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findmeinthelake · 1 year

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Steel (Jayvik Fanfic)

Chapter One: Transformation

Note: This is also posted to my Ao3, which is under the exact same username

Jayce x Viktor (Arcane), tension, angst, Viktor becoming Machine Herald, Machine Herald

"Those stupid words that came out of Jayce's lips... fuck."

“Jayce will understand.”

His previous choice of words still stuck in his head, bouncing off his skull and causing yet another headache.

Viktor sighed.

Jayce did not understand, yet here Viktor stood- next to his friend whom he loved dearly. Why did he do these things for Jayce when he got nothing in return?

Love. Unconditional love.

---

“Mel?” Jayce called, coughing and covering his eyes, shielding them from the dust that clouded the room.

Soft groans came from the rubble, the remnants of the council chambers shifting as those who survived cried out for help.

The Golden Boy dove at the stones, trying to find his lover. He sifted through the pile, looking for any sign of life.

“Please, Mel…” Jayce whispered, “Please.”

For a while, there was nothing but the sound of falling rocks and the pitter patter of enforcer footsteps.

Then came the sobs, awful screams of agony. No one could tell if it was a trapped soul, or the one who found their body.

That, right there, was his biggest mistake.

Dark grey rocks crumbled as Viktor tried moving his already weakened limbs. This was going to get nowhere.

He inhaled sharply, holding back coughs of dust to listen in. Faintly, Viktor could hear Jayce calling out.

His amber eyes lit up as he gained hope, thinking, no, knowing, his partner was looking for him. Viktor could finally smile.

“Mel… please.”

Viktor barely heard the whispers from under the rubble, struggling to free his left arm that had become pinned between two pieces of metal.

Those stupid words that came out of Jayce’s lips… fuck.

No one was looking for him.

No one cared.

---

The lab was just like how he left it- messy. Good. He knew where everything was left.

Viktor limped over, not wearing the glove that had previously concealed his augmented hand. He dropped his crutch, gathering his supplies.

He frantically scooped up blueprints and materials, shoving them into a bag. Jayce will miss none of this. He thought to himself.

Jayce never noticed anything anymore.

Viktor sighed, double-checking that he grabbed everything of importance. Yup.

He was good to go.

“Home sweet home.” Viktor murmured, walking down the entrance of the cave. He carried his belongings in a heavy bag, straining his shoulder.

“I assume he didn’t.” The Doctor spoke, bandages covering his mouth as he answered the statement from days ago.

Viktor shook his head in disappointment. “He… he did not.” He calmly spoke, setting his bag of stuff down.

Singed had a history with Viktor, as they had met when the young boy stumbled into his lab. They didn’t see entirely eye to eye on things, but, ends could be met.

The older man didn’t have to ask. He eyed Viktor’s altered leg, examining the purple and black skin. “Are you willing to give up valuable things?”

“Like what?” Viktor asked, cocking his head. He had already lost his friend, his lab, and his trust in people.

Flicking a vial, Singed replied with two words. A horrifying trade.

“Your humanity.”

Viktor gave a slow nod, accepting the consequences.

Singed smiled, glad his old friend was beginning to agree with him.

“Get rid of all of it. I want it all gone.” Viktor muttered, “Every last part that renders me slower- more of a, how do you put this, risk? Anything you can do, do it.”

The chemist nodded, walking over towards Viktor. “It will take a toll on you. Emotions are what drive the mind, boy.”

Viktor closed his watery eyes, whispering “I don’t want to be human anymore.”

“As you wish.” Singed replied, tracing Viktor’s arm with the needle. He flicked the scientist’s small tricep, squeezing around his arm to find the vein.

The needle had a cool sensation. Viktor didn’t question what was being injected in him, as he didn’t wish to know the pain he would endure. Yet. All things have a price. His amber eyes got heavy, weighing down on his face. He watched Singed grab a small saw, blinking rapidly as the restraints were tightened.

---

Was it real gold? Or was it fake, just in place to make Piltover, The City of Progress, look exquisite?

Why is this the shit I ponder? Jayce scolded himself. He could be doing something important- something worthwhile. But no. He sat and stared at the fancy ass door that should’ve been opened over an hour ago.

“Mr. Talis?” A voice called, the sharp steps echoing around the room.

Jayce perked up, scratching at the side of his face where the cut was. “Yes?” He asked, standing up and turning towards the enforcer. He wiped the small amount of blood off his cheek. The stupid thing kept reopening… constant reminder that he failed.

The enforcer coughed, crumpling the piece of paper. “There is still no sign of Viktor.” She paused, watching the Councilor’s expression turn from hopeful to blank. “He is now presumed dead, most likely caught in the blast of the explosion and, well, vaporized.”

Vaporized.

With a quickened heartbeat, Jayce whimpered. No… that can’t be true. Not Vik… A tear ran down his cheek, running over the small cut. First Mel, now this?

“You’re certain?”

“Yes, sir. Viktor is dead.”

The world froze. Nothing mattered anymore. Years down the drain… Everything was so real now, coming into the limelight and falling onto him. He never got to say goodbye.

Without another word, Jayce headed out the door. Surely there would be some clues in the lab, right? Work Viktor left behind?

Jayce opened the door, twisting the familiar key in his hand. He peered in, wide-eyed and half expecting to see his old partner at work on one of their many projects.

He walked along the lengthy desk, tracing his index finger in the dust, drawing obscure shapes. Maybe if he had paid more attention to Viktor, he would know where to look.

The hexcore was gone, but even when Vik was… alive… it was gone. Maybe Heimerdinger had it destroyed in secret?

“We could have done so much together…” Jayce whispered to the nothingness in the room, waiting for a response that wouldn’t come.

If only you didn’t leave him- and for a girl of all things. Maybe he would have trusted you more. Confided in you. But NO.

Jayce winced, clawing at his temples and tearing the wound on his upper cheek open. “Go away… please.” He whimpered, staring at the center of the room. He contemplated grabbing the pistol he now carried.

Nothing responded.

He was alone. No one was left to do his work, look after him, let him lean on them- they were all fucking gone because of him. He could’ve done more.

Progress isn’t something that comes to those who don’t strive for it. The future is now, and the past needs to be left behind. The dawn of tomorrow is coming, and Jayce doesn’t want to be left behind.

That is his greatest fear.

---

Nothing.

Viktor grunted, struggling against the restraints. He didn’t say anything- didn’t want to see. His eyes were wide with excitement, but also regret.

“You’re awake?” Singed spoke, walking over to the boy and grabbing him by the jaw, using a small flashlight to look into his pupils.

The Inventor nodded, a million thoughts surging through his mind. Did it go well? How far along was he? Is he gone?

Singed undid the restraints, occasionally glancing up at the man he operated on. “It’s just your legs for now.” He paused, undoing the last restraint and pointing at the ground, “Test them out, go on.”

Viktor furrowed his brows, asking “Why not the other parts-”

“I need to see how your body reacts to the change. I know you mixed magic and science by carving runes into yourself, and by doing that, you made yourself the one controlled variable we are allowed.” The Chemist explained, blankly stating what he found to be quite obvious.

Cold. Viktor traced the steel with his fingers, standing up and shaking. It would take him a minute to find his balance, but he could walk.

He grinned.

The new limbs were quite nice indeed. He paced around the room, flexing the metal limbs. “They’re beautiful.” He whispered, “More, please, doctor.” He asked, sitting on the table once more.

“I cannot pair your nerves with the mechanics- you will never be able to feel anything with your hands again.” Singed muttered, his mask slipping. He almost felt bad for the boy.

Viktor nodded. “My organs- can you replace them too?”

Singed silently agreed.

Viktor leaned back, closing his eyes as Singed flooded his bloodstream with shimmer. Now would hopefully be the final time.

An orange glow tinted the room, only the experiment tubes providing other light. The steady sound of creaking filled the space, water dripping from somewhere above.

Without a word, Viktor opened his eyes. He moved his limbs, noticing he wasn’t tethered down to the operating table like before.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d wake up.”

Viktor looked towards the Chemist, standing up. “How long has it been?” He asked, blankly stating the question.

Singed sighed, “Almost one month. Your body took quite the toll.” He explained, finding a mirror for the boy to look into. “The shimmer has a fair share of side effects, which would explain your prolonged sleep.”

The face in the mirror was not one Viktor recognized. His eyes were a milky shade of black, only having his amber pupils to stand out. Cheeks that were once colorless were now replaced with steel. A neck with many unique marks was covered in sections of metal, moving smoothly on itself.

“I hope you like it.” Singed whispered, watching Viktor touch his new face with metal fingertips.

“I am satisfied.” Viktor replied, a faint smile cracking on his lips. He ran his new hands through his fluffy brown hair, twisting it around his fingers like he used to as a boy.

Nothing. He felt nothing.

The Mechanical Man unbuttoned his shirt, looking at his torso. He still had some skin, but his ribcage was guarded by a steel chamber, along with his spine that ran up the back of his head.

Singed explained “I hope you don’t mind the small changes. I had to extend it slightly up the back of your skull after I… altered your brain.”

Viktor felt at the back of his head, hearing only the sound of metal on metal. His brown waves that were previously there were cut, replaced by the steel plating. He still had most of his hair, but the sections near the metal were cut extremely short to account for the surgery.

“It’s only a small section that is hidden.” Viktor replied, shrugging before putting his shirt back on. “Even then, it doesn’t matter.”

“Then it worked.” Singed smirked. “Before, you would have thrown a small fit.”

The Scientist nodded. “Good. Then I look relatively the same, aside from the sides of my cheeks and eyes?”

Singed coughed, “Yes.” He murmured, handing Viktor a small metal mask. “This is so you aren’t… how should I say this… ostracized? Society won’t like you like this.”

Viktor took the mask, examining it. It was beautifully crafted as a gift for him. “Thank you, Doctor.” He smiled, “But society didn’t like me before, it will be no different now.”

“They will hate you.”

“So be it.” Viktor muttered, attaching the mask to his face. It heavily altered his voice, giving it more of a… robotic feel. “I have things I need from my lab.”

---

Jayce walked down the hallway, doing his nightly walk.

It was a new routine for him- pace around and think.

