind you just as you sit up, and you turn around to see Pantalone sitting in an armchair in the corner, one leg folded over the other as he reads a book. He doesn’t look up as he addresses you; he just pats his knee, indicating he expects you to come to him. You’re not sure you can walk…

Climbing out of the soft bed hurts, various muscles protesting the movement, and you’re not surprised when your knees give out on you the second you rest your weight on your feet. Pantalone simpers at you from where he sits, amused, but he makes no move to help you stand up or walk. He just pats his thigh again, smiling at you.

“I can’t walk,” Even talking hurts, evidenced by the crackling of your voice when you speak.

“Then crawl.”

He says it so simply, as though you should have already known the answer. Your ears burn with humiliation. You don’t move.

“Don’t make me punish you on your first day back,” He says, setting his book down so he can properly address you. His tone is disappointed, but you don’t miss the way the bastard’s smile widens at the idea.

Pantalone’s punishments aren’t nearly as severe as Dottore’s are, at least in terms of pain. Rather than physical punishments, he seems to prefer humiliation. You’re tempted to try your luck, but… everything hurts. You don’t want him to decide you haven’t earned the privilege of clothes– or find something equally humiliating and degrading– on top of the pain you’re already in.

Crawling hurts. Every muscle protests the movement, yet again, but you force yourself to ignore the aches, to ignore the humiliation burning beneath your skin at being made to crawl over to him.

When you finally reach him you sit up unsteadily so you can climb into his lap, but you’re surprised when he stops you by pressing a gloved hand firmly against your head to keep you planted on your knees in front of him.

Instead of addressing your confusion, Pantalone merely smiles and takes hold of your wrist, raising your arm to inspect the scars and bruises littering your skin from the months spent under Dottore’s care. His face twists with disgust, shifting into faux sympathy when he addresses you again, “Poor thing. Look what he’s done to you…”

His free hand comes to rest on his knee as he straightens up, uncrossing his legs, and you hear a steady tap tap tap as he drums his index finger against his knee thoughtfully. “Aren’t you glad I’ve brought you back from that wretched place?”

It’s a leading question. You know he expects you to answer correctly, and you get the sense he’s leading into something; a demand. “...Yes.”

“I knew you would be.” He says, dropping your wrist and leaning back comfortably in the armchair. He looks down at you, clearly pleased with the position you’re in. He props one elbow against the arm of the chair, resting his head in his hand as he smiles down at you. “Why don’t you be a good pet and show me just how appreciative you are?”

The implication isn’t lost on you, but whatever hope you’d had that he might mean something else is dashed as he spreads his legs slightly further apart to make room for you between them, and you don’t miss the growing bulge in his dress pants.

Your hands are numb as you reach for his belt, and you barely flinch when his hand rests heavily against the back of your hand as you take him into your mouth.

One cage for another. You’re not even sure you’re relieved, because every part of you still aches from the reminders Dottore had left you with.

His hand presses against the back of your head, guiding you to take him further into your mouth, and you struggle to breathe around his length. You nearly gag as he pushes you down further, pushing back in resistance, and Pantalone clicks his tongue in disappointment but thankfully, lets up. Maybe he doesn’t want to ruin his pants.

“I’ll get you something for the scarring,” He murmurs, fingers curling in your hair as you bob your head up and down his length. “And those garish bruises.”

Whether it’s an insult towards you or Dottore, you’re not sure. You try not to focus on it, instead focusing on the task at hand. You lave your tongue along the base of his shaft, earning a small shiver and a heady sigh from him.

He’s silent for a few minutes as you continue to pleasure him, but you feel him boring holes into the top of your head. You don’t look up at him; you don’t want to. You’re trying to get this over with, and hoping that his silence means you’re doing well.

The hand on the top of your head leaves, and you flinch when you feel him trace his fingers over one of the scabbed over bites left by Dottore, nearly biting down in surprise. You swallow, suppress the urge, resuming your pace even as he traces the outline of every bite left littered along your neck, your collarbone, your shoulders.

Pantalone straightens up a little, pressing his hand against the back of your head again to force you to take more than you already can. This time, he doesn’t relent when you push back, just holding his hand still until you stop whimpering and you manage to swallow back the urge to gag.

“Hush.” He tells you in response to your muffled noises, groaning quietly at the way your throat vibrates around his cock.

You eventually relax, eventually get used to the feeling, and he lets you pull back slightly before he’s pressing down again, repeating until tears are spilling down your cheeks as you struggle not to reflexively bite down each time you gag slightly around his length.

“How would you feel about something… permanent?” He asks, and his fingers are tracing the bites again. You try to pull back to answer, but his other hand stops you and he rocks his hips lazily into your mouth. A rhetorical, then; he doesn’t care for your answer.

You try to blink back your tears as you resume the pace you’d set, sucking lightly on his cock as his hand curls into your hair. It’s hard to focus on what he’s saying as his hand keeps threatening to force you down farther than you can take, and you’re focusing on stamping down the swelling nausea.

“Something- hm-” He hums, and you can tell he’s getting close now, with the way his breathing is starting to deepen, his hand tightening its hold on your hair- “something tasteful. Not like those eyesores he leaves you. A collar is- fuck- too… too easy to remove.”

You don’t like where this is going, but humming your dissent only earns you a pleasured hiss and a rumble of praise spilling from his lips before he’s curling his fingers around the back of your neck.

It’s the only warning you get before he shoves your head down, holding you there as cum spills into your mouth and down your throat. It takes everything in you to relax your jaw, and you pull back gasping and sputtering the second he relents.

By the time your vision clears and you blink back the tears spilling from your eyes, he’s already tucked himself back into his pants and is just watching you struggle to catch your breath. He doesn’t even comment on the mess of cum and drool that spilled from your lips onto the floor.

It takes you a second to realize he’s not staring at you, but rather at the marks left on your skin.

After a minute of tense silence, he smiles again, patting his lap this time in invitation for you to sit, and you ignore the familiar sting of humiliation as you obey. Again, one of his hands curls around the nape of your neck, tracing some pattern into your skin.

“Right here,” He murmurs, though he doesn’t elaborate when your brows pinch together in confusion.

It takes you a second to realize he’s tracing invisible letters across your nape, then another few to realize it’s his name that he’s tracing into your skin.

Something tells you that Dottore isn't going to be pleased to see you again at the end of the month.

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