He passed the lab twice now. Jayce avoided the door like the disease it was- it had ruined his life once, and he wasn’t going to let it ruin it again.

CLANK.

A rattling sound came from the lab, followed by a string of angry curse words.

Jayce stood in front of the door, his hand inches away from the handle. Should he open it? What if it is bad?

His curiosity got the best of him. Jayce twisted the knob, entering the room. His hazel eyes met an orange glow coming from the desk as someone, or something, rummaged through the drawers.

“Show yourself!” Jayce barked, ordering the thief to step into the light. “I’m armed!” He yelled, holding the weapon at his side.

The stranger walked over, revealing a mask of steel. He stared at Jayce, watching him tremble.

Jayce shook, eyeing the tufts of brown hair that stuck out into a similar fashion that Viktor’s did. “Vik?” He whispered, lowering the gun.

“What?” Viktor mumbled, his voice masked by metal. “Did you really th- OW FUCK.” He yelled, holding his side.

Jayce panicked, looking at the gun he just fired. “Oh my god…”

Viktor swatted at Jayce, “Get away from me, traitor!” He grunted, shoving more stuff into his bag with gloved hands.

“They told me you were dead…” Jayce cried, dropping the gun. “I thought I lost you.”

“You have.” Viktor blankly stated, eyeing the ‘Golden Boy’. “Now, leave.”

Jayce shook his head, “No, absolutely- absolutely not!” He yelled, walking rapidly towards Viktor and jumping at his face.

Trying to shake him off, Viktor grabbed at Jayce. “Get off me, dammit!”

“What did they do to you?” Jayce yelled, pulling at the mask. “I can help you, Vik, we all can- the city will help you. I am here for-”

Jayce went silent as he fell to the floor, carrying the mask with him. He looked up at his old friend’s face, seeing his altered eyes and the steel on his cheeks and neck.

“I did this to myself.” Viktor answered, staring at Jayce on the floor, taking off his gloves and revealing his metal limbs. “It’s quite nice, actually.”

“Vik…” Jayce whispered, tearing up as he looked more and more. He stood up, walking over and grabbing Viktor’s steel hands. “We will make this work… it will take time, but we will make it work.”

Viktor watched as Jayce traced his hands. “Stop.” He ordered.

Jayce looked down at him, his brows knitting together. “What?”

“I can no longer feel the sand under my feet. Never again can I feel the warmth and touch of someone’s hand on my own. It means nothing to me.”

Jayce shook his head, unable to believe this was the same person as before. “Vik, I love you. I always have.”

Viktor tilted his head, taking his mask back and sealing the bag he carried.

“Love is conditional, Jayce.”

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maracujatangerine · 2 years

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7. Lost Property

CW: institutionalised slavery, dehumanisation, box boy universe, pet whump

Previous - Next

When the alarm rang out Lydia blearily fumbled for her phone. She tried to make it shut up before waking their unfamiliar roommates. As quietly as possible, she rolled out of bed. Lydia had slept fitfully and way too few hours. She could feel the tiredness lurking like a pressure behind her eyes.

Coriander, of course, already sat up in his bed. She went to sit down next to him and gave him a quick hug.

“Good Morning.” She smiled. “Remember what we talked about?”

He nodded, his eyes bright and awake. “T-the hotel staff will escort this pet to the check-in for human pets. We will meet on the plane.”

Lydia quickly got dressed and nodded affirmatively.

“Yes. You should get some more sleep. I will have to go now to leave the car at the rental firm, we’ll go through check-in separately, and be seated next to each other on the plane.” She put her hand on his cheek, feeling him lean into the touch. As always, she wondered if it was compulsion or volition that made him do it, but his grey eyes on her face were wide and trusting. “Are you sure you are okay with this? I tried to make them let us go through together, but they said that it is against security protocols.”

“This pet w-will be all right, Miss Lydia.” He smiled, bravely. “It will see you in a few hours.”

She gave him another hug and stood up to go. Glancing back when she closed the door, he had laid back down but was still watching her. She blew him a kiss, closed the door and walked away.

Coriander tried to take deep breaths and force its muscles to relax, but the deep shivering that had started as soon as the pet was led into the room was impossible to control.

This isn’t the clinic. The pet reminded itself. This isn’t the clinic. But the walls were white tiles, the overhead lights were hash and there was a drain in the floor.

The middle-aged, curly haired woman holding the pet’s leash led it over to a padded chair that, with the restraints, looked too much like something that could have belonged in the facility.

This pet has to be good, Cory thought to itself, like a mantra. This pet has to be good for Miss Lydia. It hadn’t expected the check-in process to start already at the hotel. It thought that it would be transferred to the airport first. But as far as it could remember, it had never flown anywhere before. Who knew what transporting a pet by air would entail?

It forced its unwilling body down into the chair and allowed the woman to lock the cuffs around its wrists and ankles and clip the short leash on the headrest to its collar, rendering it effectively immobile.

Coriander could feel its heart race with fear, but tried to distract itself by looking around. The scents were different, equally artificial, but more like perfume than antiseptics. The table held bottles, hair brushes, and a fan. A stand on the wall held gleaming metal scissors and combs.

Suddenly, the backrest of the chair fell away behind the pet, forcing it into a prone position. Its breath hitching, it couldn’t stop itself from struggling at the restraints, but it was pinned like a bug in place. ‘You are a bad pet’, Coriander scolded itself, ‘good pets do not try to resist. Behave!’ But it needed a couple of deep breaths before it could force its tense muscles to relax.

“Did I scare you?” The woman’s voice behind it. “Sorry, I am just going to wash your hair now.”

This was strange and unexpected. Did they want to deflea it before it got to travel?

The woman’s touch was professional. Not exactly kind, but gentle and painless. The water was warm and the scents of the shampoo and conditioner chemically floral, and reassuringly not antiseptic. Coriander could feel itself starting to relax under her hands.

The woman talked while she worked, but she didn’t seem to expect much in terms of replies. She mostly talked about the awful weather, things on the news, and a small trip she was planning for the weekend. It was soothing and Coriander found it easy to be still and obedient.

The process involved trimming and blow-drying its hair, cleaning and trimming its nails and giving the pet a shave. She was using a safety razor rather than a blade, but Cory could still feel every muscle tense at the sharp tool near its throat.

“That’s it.” The woman said. “You’re done. Liam here will take you to your owner.”

Following behind the young man holding its leash, still confused about the whole process, Cory could hear the commotion all the way down the corridor.

“I’m sorry, but I just returned to find my room empty. Where is my pet?” The man- Linden- sounded upset.

“Sir, as the night staff told you yesterday, pet grooming services were offered as compensation for the trouble with your room. The staff has just taken your pet to be groomed. It will be brought right back to your room as soon as they are finished. Oh, look!” The relief was palpable in the receptionist’s voice. “Here’s your pet now, safe and sound.”

The staff member leading Coriander stepped aside, revealing the complaining customer to be the man from last night, the owner with whom Miss Lydia and Coriander had shared a room. They just stared mutely at each other for a moment, dark brown eyes meeting grey.

The man shook his head quickly, his mane of dark hair flowing around his face.

“This is not my pet.”

“I don’t really like flying.” Lydia admitted to the middle-aged man sitting next to the window. “It is bad for the environment, and cramped and uncomfortable, too. But we didn’t really have an option this time. Next time I’m taking the train.” She rummaged around for chewing gum in her hand bag when the flight attendant approached her.

“Here’s your pet, Ma’am. Since we are in the air, it may stay with you now.”

“Oh, very good, thank you so m…” Lydia broke off. The pet nervously following along on a leather leash was not Coriander at all. It was the strange pet from last night. It looked absolutely terrified to see her.

“I’m sorry, but this is not my pet!” Lydia waved her half of a paper tag with the number. “Here’s my tag.”

The flight attendant grabbed the pet’s limp arm to show off the paper bracelet on his wrist. “It is the same number, Ma’am.”

“But this is not my pet.” Lydia started to feel her heart beat faster, a bit of ice in her veins. “Where are the other pets on this flight?”

“This is the only pet on this flight, Ma’am. It was delivered straight to the airport from your hotel.”

“Are you telling me that the hotel has mixed up my pet with this one?” Lydia could see the strange pet cringing away from the chill in her voice. It looked like it might start to cry at any moment. Even though she was truly worried about Coriander, she felt sorry for this pet, as well. Reluctantly, she reached out to receive the loop of the leash that the flight attendant tried to hand over to her. “I will have to try to solve this when we arrive.” She told the flight attendant. “Thank you.”

To the pet, she said. “Have a seat. Your name is Colton, right dear?”

The pet groomer part owes a lot of inspiration to this great post by @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi Thank you!

Tag list part 1: @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-em @wh-wh-whu @neuro-whump @carnagecardinal @cowboy-anon @whump-me-all-night-long @redwingedwhump @myst-in-the-mirror @haro-whumps @eatyourdamnpears @bloodsweatandpotato @pinkraindropsfell @whumptywhumpdump @theydy-cringeworthy @whump-in-progress @whumpsy-daisy @nicolepascaline @whumpcreations @briars7 @shiningstarofwinter @whumppsychology @alex-ember @miss-kitty-whumptastic @whumpy-writings @in-patient-princess @youtube-fandoms-bands @goblinchildindabog @mazeish @distinctlywhumpthing @inpainandsuffering @canniboylism @incoherent-introspection @kim-poce @broken-typewriter @the-monarch-whumperfly @whumpers-inc @grizzlie70 @lil-whumper @writingbackwards @sunflower1000 @wingedwhump @thecitythatdoesntsleep @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @onlybadendings @rabass @wolfeyedwitch @melancholy-in-the-morning

#lydia and linden #linden and colton #lydia and coriander #pet whump #pet whumpee #conditioned whumpee #rescue whump #recovery whump #pet-whump #bbu #box boy universe #box boy #box boy whump #box boy multiverse #caretaker #whump fic #whump #original writing

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kyun-toast · 3 years

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[ATEEZ] Mafia!San - Will You Join Me?

word count: 2.9k warnings: explicit language, gun use, violence, description of death (not explicit), sexually suggestive, gets a lil steamy summary: cupid has a bullet with your name on it a/n: Y/N a little dramatic and San annoying af. I wrote this in a two hour flash at 2am, so this might be deleted after I reread it tomorrow because I’m pretty sure a lot of this is just me chatting shit.

1. Yoon, David – 12:45 Note to self: likes donuts. probs dunkin’, maybe krispy? idk just look for a man w a paper bag.

“I’ll have to warn you though, the lift is under maintenance, so you’ll have to take the stairs.” The receptionist smiled at you sympathetically. “I can get someone to help you with your suitcase if you’d like?”

“Oh no, it’s ok, I’ll just find another place to stay. I have weak knees anyway.” You forced a laugh and hoped the lady didn’t notice the dead look in your eyes.

“I’m sorry about that, love.”

Turning away with your suitcase in tow, you headed towards the building opposite the hotel and hoped that the rooftop would be easy enough to access.

It was quite irresponsible of you not to have a backup plan. It seemed that being named the sharpest shooter in the underground world had gotten to your head a little, but you argued that a bit of spontaneity never hurt anybody. Though your target would beg to differ.

Being a public building of offices, it was all too easy for you to reach the roof of the building. You found that walking with your held head high and gaze set straight ahead would never get you questioned. Who would ever stop someone with a walk so confident?

Thankfully, the rooftop hadn’t been turned into some garden space: an air-conditioning fan over here, a water tank over there. You checked your wristwatch reading 12:40 and muttered under your breath. The damn hotel lift had taken precious minutes of your time and compromised your view.

You opened your suitcase to set up your sniper, giving your little black cat charm on the side of your gun a squish. Cute.

Sitting on the case with your stock snug against your shoulder, you peered into the scope to get a closer view of the revolving doors to the bank. Oh great, there’s a lamppost in the way.

Mr. Yoon was apparently quite the punctual man, always seen stepping into the bank doors after his lunch break at exactly quarter to one and therefore, your window of opportunity was thin.

“I want it done today or you’re getting sniped yourself, Y/N.” You heard the voice of your boss yap in your head again. Blah blah blah, same old threat. You argued that procrastinating the man’s death was actually something very considerate of you to do.

You heard a familiar clatter of metal hit the floor and you turned your scope to the rooftop opposite to see a man in overalls with his toolbox open on the floor.

“Lift maintenance guy?” You muttered to yourself and wondered if the mechanics of elevators ran all the way through to the rooftop. You made sure that you wouldn’t be in his line of vision and swivelled back to your original position, cursing the man under your breath for ruining your first choice of setup.

12:44

“Come on, Yoon. Lunch time’s almost over.” Your finger lay restless on the trigger, itching to get a glimpse of the bank teller.

20 seconds.

“Krispy or Dunkin’ what will it be today, entertain me.”

10 seconds.

You saw the man turn the corner and waited for him to get a little closer for you to shoot.

5 seconds.

“That’s it, just past the lamppost and you won’t even know what hit y- what the FU-?” You shouted and quickly clasped a hand to your mouth. Mr. Yoon hadn’t even made it past the post, and he was already laying on the pavement in a growing pool of blood.

Calculating the angle in which he was laying, you spun your vision around to the hotel rooftop and saw the maintenance man begin to pack up a sniper back into his toolbox. Taking off his cap, you noticed a flash of white in his jet-black hair and just like he knew you were watching, he turned with a smug grin on his face and shot you some finger guns.

“Oh, you little fucker.” You spat, and watched the man jump down into a hatch to disappear.

You slumped dramatically onto the floor and splayed your limbs to stare blankly at the sky. Never in your life had you ever missed a shot, let alone have it stolen by someone else, and your boss had your phone ringing to rub it in your face.

“That wasn’t you, was it?”

“Listen, what if? You know, what if that was my thirteenth reason? I just couldn’t take it anymore and that was it. No more Y/N. You wouldn’t even come to my funeral, would you?”

“No, I wouldn’t because you’d be too broke to have one. You realise you’re not getting paid for this?”

“Why? He’s still dead?” You sat up in disbelief.

“Well, it turns out someone else wanted him gone too. I can’t lie to our client and say that we did it.”

“You’re oddly moral for someone that runs a hotline for hitmen.”

“I’ll call you if I find you another job.”

“Justice for freelance contract killers.” You muttered weakly as he ended the call. The faint sound of police sirens filled the air as you let out a heavy sigh and lay back on the concrete.

You pictured the man and wondered who it was that would even think to render the notorious Y/N L/N jobless. Though you did have to admit that it was a clean shot.

“Skunk-hair looking ass.��

2. Kim, Seungho – 18:00 Note to self: babysitting. easy target but kid knows NOTHING.

You were stationed by a corner window in an unfinished apartment building with a trainee by your side, setting up his kit.

Stood by the trainee, you scanned to see if everything was in the right place, checking the kid’s posture too. You had been sent by your boss to reluctantly train a young recruit and you joked if you had been demoted following your last predicament. You were never in it for the money though, you lived for the adrenaline.

The boy had potential and you saw it, he just needed to make cleaner shots because three bullets somewhat near the target’s vital organs wasn’t going to cut it.

“What’s your name again?”

“Jisung. Han Jisung.” The recruit replied, his eyes never leaving yours, in absolute awe.

“Eyes on the scope.”

“I’m sorry, nobody told me I’d be getting trained by you. The Seoul Shooter? Like wow.”

“Ew, is that what they’re calling me?”

“Yeah, well I think it’s a pretty cool name, they used to call me ‘Jitman’ in my hometown, not very creati-”

You shushed the boy and tapped his shoulder as you pointed to a small figure in the distance.

“You see him through the scope? Now keep your hand steady, never feel as if you’re being rushed. Death works to your schedule.”

“Got it.” Jisung said, following the man with his gun.

“Ok, on 3… 2… 1…”

You heard the bullet cut through the evening air and hit the target neatly through his office window.

“Bro? That was so clean? That has to be one of the sexiest shots I’ve seen in a while-” You began.

“Uhh, that wasn’t me, Y/N.”

Before you could even process what had happened, you heard the rustle of footsteps patter down the stairs behind you. Taking out your handgun, you moved towards the open door to find the same man you had seen on the hotel rooftop stop in his tracks on the landing. Clad in a fitted black sweater and jeans this time, he looked a whole lot more attractive close up.

“You again?” You exclaimed; gun still pointed at the man as he dropped his duffel bag to raise his hands.

His eyes widened, not in shock, but more with an excited glint in his eyes.

“Oh my, it’s Y/N, the Seoul Shooter.” A coy smile painted his lips as he shook his white fringe out of his eyes.

“See, everyone calls you that.” Jisung interjected from behind.

“Shut up, Han.”

“Word around town is that you’ve been unemployed for some time now,” nodding towards Han, he added, “and it looks like the rumours are true.”

“I’ve actually decided to take a break you know? Let the other kids have a chance at making a name for themselves. Bit of charity work.”

“Y/N kinda got demoted because you keep taking their shots.” Han interrupted again.

“Hey, who told you that?!” You narrowed your eyes at the boy. Han Jisung was a smart ass and you vowed then and there that you wouldn’t take on any more training sessions.

You whipped your head back around to the man eyeing your body up and down.

“My eyes are up here, sir. Unless you really wanna get shot.” You spat.

“Well, I’d die a happy man if you were the last thing I’d see.” He smirked in retaliation and studied your eyes carefully. “Well, my job here is done, I better be on my way. Got a big cheque waiting for me.” He grinned as he reached to grab his bag and carry his way on down the stairs with footsteps too light-hearted for your liking.

“Why didn’t you shoot him?” Jisung asked as you watched the man disappear into the evening.

“I don’t think killing a man for taking my shots is justified.”

“What, and sniping Mr. Kim Seungho just before he gets to feel the bliss of clocking out is?” He laughed. “Do you know what I think, Y/N?”

“What?”

“I don’t know, I’m not going to say anything.”

Han Jisung tormented you the whole drive back to the quarters.

“Y/N and Skunk Man sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes lo-”

Smack.

“Ouch, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I was just kidding.” He laughed as an idea struck him, “K-I-D-D-I-N-”

Smack.

3. Park, Kiha - 10:32 Note to self: bad man. bad, bad man. but big, big cheque.

Having had your last two shots stolen, mystery Skunk Man was beginning to get on your nerves. You were seething to the point that you demanded your boss give you another job, itching to defend your title of being the finest shooter in Seoul.

Laying on the floor of a rooftop hangar, the man had the gall to pop up out of the hatch to set up his station right next to you, as if you were both on some picnic.

"Nice seeing you here today, Y/N." He said, sitting cross legged to mount a scope to the top of his sniper.

Not even bothering to take your eyes off the target, you muttered, "I got here first, you better back off." voice laced with venom.

"Well I've been promised a cheque too, we're all just trying to get fed around here."

Ignoring him, you glanced down at your watch that read 10:31. Any time now, Park Kiha would be walking through the glass bridge to get to his meeting in the twin building.

Steadying your finger against the trigger, you held your breath and counted down from three, two, o-

"I like your cat charm by the way."

You pulled the trigger only for it to stray a little to the right, still hitting your target, just a little less central than you would have accepted.

You shot up from your position to face the man laying on his side, head propped up against his hand to look at you.

"Do you have something against me? Do I even know you?" You exclaimed, carding your gloved hand through your hair.

"No uhh, but I saw your face on a bounty poster once and thought you were cute." He said, attitude too blasé. "That was a nice shot though, I was going to wait a few more seconds."

"So you saw my picture, and started following me around to antagonise me?"

"Nah, I just happened to be super lucky to have been put on the same cases as you. Big bad men have a lot of people after them I guess?"

Throwing your equipment back into your bag, you watched the man proceed to roll over onto his back with his arms behind his head to look up at the sky.

The mid-morning sun cast a golden glow over his skin and though you spent most of your life working with guns, his uniform and kit next to him looked a little different, almost attractive. They suited him a little too much and you thought that if a sleek sniper were to be personified, it would look exactly like this leather clad man.

"I should ask for your number, the way you're looking at me right now, Y/N."

"Good luck, you won't get it." You turned to step down the hatch as he propped himself up again to watch you leave.

Choi, San – 15:25 Note to self: he’s kinda hot tho :/

So, we had finally put a name to the face. As your boss handed you a folder, you were slightly taken aback at the small ID picture pinned to the top of the file.

“You might be a little happy about this one.” He said, taking a sip of coffee. “He’s been recently recruited by ATEEZ as their sniper. Quite a deadly one too. He was scouted shooting pheasants down in the Namhae countryside apparently.”

“Hmm, how much?” You questioned.

“A million dollars.”

“Excuse me? A mill-?” You choked on the air and composed yourself just as quick to nonchalantly lean against the filing cabinet and look out the window, “I don’t know, he didn’t look a million dollars-worth to me.”

“He hasn’t been in the game long, but man has he taken down some big names.”

Though you didn’t necessarily feel too attached to Choi San, you did think that you were going to miss him a little. It was nice having a friend on your level to spar with.

Who were you kidding? You thought he was hot and that it would be a shame to have to shoot him.

But on second thought, you had been itching for the adrenaline in the trigger again, and the million dollars looked a lot sexier to you than some man.

“I’ll take it.”

San was all too easy to find. He seemed to enjoy hiding in plain sight since no common person would recognize him in the bustling streets of Gangnam. Nestled in the corner of another rooftop, you zoned in on the recognizable black and white hair sat outside on the terrace of a café.

Once you were ready, you repositioned your finger on the trigger and focused the cross hairs on the familiar head. You were steady until San lifted his head and stared right back at you through the scope, sending you a wink.

“Shit.” You muttered, his actions throwing you off and when you repositioned your aim, he had slipped into the crowd, now lost.

“No, no, no, no, no, Choi San, ugh.” Seeing that he knew what you were up to, you got up to pace around the rooftop. Your mind worked nonstop to find an alternate solution but all you could conclude was to go home, stay low and pick another day to continue.

This man had thrown you into the worst slump of your life, but you were somewhat enjoying the chase and you hated to admit it.

The abrupt sound of a closing of a door behind you had everything clicking into place.

“You pretty motherfucker, had this planned, didn’t you?” You laughed.

Upon hearing the cocking of a gun, you turned to pull out the throwing knife strapped to your thigh and pulled his body in by his collar to reach his throat. And it just turned out that San had the same idea in pushing his handgun up underneath your chin at the same time, faces a little too close.

“I like your beret.” San said candidly, jerking his brow up at the hat on your head.

“Me, too. It’s Marine Serre.”

“Nice choice.”

“I’m going to count down from three and we’re going to drop our weapons, ok? And talk this out like adults because I for one, didn’t wanna kill you.” You bargained.

“Sure.”

“Three, two, one!” The both of you pulled away for a split second in bluff only to reposition your weapons against each other’s throats again.

“I knew it.” San smirked.

“No, for real this time. I mean it.”

“Go ahead, baby.” He smiled as his gaze dropped to your lips.

“Three, two, o-”

San cut you off by leaning into your lips, placing onto them a kiss so intense, almost mirroring the violent nature of the situation. However, what surprised you more was that you let yourself melt back into him. He let his gun clatter to the floor to walk you backwards into the wall behind, hoisting your leg up around his waist.

You broke away from the kiss for air when he smiled, “I mean, it is kinda hot, but I would appreciate it if you could stop holding that knife against my throat right now, Y/N.”

“Ugh, fine.” You muttered as San leaned back in to kiss you whilst roaming his hand around your thigh, ridding you of the rest of your knives and smirking against your lips in satisfaction.

Feeling his bulge grind between your legs, you both only grew more fervent for each other as you kissed.

“Wait, I wanna take you on a date first.” He pulled away to look you in the eye.

“Are you serious right now?”

“Mhmm, to Bar 1117.” He hummed, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.

“Isn’t that your company’s place…?”

“Yeah, they’re gonna love you.” He whispered, peppering small kisses down your throat.

“Are you trying to recruit me or fuck me, San?”

"I mean, you can kill me now and leave for that million dollars or you can come with me for a new job and that million dollar dick."

"You're unbelievable."

“I heard you were doing freelance anyway, baby.” He looked into your eyes again, a mischievous glow blooming across his face, “So, will you join me?”

disclaimer: San’s pie chart hair is one of my all time faves but I also can’t stop thinking that it looks a little skunk-like. In the cutest way. a/n: I've edited this a lot since I posted it and I think I'm gonna keep it

Mafia AU Masterlist

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hobidreams · 3 years

Text

november 1869.

to remember what has been lost; to protect what still remains.

pairing: joseon king!yoongi x reader genre: drama. words: 2.4k contains: descriptions of blood/death, a reckoning.

moonlit throne index. this is drabble 26. start from the beginning?

Before Queen Jeonghui’s tomb, you stand with hands bowed in reverence, mind laden with warm memories as sticks of incense burn above your fingertips.

“We all miss you, daebi-mama. I hope you are resting well,” you murmur, letting the smoke mingle with your breath in the air as you bow, deeply. “Happy birthday.”

A little ways away, the single guard that accompanies you is also offering his thoughts to the raised, grassy mound that the queen lies beneath. You’re glad it’s Myungho to come with you today. He’s a good man, one who allows you as much freedom as possible. He understands your need to escape sometimes. Nearby, the horses you rode here are grazing on the field, quietly snorting as their tails swish from side to side.

As you look upon the tomb, you wonder wistfully if mother has found the queen in the spirit world. If they’re playing the game of janggi they so loved in life, when both could find the rare time to continue their decade-long (friendly) rivalry while indulging in cups of strong, dark tea. The thought brings a smile to your face even as fresh tears fall at the remembrance.

In your peripheral vision, you see a swish of fabric, the sign of someone approaching. You give one last bow and slot your incense in the traditional tray, realizing it must be time to leave before it gets too cold and your limbs begin to freeze even under the layers of clothes. You must go back eventually, you know it, but that doesn’t make it easier.

But when you turn, the man that stands beside you wears royal robes — the scarlet fabric and golden dragons unmistakable.

“Jeonha?”

The king’s face holds only sorrow as he holds matching incense in his hands. Staring straight ahead, he bends into a bow, dipping his head repeatedly low, low, lower until he’s almost on the dying, waterlogged grass with it, the lit grey tips flickering in the wind as they are nearly doused from the force of his movements. He bites his lip hard, so hard he draws blood as he punishes his own legs with the bows but he doesn’t stop.

You watch him with emotion clinging to your throat, but you swallow the questions you want to ask as you swipe at your wet cheeks. Why are you here? Why did you change your mind? How are you? Are you okay? All these impertinent questions are for you, to satisfy your own curiosity, and that’s not what he needs right now.

Quietly, steadily, you wait until he has finally stuck in the incense in the memorial ash. You wait until he opens his eyes, red-rimmed as they are, and finds your gaze.

“I… decided at the last moment,” he murmurs. “You… were right. I had to see her.”

You nod. Think you understand everything else he means as well, even if he’s left it unspoken. “Me too.”

“She would have liked that you’re here.”

That simple sentence threatens another wave of nostalgia and longing. You let it pull you under. Sink yourself into it. The mourning, the grief. And the love. The love that was there. The love that still remains, the traces of it held in you both. Your fingers twitch with a sudden, daring want to take his hand. To meet your palms and find the warmth and the life pulse that beats so closely, so resolutely just beneath the surface despite all this pain and all this loss. If you could just reach out. If you could just take another risk…

“Jeonha, run!”

The scream comes from the hill behind you. You both whirl.

The head of the royal guard comes running over with his sword drawn. His teeth are grit, hair blown from the wind that sweeps through the grass, rippling. His blade is already stained with a color that makes your stomach lurch at the implication.

“Hoseok— What’s going on?” The king yells back.

“Rebels! An ambush. We don’t have enough men!”

These few seconds are all the warning you get.

An incredible roar of voices comes exploding up and then you see them. The thick crowd of men that come surging over the hill, fighting their way towards you. The unforgettable clatter of metal on metal desecrates this once-sacred ground. Your legs go soft as you panic, scrambling. You’re trying not to watch as guards and rebels alike are cut down, but the enemies are steadily advancing still. What should you do? Where should you go?

“Myungho, get the horses!” The king barks out. But one look at the steeds tells you that they’re frightened, rearing back as men descend upon them. They’re off, running away on instinct to preserve their own lives while damning yours.

“Jeonha, what are your orders?” Myungho’s grip on his weapon is tight.

“Go. Help Hoseok.”

“Yes, jeonha!”

But as the battle wears on, the dread in you only grows. The king’s men are skilled, but it seems there were only a few to begin with. They are overwhelmed by sheer numbers, yelling for jeonha to escape but he doesn’t move. You don’t know what to do. You are at a complete loss, standing beside him with fingers growing steadily numb. You have to do something. You— You can’t just let it end here, at the hands of these men bellowing with violence and anger and pain.

“Jeonha, w-we have to run,” you stutter, forcing yourself to move, tugging at the fabric of his robes. But when you look back at the opposite side, your only escape route, a throng of rebels come scattering across the grass. Cutting you off; rendering you helpless.

“Myungho, cover the rear!” Hoseok spits out as he takes down another three by himself, the quick whip of his blade reflecting a beam of sun. But even he, with two other guards in front, cannot hold all of them off, though there are less of the rebels now that remain standing.

Caught in the middle, you can only watch your allies strain and sweat. In your heart, you promise desperately that you heal them in the end, if only they will hold on now.

With an awful cry, one of the guards hits the ground and a rebel uses that chance. Breaks through the line of defense and charges right towards you both.

“Fuck the king!” He yells, his face smeared with dirt, his sword raised as his bare feet trip upon the grass but he just keeps coming somehow and you have no weapons and you have no shields but the very first instinct, the most primal one you have is to throw yourself in front of the king and take his pain for him and—

Hoseok dispatches the rebel from behind just as you move a single step forward.

“You…” The king’s voice is hoarse. His eyes are wide with shock as he stares at you, at what you just did. Then he’s shoving you aside and stooping to pick up the abandoned sword from the ground.

You realize what he means when he sweeps up his sleeves, adjusts his grip on the worn handle. “Wait, no, jeonha, you cannot—”

“Stay behind me.”

“I cannot allow you to—”

“Do not argue with me.”

Again, he leaves you with no choice but to watch his back.

Fear pounds away in your body like a thousand drums, thunder booming through the pulse of your clenched heart in your ears as the king takes a first brutal swing at an enemy. Somewhat out of practice against the towering man, he’s shoved back by the sheer force of the clash, feet skidding across the wet grass but he refuses to yield. Stubborn as he always is, he rushes in again only to be pushed back. Again.

The king tilts his blade, slices it quick only to have one sent right back at him, barely missing his shoulder by an inch. He doesn’t even flinch as he stands firm. Adapts in the moment and tries a new strategy, a new tactic that has him spinning, robes fluttering in the winter air as his shuddering breath comes out in a puff of white and ends in a fury of red. And again. And again until finally, finally, only the strongest of the rebels remain standing with the few allies you left, along with your brutal, bloodied king.

Before you, all the men are panting, open mouthed, every last one of them desperate for a victory that spells the doom of the other.

“Come on then,” the king goads, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand in a show of nonchalance even though he’s obviously fatigued. “Attack.”

“You little shit!”

This man is enormous, easily a head above the king and he’s strong, muscles bulging from his torn tunic as he thrusts the sword ahead with surprising speed. The quick rush of air slices through two layers of robes, splitting the dirtied fabric open as the king narrowly escapes without a new scar. But his return stab doesn’t meet a mark and he’s slow on the rebound, steps lost some of the agility he had at the start.

Please. Please, you beg to whatever god may be listening, don’t let him die. But that rebel seems to have an endless strength as he forces the king back, meets him blow for blow for blow and you are so worried, terrified you’re going to see his last moments like this. Like this you will have been with him until the end just like you once stupidly wished. You’re so caught up you don’t realize what’s going on behind you.

“Su-uinyeo-nim! Watch out!” Myungho’s voice cracks as he cries your name, but you turn too slow. Myungho’s on the ground and the rebel that beat him is sprinting towards you, savagery in his scowl, his crude axe already suspended in mid-swing, just a few more steps, just one more shove to land right across your heart and you, you who has never held a weapon before in her life, you who has lived to heal and mend instead of hurt, what can you do right now but die?

“No!”

The scream is hoarse, a furious sound matched with a rush of robes that whip past your own.

You peel open your eyes in time to watch the king take the axe blow meant for you with his left arm. Despite his bark of pain, he swings with his right in exchange and it’s enough. The rebel falls, his axe plummeting uselessly beside him. Then the king falters too, sword clattering down as he finally drops to his knees.

“Jeonha!” You scramble to him. “Oh god, oh god, jeonha, why did you do that— Jeonha, how could you do such a thing? Jeonha!” You part the stained robes, stomach churning at the raw sight of his sacrifice. “We need to fetch you help. You need medicine, oh god, oh god.” This is panic like you’ve never felt it before as you look around, as if some miracle could occur, as if it hasn’t already occurred by the fact that you’re both still alive.

To one side, Hoseok is alone, gasping hard with the enormous rebel lying prone beside him, evidently having finished him off. Myungho has a gash running down his side, but he’s crawling towards you both still with a hand pressed to his wound for pressure. There is no one else. You have to do this on your own. You have to calm the hell down.

Using the nearby sword, you force yourself to focus and stop shaking as you cut strips of the inner layer of your skirt. You have to save his arm even as nausea swims in your mind, nerves making you want to empty your stomach.

“Hah...” The king’s chest lurches as he struggles for air. His eyes are hazy but he manages to fix them on you, as if to ground himself. “You’re… safe?”

Nodding frantically, you start to wrap the cloth around him, willing your fingers not to slip. “I-It’s deep, jeonha. Your wound is so deep.” You’re quietly sobbing as you tie the makeshift bandage to stop the worst of the bleeding. How could he be thinking of you at a time like this? It must hurt excruciatingly so, yet he is still trying to be strong.

Beside you, Hoseok is carrying Myungho’s weight, using the extra cloth to help his ally with his limited medical training.

“…Hoseok.” The king sucks in another long breath. “They… Those rebels were peasants, weren’t they?”

“Yes, jeonha… I think they were.”

He accepts this knowledge silently as you finish your preliminary treatment, but lack the resources to do anything else. You stare at the fresh red seeping through the flimsy cloth and hope desperately that it will be enough for now, until one of you can return to the palace and gather reinforcements to take you home. Feeling your fingers stop, he immediately tries to move his arm but winces, bites his lip at the sudden jolt.

“Don’t move, please,” you instantly say.

The king huffs a long, exhausted sigh as he sinks into the ground. Lets the tension seep out of him, though likely not by choice. His dark eyes flicker to the tomb briefly before they slide closed, the scar ever slashed startlingly crimson across the right side. Despite his best attempts, he is still winded, depleted. Human, after all. After all of this.

You brush matted strands of light hair away from his forehead, and pat at the drops of sweat that linger and prove how hard he pushed himself to fight. He shifts into your touch like a stray animal, allowing you take care of him for once without argument until his breaths even some, settling only in your arms.

“It seems it’s been a long time,” he says softly after a moment, his eyes remaining shut.

“Since?”

“Since I’ve protected someone.”

Your pulse catches. Blood thrums through you as you whisper, “but you did.” Your voice is viscous with relief, and gratitude. “You did.”

Only now do you dare to reach for his hand, to lend him some of your strength, even though you have seen again just how much of it he already holds in himself.

Wrapped in your warmth, he squeezes back just the once. Lets you know he is here, he is here, he is here with you still.

a/n: because i could never forget the way he wielded that sword in the mv. so... how you feel about our king now?

#ficswithluv #btsghostie #yoongi x reader #min yoongi #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts angst #yoongi angst #historical au #moonlit throne #rain writes #things only continue to shift don't they?

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hansolmates · 3 years

Text

shiver | 15

banner done by the faaaabulous @dee-ehn / @dnrequests

summary; your childhood crush jeon jungkook has changed since he moved out of his small town church community and attended college. when he returns for a christmas mass, you suddenly crave a taste of his fun and carefree life. in exchange, jungkook craves a taste of you pairing; bad boy!jungkook x church girl!reader genre/warnings; childhood friends to lovers, brief childhood friends to enemies, fwb!au, coercion, manipulation, catholic guilt, jungkook is a meanie who eventually turns into a soft tsundere, bicuriosity, sexual exploration, virgin!oc, eventual smut—in this installment, slightly toxic friendships, k-i-s-s-i-n-g w/c; 1.5k a/n; time flies! i can’t believe the next drabble will be the last drabble (but fret not, there’s always the finale!) this installment features a brandy new oc and a lot more toeing the boundaries :((( can’t these two idiots just get it together already??? enjoy! [shiver masterpost]

“That’s why your budget is terrible, Jungkook. You spend so much money on expensive fabric softener, and then use cups of it for each load!”

“That’s how you get it to smell good!” Jungkook retorts, and you watch with horror as he continues to pour a milk carton’s worth of laundry soap in the container of the machine. “Don’t give me that look. I don’t judge the fact that you buy 2-ply toilet paper.”

“What—that’s totally different!”

“My butt would say otherwise.”

“Ugh, you’re gross!”

Originally, you wanted Youth Group duty. You always want Youth Group duty. Yet, Jungkook persuaded you to do laundry duty, because he wanted to return to school early to go back to his studio.

And you had to compromise, because by some turn of events, Jungkook and you had driven together to mass. His mother sang at you in high praises, wondering how on earth you managed to get Jungkook to come to mass on a random day in spring. You convinced Jungkook to at least show up to say hello, his mother definitely misses him and so does the rest of the congregation. You told Jungkook that the mass is a stress-reliever, even if it doesn’t feel that way. Secretly, you admitted to him that you zone out during the mass, preferring to keep that hour of peace to yourself.

“Done,” Jungkook pats the washing machine, hard. You watch as it whirs to life, a very loud and cacophonous noise or metal and hot air clanging against each other. “This washing machine has been around way before us, huh?”

“I remember Taehyung tried to hide himself in the dryer,” you reminisce, “that was awful.”

“Good times,” Jungkook nods.

“They look smaller though,” your eyes drift towards the washing machine, whirring and shaking at the effort and power it takes to wash all of the church’s dirty linens. It’s a MayTag, an old American brand you remember fondly from when buying these types of machines were popular. The faded coral pink is super vintage, and you can’t believe it’s lasted this long.

Jungkook smirks, flickering his eyes to the flat top of the machine, “Hop on.”

He doesn’t give you a warning, and you squeal as he easily lifts you up by the hips, planting you so you hang off the side of the metal cube.

“You’re wearing pants today,” he muses sadly, palms splaying across your emerald green pants.

“Jungkook,” you warn, “it’s because last time we sat in church together, you tried to finger me.”

“Oh, you’re right,” Jungkook pretends to think, “should I tell my mom I’m sitting with you instead?”

“Get away from me,” you poke his chest playfully. He bobs slightly, only to return back to you like one of those inflatables that you can hit constantly but only float back up.

Something warm and fluffy buds into your chest, rendering you immobile as you get yourself wrapped up in a staring contest with Jungkook. His eyes are so pretty, the little light from the basement window catching Jungkook’s dark eyes and illuminating them in a brown glow. He grins at you with his cute teeth, lips curling in a faint smirk as his eyes flicker to your lips.

“I’m gonna kiss you now, Bunny.”

“For real?”

If your life was a rom-com and someone was watching this whole ordeal, they’d think your question was painfully dumb. In fact however, it isn’t a dumb question. Up until this point, you haven’t officially kissed Jungkook, mouth to mouth. Sure, there’s those brief kisses to his head whenever you’re grinding on top of him, or the melty, breathy kisses Jungkook bleeds on the inner spot of your thighs, but not something as intimate as this.

“For real-real,” he grins, “pucker up, buttercup.”

Clutching his collar, you don’t wait for him to come to you. You sigh into his lips, relief flooding into your veins as the one thing you’ve been craving for since you were nine has finally happened. Your younger self would be peeing her pants at the mere thought.

Yet there’s nothing young about this kiss. It’s hot, and sexy. Your hands reach behind the nape of his neck, tugging and running through his hands like a golden waterfall. His hands are roaming your buttocks, pressing reverently into the space of bare skin between your blouse and pants. Your legs dangle across his hips, and you can just barely feel the warmth of his crotch ghosting over yours.

“God, Jungkook—” you sigh, gasping for air when he presses eager kisses along your jawline, hands roaming to the tops of your soft breasts.

“Bad girl,” he whispers against your neck, smelling the clean scent of your perfume, “saying God’s name in vain? What’s your excuse?”

“My excuse is that God isn’t the one who’s making me drip across the washer.”

Jungkook pulls away in surprise, laughing at you. You laugh back, unable to contain the onslaught of words escaping your mouth. “So dirty,” he shakes his head grinning in exasperation, “what am I going to do with you?”

“You should touch me,” you pout slightly, “please.”

He pulls you closer, deciding to answer you with another kiss. You’ll never tire of the taste of him, the warmth that blooms from your belly to the fingertips that latch onto his soft skin. Your hands roam across his jeans, feeling his thick member strain against the thick fabric. Jungkook grinds his hand lightly into your palm, moaning into your mouth.

You don’t know how you hear it with your hand full of cock and your mouth full of Jungkook, but the door creaks open and you push him off. You act on autopilot, limbs frantically adjusting your hair and clothes. Jungkook immediately ducks, hiding beneath the washer. With the heel of your trainer you lift your leg up, pushing on his shoulder.

“Jasmine,” you exhale, forcing a smile at the girl who’s poking her head through the door of the laundry room.

“Hey!” her eyes are a mischievous shade of jade, as she darts around the room as if she knows Jungkook’s hiding. He’s definitely concealed by the large washer, but you still press your toe into his leather jacket in fear of getting caught, “Mass starts in ten!”

Jasmine is another childhood friend, in the same lot as you and Jungkook. Bouncy, her curls always impeccable, and full of life. Usually sweet, but a bit of a green streak. She loves to gossip, which is why you fear that whatever you tell her will end up down the pipeline.

“I know,” you breathe, tucking your sweaty strands behind your ear, “just, y’know. Relaxing,” you pat the washer you’re sitting on, nodding awkwardly.

“Right,” Jasmine nods, “anyway, I heard from your mom who told my mom who told my sister that you drove here with Jungkook! Isn’t that something?”

“Oh, it’s something,” you answer neutrally, tapping your nail against the metal.

“I mean, isn’t he kind of a basket case? Like, he did drugs n’stuff and fucked a ton of girls. I don’t even know why Pastor Nina still lets him in.”

There has been a group of young adults that have resented Jungkook for leaving the congregation as soon as he got to college. His commitments to himself were a hot debate towards your childhood-friends-turned-community-college-classmates, some deeming it as selfish and others as brave. In your opinion, it was stupid gossip. Jealousy rooted in the time and feigned kindness you all forced onto each other over the years. You don’t blame Jasmine however, and at the same time you dislike her all the more.

There’s a lot of things you can say to Jasmine right now. She’s given you at least eight different reasons to call her out on her audacious statements. You hide your clenched fists in your lap, and you ignore the way Jungkook squeezes your ankle in warning. Your posture relaxes when you feel his lips press into the skin over your lace socks, trying to placate you. A secret gesture so intimate, the feel of his soft buttered lips already a tender memory.

“I don’t see how that makes him any less of a good man,” you bite, “good men make mistakes and learn from them.”

“Oh, it’s because you’re still in love with him, huh?”

You can’t help the curl of your lips, the sneer that mars to your face. You’ve always been told to keep a cool head, avoid confrontation.

“No, I’m not in love,” you say, knowing better than to add to Jasmine’s already overflowing vault of rumors and gossip.

Jasmine shrugs, pretending to be disinterested, “Just saying. It’d be a shame to lose another one.”

As soon as she slams the door, you hop off the washing machine. You look sadly at Jungkook, whose face is emotionless. You don’t know how much of those words impacted Jungkook. Jasmine and Jungkook were friends once, a long time ago.

“I’m sorry, Kook,” you put a hand on his shoulder. You don’t know what you’re saying sorry for, but it seems like the simplest thing to say from the murky expression on his visage.

He simply shakes his head, looking away from your wanting gaze. “I’m fine.”

You’re unconvinced, but you let him leave the laundry room first.

#kwritersworldnet #btsguild #btsghostie #btswritingcafe #jungkook x reader #jungkook fic #bts fic #bts x reader #bts fluff #bts angst

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aenaxes-moved · 3 years

Text

inertia

[crosshair x gn!reader] removing crosshair's inhibitor chip was never going to be an easy task, but you never expect it to demand an item of equal exchange. otherwise known as picking up the pieces with crosshair, together.

warnings: past paralytic injury, general angst, hurt-comfort

w/c: 2.2k

a/n: as much as i hate physics, you can't deny there's a poetry to the laws of the universe. inertia keeps heavy objects in place, and guilt's one of the heaviest burdens of all.

There are certain universal laws you learn while living on a ship, like the slightly upsetting fact that magnetism is relative and so is time. But there are constants: the behavior of gravity around a massive star, the physics of self-contained gas giants, and, on a less macrocosmic scale, that Crosshair’s armor has neat paint, all clean lines and sharp edges bordering plastoid and standard issue paint.

It only makes sense, a steady hand demanded by a life behind the trigger, you think quietly, watching Crosshair carefully scrape the excess red paint from his brush on the side of a flat scrap of metal. With only the low hum of the Marauder to fill the silence, you follow his brush as you stand in the armory threshold and simply observe the slow deliberation of an even, unwavering line drawn from a memory even the inhibitor chip could not blur.

Not that it’s a particularly difficult thing to paint, the sharp, stylized edge of a nine. But there is a silent weight to its image, a firm and resonant return in its bold crimson colour, reclaiming its rightful place on his shoulder in amends, if the restless bob of his toothpick says anything.

If you look long enough, it’s like he never left. Like you never lost your legs.

“You’re back early,” Crosshair says, dipping his brush back into the paint squeezed over his makeshift palette.

“The rest wanted to explore, but the humidity was getting to me. And I missed you,” you add, and your heart swells when you hear him laugh softly in return.

“I believe you,” he chuckles. It’s a rare thing to come by, laughter genuine and sweet, even with Crosshair’s return—perhaps, because of his return—but you take it gratefully either way.

Two cups of caf in hand, you push yourself off the doorway and move to join Crosshair at his place on the armory floor. But as you set a foot forward, a bolt of pain laces up your ankle. It’s the kind of pain that precipitates a fall, starting low in the arch of your foot, gaining a momentum that renders you immobile by the time it’s clawed up your thigh and fizzled around the cybernetic plate welded to the base of your spine.

It fells you without warning or remorse, cracking you open with the bone-deep sensation of memory. A single ultra-ionized shot through a modified rifle and silencer, calculated and surgically precise, a one of a kind and the only one you have known.

(It wasn’t his fault.)

You jerk forwards, caf sloshing dangerously close to the rim, and you distantly register the clatter of plastoid across the floor before you feel a shoulder push up from under your arm. Long fingers dig into your side, reminiscent of better days and tender touches shared in the quiet comfort of a bunk, and you pitch unsteadily, eyes squeezed tight enough to see white.

As much as you would like to confirm the certainty of a stable support before you can relax, the lingering dredges of atmospheric humidity and exhaustion of breaking into a high security imperial compound work cruelly against your strength. You can do little but give in.

Your knees buckle beneath you, and you sag against the only person on the ship able to brace your fall. Miraculously, the caf, handles squeezed tight under your white-knuckled grip, remains unspilled.

“I ruined your paint,” you laugh through your teeth, fuzzy black edges slowly receding from your field of vision as you blink your eyes open.

“And I shot you,” Crosshair hisses.

Crosshair lowers you to the floor, and you feel a full-bodied flinch shock through his form as your unmoving legs splay awkwardly over the cold metal. He is quick to take the cups out of your hand, setting them down with a hard clack before he returns his attention to you. You had always thought Echo would be the one on the receiving end of carefully placed touches to coax the pain of surgical scars and rough wiring away.

You never once dreamed it might be you, too.

One arm secured around your shoulders, he reaches down like it’s muscle memory to rub slowly over the scar tissue framing your implant. The scars are fresh, just barely a week old and forever seared over your skin, but guilt, you have found, tends to hasten the learning process, the scrambling compensation.

“It wasn’t your fault,” you sigh, leaning against Crosshair’s chest and dropping your head back against his shoulder.

“I aimed. I pulled the trigger, y/n.” He’s angry, a low, simmering rage held close and bubbling under the hard edge in his voice as his grip tightens around you. You feel it in the faint tremor in his arm, how he holds you tight to his side and silently wills you to stay.

He is angry, but it is not for you.

“You weren't you,” you mumble.

It’s second nature—it always has been, now, simply with pause—to turn your head when he’s nestled up against your back, to lean close, nuzzle into his neck, and ground yourself, ground him, in the silence of touch. Relief floods your chest, warm sunlight dawning over the thorn in your side, when you feel him chase your touch, settling both his arms around your waist and ducking down low to press his chin atop the crown of your head.

Nothing would ever be the same, but this was a start.

“If it wasn’t me,” Crosshair starts, his voice catching on a sputtering inhale, thick with the tangle of words unsaid. He clears his throat, and if you notice the curling edges of a tremor on his tongue, you say nothing. “If it wasn’t me, who else can you blame?”

“I don’t blame anyone,” you say into his skin, lips ghosting over his rapid pulse.

It’s a diplomatic answer. Of course you blame someone—Palpatine, Tarkin, the fact that Crosshair and his brothers, every last one of the clones, had been built around a single, biding initiative that he hadn’t the luck or the chance to resist. You had been sleeping with the enemy even before he knew that he could be the enemy.

But thinking about it makes your head spin. Blame is too hard, too tiring to place when you, yourself, had been sewn into its vast web. So while Crosshair had slept with a bacta patch plastered to his temple, you had rewired your spinal cord and decided to be away with the anger, the resentment, the mornings waking up in tears when you lifted your blanket and barely recognized that you had legs at all.

“Don’t fucking lie,” Crosshair spits, and you feel him shake around you. Anger, such an easy defense. Such a flimsy one.

“I’m not—”

“I hear you cry in the mornings when your cybernetics don’t click; I hear you scream when you try to move and your mind tells you one thing but your legs don’t fucking work because I made a killshot that paralyzed you—”

“And it paralyzed me because you had every chance to put a bolt through my head but you aimed for my back. You were fighting it, Cross,” you counter, voice quivering.

“But it was me. I took that shot, and you pretend like you don’t—like you don’t hate me because I still had my chip. But I remember it, and it was still me, and you have every right to—”

“Cross!” you shout, and he starts hard enough that you feel him jump. You feel blindly for his hand, gripped tight at his own wrist, and squeeze, hard. “I have my legs back. And sometimes they don’t work just right, but all I care about right now is that you’re back. It’s all I’ll ever care about.”

“I find that hard to believe,” he mumbles into your hair, the sudden burst of vitriol tamed and locked away for the moment.

You’re distinctly aware that he itches to push you away. You feel it in the uncertain pause rigid in his movements before he turns his palm to twine his fingers with yours. After all, it’s easier to cope when the object of your crushing guilt is at an arm’s length.

“This is the part where you’re supposed to comfort me, tell me that you missed me too and that I was right, and you say that everything’ll work out, Cross,” you laugh weakly. You gently knock your head against his collar, prodding, urging, anything to break the crushing silence you know haunts him every time he closes his eyes.

Instead, you feel a shuddering sigh against your ear, and Crosshair only dips his head low, hiding his face in your shoulder as his grip tightens around your waist. There is no sardonic quip or playful bite to offer you peace—only slow, mechanical breaths pressed into your skin in a desperate attempt to keep from falling apart altogether. You reach up, gingerly carding your fingers through his hair when you feel that telltale warmth seeping through the fabric of your shirt, salt sharp on your tongue.

“I shot you. I aimed to kill,” Crosshair mumbles, almost hysterical in level calm, the steady veil locking his tense jaw and drawn shoulders in place. “Why are you comforting me?”

“Would you rather I never speak to you again?” No malice in your tone, you shift your weight, bearing down against Crosshair and begging him to move closer. He does.

“It would be more believable if you did,” he mutters, and you catch the tail end of a soft sniff.

“Not really my thing, grudges,” you say. “Especially against the people I love.” Trailing your fingers lower, you slip below his hairline and begin stroking your palm over the back of his neck, bent forward at an unforgiving angle. You wonder how many times he’s curled into himself like this that he can simply sit, penance and grieving, and the ache that seizes your ribs hurts more than your cybernetic misfire.

“After all that,” he finally mumbles, something close to hushed awe in his voice. “You still love.”

Slowly, melting through the numb static crackle, you feel the sensation seeping back into your feet. You could always rebuild your mobility with some careful cerebrospinal implants, seasonal aches and occasional pains be damned, but you could never replace him.

“Of course I do,” you whisper back. Careful to keep the quiet, tremulous peace, you bring your hand down, sliding around the side of his neck to cup his jaw from behind, ignoring the wetness streaked over his skin. “Still loving,” you affirm, voice steady as you thumb over his cheek. “Still loving you.”

It takes a beat of silence, your words lingering in the still air of the armory, but instead of the tense, fraught grief of when your implant had fizzled out, there is warmth, present and forgiving. You know that nothing will ever be the same, but when Crosshair turns his head to press his lips into your palm, you know that you can still try. Like the waking groan of a crashed ship, you will pick up the pieces and power up one more time, again, again, again, as many times as it takes.

Crosshair nuzzles close, quietly basking in your presence as you sit curled together on the armory floor. And at last, his breaths still, slow and deep as the ship hums around you. He’s never been one for words, not even at his fever pitch of disorientation and distress. He doesn’t need to speak for you to know what he means when he clasps your hand again and holds tight, but his voice is a welcome sound all the same.

“Thank you.”

And for a while, that’s how you stay, breathing slowly and clinging to each other like moving apart would mean never coming back. And that’s how it genuinely does feel—the safety in stillness, carving out your own constant in the cosmic entropy of conquest and loss. For a moment, you can simply savor the quiet simplicity of being.

But the universe wills motion, stars colliding and collapsing and breathing new life all over again. So too, do you feel the strength return in lapsing waves to your legs and the coiled fear leach out of Crosshair’s posture.

“Promise me this,” you whisper, just loud enough to rise above the ambient noise of the ship as you curl your toes and feel again, lurching into motion like gears fallen into disrepair. Crosshair rouses behind you, and he sniffs deeply, once, before he presses his cheek to the side of your head—he is listening. “Promise me that we’ll move on.”

“I can’t promise that,” he says after a brief pause, words measured and low. “But I’ll try.”

“That’s good enough for me.”

As much as there are variables scattered through star systems and wreaking havoc wherever they go, so too are there constants pushing back against the chaos, aligning the universe. Like clockwork, when you wake, the stars turn, the gas giants dance, and when you squeeze Crosshair’s hand, he squeezes back.

#anyways if you want something to listen to while you read: we are by lee jin ah #that or: tunnel by colde #i just want him back hsdf #crosshair x reader #the bad batch x reader #yaej.writes

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harrysweasleys · 3 years

Text

a day in the life // f.w

request: Hi Alexaaaa So someone brought up this idea on my blog and i wanna request it id thats alright with you. So like imagine Fred having an auror wife and stuff and him being v protective and not wanting her to go on this dangerous mission but she goes anyway but gets really badly injured and poor freddie is worried sick. I love comfort fics i cannot lie and i hope u like this request thank you

warnings: mentions of explosions, injury, blood, and food

word count: 2.4k

a/n: hey guys! i hope you all had a wonderful week and that everyone is safe! the new year is right around the corner, can you believe it? where did the time go?? anyways, this was such a fun request and i loved writing it so much, so i hope you all enjoy! xx

“For the last bloody time, Freddie, it’s going to be fine,” you groaned, your head tossing backwards as you repeated the words to your husband for what felt like the thousandth time.

He crossed his arms, “I know you can handle yourself, but please. Please, for me, be careful. Don’t let anyone get the jump on you.”

A small smile made its way onto your lips and you placed your hands on his shoulders, “I always return, don’t I?”

“Yes,” he grumbled. You knew he hated it when you went off on dangerous missions — how couldn’t he? You were his wife. It was practically an oath of his to protect you. A vow. There was no way he’d let you run into the jaws of death without giving you a rough time beforehand. He always had something to say about it.

And he often did just that. He’d go on and on about how you could get hurt, how something could go terribly wrong and he could be left by himself. How you needed to see things from his point of view. You’d then spend the morning comforting him and convincing him you’d be fine, but at the end of the day, he’d always give you a bone crushing hug, muttering “glad you’re home safe” as he did so.

“I’ll be home in time for dinner, yeah?” you asked, standing up on your tip toes and pressing a light kiss on his nose. He scrunched up his face as you did so. You could tell he was trying to act upset at your leaving, but he couldn’t stay mad at you. Especially when, in his thinking, it could be the last time he sees you.

“Fine,” his lips stuck out in a small pout, one of his hands reaching up to run through your hair, “Stay safe, love.”

You brought your hand to his, lifting it to your lips and pressing a kiss to your knuckles, “Love you. See you soon. I’ll be fine.”

He then tossed your hand to the side — gently, of course — and brought your lips to his. His hand was cupped under your chin, fingers causing a slight ticklish feeling as they delicately moved against your skin. But the feeling went practically unnoticed as you lost yourself in his kiss. His kiss that often rendered you breathless and weak in the knees.

You could feel his love and protectiveness in the gesture and it almost made you want to call in sick so you could stay curled up in bed with him, ignoring the world’s problems and acting as you two were the only people on the planet.

But, sadly, that couldn’t happen.

So you gingerly pulled away, already missing his warm lips against yours, and muttered a quiet “I’ll be fine,” once again before beginning to button your jacket.

It was going to be a long day.

Hours later and you were, in fact, not fine.

The mission had gone horribly wrong, leaving you with a heavily bandaged left arm, a throbbing head, and a group of St Mungo’s best Healers giving you countless antidotes and potions to prevent bleeding and further damage. You had only really been in for about an hour, but the swelling in the left side of your body had gone down heavily.

The pain was still rather horrendous, but you didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. Especially not with the current levels of exhaustion floating through your body. You felt as if any second now, you could completely pass out and stay asleep for the next seven years. And you wouldn’t even complain.

Pain really did take a toll on one’s body.

What was even more draining, though, was the fact that your Healer told you you’d have to stay the night. You trusted the staff at St Mungo’s with your life — it wasn’t exactly the first time you’ve been treated here, to be honest — but the room you were staying in was incredibly chilly and the food here was never as good as at home.

Plus, here, you didn’t have Fred’s body curled up next to you.

Fred.

He had gotten the message an hour ago that you were here and he said he’d close up shop early to come see you. They said he sounded rather when they sent someone to deliver the message, but you knew he’d barge in through those doors with wide eyes and panic written across every inch of his face. He was never one to really hide away from his worry, but you had seen him silent on a few occasions. Usually when he was in shock.

You felt awful. Both physically and emotionally. Fred had every right to be paranoid about you leaving the house; this wasn’t your first injury. And yet, you spent every morning persuading him to let you go. Fast forward to today, where you were currently bandaged in an uncomfortable bed at St Mungo’s. Not an ideal ending to your day, to be honest. And not an ideal piece of news for Fred to receive.

“Your husband is here, should we let him in?” one of the healers came to your side, checking under the bandage on your hand before nudging her head in the direction of the hallway.

A small groan left your throat, “Of course.”

She walked towards the door to the room and opened it, Fred’s frantic face finding its way to your bedside as quickly as possible. You could see the paleness of his skin, making his usually fiery hair stand out even more. His sweater was badly buttoned, and you were pretty sure the scarf he was wearing was on backwards.

If the situation was any different to the way it was right now, you’d probably have a good chuckle.

His hands immediately found yours, giving small, gentle squeezes as if he would break you if he put any more pressure, “Love, are you okay? What happened? Are you badly hurt?”

You let out a sigh with a small smile, “Freddie, I’m fine. It’s just some minor bumps and bruises. I got caught in the middle of an explosive curse, it’s fine.”

He pulled his hands away from yours and sat on the small metal chair next to the bed, pulling it as close to you as he could, his eyes scanning every inch of you as if he were doing his own evaluation, “It’s fine?! I was worried out of my bloody mind, woman. Can you imagine the panic when some bloke comes to tell me my wife’s at Mungo’s? Bloody thought you were dying.”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” you joked, rolling your eyes playfully before reaching your hand out to grab his, toying with the wedding band on his left hand, “I just have to stay here for the night. I’ll be home first thing tomorrow.”

“You have to stay?” his bottom lip stuck out, the childish pout on his face adding to the guilt fluttering in your chest.

You sat up slightly, trying to limit the weight on your bad arm, “I’m sorry, love. It’s for precaution. I don’t want to leave and make things worse. But, I promise, as soon as I’m discharged, we are heading home and doing nothing all day, yeah?”

“Well, I’ll stay here with you tonight ,” he puffed out his chest slightly as if he was a superhero, causing a bubble of laughter to erupt from your chest. Maybe it was just the exhaustion from your day, bud Fred’s sense of humour really never failed to get to you. Even at the worst of times.

Your eyes began to droop, but you gave his hand a squeeze, letting him know that even though you were fading, you were still listening and conscious. The last thing you wanted, now that he was here, was to leave him alone in the cold room. Cold, both in temperature and in atmosphere.

“You look tired, love,” his voice was soft, gentle. Loving. All the things you wanted to hear right now. If you were honest, you were worried he was going to be furious. Not at you, per say, but at what happened. So the fact that he was being caring and sweet meant more to you than you could begin to express.

Your eyes fluttered shut as he rubbed soothing circles on the back of your hand, “Tired? Me? Never.”

His laugh was quiet but you could hear it loud and clear, “Go to sleep. I’ll be here when you get up.”

You didn’t want to sleep, to be honest. You wanted to sit up and talk to him. To let him know you were sorry and just what went wrong today. You knew he’d listen, and would most likely panic a bit more when you told him the details — but he’d be comforting. And that was kind of what you needed right now.

But, alas, your body had other ideas, and before you knew it, you were sound asleep.

“I can handle it myself,” you groaned, both hands gripped tightly on the jar of jelly, twisting with all of your might and still, somehow, not getting the lid to pop off.

Fred stood in the doorway to the kitchen, his arms crossed and a small smirk on his lips, “Alright, I’ll just watch from here.”

You stuck your tongue out at him, turning back to the jar and focusing all of your strength into opening it. Which wasn’t saying much, to be fair. You hardly had your strength back, and your body was still as sore as ever. You should probably give the jar to Fred, but your inner stubbornness told you to do it yourself. You couldn’t improve if everyone did everything for you.

“You’re sure?” his voice was laced with amusement as he held back a laugh, watching as your cheeks turned red from the amount of force you put into opening this jelly jar. You were surprised it hadn’t broken, but then again, were you even applying that much force?

“I’m fine!” you grumbled, using your sleeve to prevent the skin on your hand from getting irritated, your palm already bright pink from excessive use.

But it seemed to be no use. Your toast will have gone cold by now, and your breakfast just wouldn’t taste the same.

“Fine, here,” you mumbled, sticking your arm out and pushing the small jar into Fred’s chest, your bottom lick stuck out in a pout that could rival your husbands, “I hate feeling useless.”

He popped the lid of the jar as if it were nothing before handing it back to you, “I know, love. But you’re not useless. Your body just needs time to recuperate, yeah? Can’t go pushing your limits or you’ll just end up back in St Mungo’s, and I reckon you don’t want that.”

“I don’t want that,” you replied, beginning to spread the contents of the jar onto your now-cold toast, “I’m just bored. I miss work. I stay home alone all the time.”

His arms slithered around your waist, giving you a light squeeze as he rested his head atop yours, “Georgie’s taking over the shop today so I can stay here with you. We can do whatever you want.” His warmth spread through your body.

You had to admit, that did lift your spirits a little bit. The whole day at home with your husband? That sounded like quite the treat.

“Really?” you turned to face him, his arms still wrapped around your waist, but he took a step back so you could actually look up at him, “The whole day?”

“Course,” he grinned, pressing his lips to your forehead, “Gotta take care of my girl.”

The day hadn’t been overly eventful; a few cuddles on the couch, a few cuddles in the bed, listening to music, sitting next to Fred and watching telly as he organized paperwork for the shop. Just a few small things. But being with him for the whole day, it really did make you feel a million times better than you had all week.

Maybe that was his plan. To use his very presence as a way to cheer you up. Whether he did it knowingly or not, it did the trick. And now, the aches and pains in your body seemed to dissolve as he ran his hands up and down your arms, the two of you curled up in bed and ready for another night’s sleep.

“Thanks for spending the day with me,” your shot him a smile, but highly doubted that he’d see it in the dark, “I already feel loads better.”

“Of course you do,” his voice sounded cocky even though you couldn’t quite make out his face, “I make anyone feel better. I’m a real treat.”

You scoffed, “Yeah, I adore your humbleness. That’s why I married you.”

One of his hands slid around your waist and pulled you closer to him, body flushed against his. He was still gentle as if not to hurt you, “Not the only reason you married me, love.”

“Right, I also married you for George. I don’t know what I’d do without that chap in my life,” you teased, one of your hands finding it’s way into Fred’s hair, twirling at the strands that were starting to get long. Not as long as when you were in school together, but long enough that it covered his ears and often made you tuck a few strands behind his ear.

“You wound me,” he tried to pull away, but you held onto him enough that he couldn’t. Your strength was starting to come back, which was a massive improvement.

“I’m actually the wounded one,” you rebutted, your face finding it’s usual spot in the crook of his neck, his warmth encasing you like one of his hugs.

His arms wrapped around you, “You can’t be wounded anymore! I gave you so much love. That should have healed you.”

You giggled, placing a light kiss as the nape between his neck and shoulder, “Silly me. Your love has healed me, that’s very true.”

Fred might have had a certain reputation while the two of you were in school. But now, with your marriage only getting better by the day, you couldn’t help but see him as just one thing. As Fred. Your husband, your lover, and the man who would throw himself into a fire if it meant saving your life.

You lucked out more than you can even begin to express, and you would continue to be so for the remainder of your days.

taglist (message me to be added!)

@grierpilots @hxfflxpxffs @mikumana @msmimimerton @pit-and-the-pen @diary-of-an-onliner @theweirdsideofstuff @thoseofgreatambition @theweasleysredhair @haphazardhufflepuff @starlightweasley @mytreec @thisismysketchbook @valwritesx @vogueweasley @hufflrpuffforfred @phuvioqhile @marvelettesassemble @shadowsinger11 @breadqueen95 @hahee154hq @inglourious-imagines @almostweepingbanana @ickle-ronniekins @iprobablyshipit91 @wand3ringr0s3 @susceptible-but-siriusexual @amhyeah

#fred weasley imagine #fred weasley imagines #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley reader insert #fred weasley one shot #fred weasley one shots

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iphoenixrising · 3 years

Text

DickTim Week Day 4: Dark!Dick and Vampire!Tim

So. So. *Steeples fingers* this may or may not be the fic for you. Yet another combination prompt because the people on the Capes and Coffee Discord are fucking enablers. You know who you are.

Warnings for: captivity, blood-letting, missing-in-time Bruce

The hidden bunker is outside the city limits of Gotham, a perfect place to stay off the grid.

Officer Grayson makes the drive with the radio on WKKG, All Gotham, All the Time. He moves his head to the beat of the pop song blaring over the line.

The outside of the abandoned gas station looks positively deserted and if they were any more rural, tumble weeds would be rolling around the decrepit gas pumps.

Officer Grayson parks around the back of the building out of sight and grabs the paper bags from the passenger side, holds his cup of coffee in the same hand, whistles to himself as he gets out of the police cruiser.

A complex locking system on a seemingly outdated walk-in freezer opens up to an elevator that is decidedly the newest fixture in the place.

He hums the chorus of the pop song from the radio on the way down, small smile on his face reflecting back at him from the mirrored doors.

The underground is a completely different world.

Apparently constructed to be a bunker, the basement is lead-lined and spacious with all processes set-up to stay off the grid, perfect for his needs. He has a separate power supply, a separate HVAC system, a security system with nearly imperceptible cameras to make sure no one, no one gets close enough to the property without alerting him immediately.

And he certainly doesn’t want anyone finding his personal mission here.

Officer Grayson puts one of the grocery bags down on a table littered with notebooks and read-outs he’d left the last time after he’d gotten samples. He sips on his coffee as he walks around the first room, lit only by the emergency lights at the top of the low-slung ceiling, and turns on the power, turns on the lights in the rest of the bunker.

The beeps behind him are the locks resetting on the elevator, the only way out.

Dick is still humming when he passes into the next room, blocked on either end with thick, metal doors complete with a complex locking mechanism and impressive alarm system. The many tables in this room are filled with laboratory equipment, a biotechnician’s playground.

Half-completed analyses are still running on the impressive screens mounted overhead, status bar at 68%.

Five-gallon buckets under the tables with black Sharpie denote chemical names with dates scribbled hastily below.

Dick sips his coffee as he looks up at the running totals, makes mental notes, compares previous tests and results.

It’s discouraging, but Dick just sighs to himself. Of all vigilantes in Gotham, he’s the optimist, and he knows that each failure will just bring him closer and closer to success. He just can’t give up.

Bruce is counting on them.

With his coffee and bag in one hand, he lets the analysis churn, and enters his code in the next door, then places a palm print on the pad outside. Leans down so his eye scan can be completed.

Unlike the other rooms, the lights come on the second the door fully unlocks and opens to allow Dick entrance.

The reason for that is to turn on the intense sun lamps to further weaken the figure strapped down to the gurney in the center of the room, strategically lessening the possibility of an attack.

Dick puts the bag and his coffee down on the only table in the room.

“Sorry I didn’t come yesterday. Rupert Thorne had a big shipment planned and we were up late tracking it,” his voice is light and cheery, his smile wide and white. He comes to the side of the gurney, takes note of the slight burning smell that always seems to permeate the room no matter how much he tries to avoid it by making sure there’s always something between skin and pure silver. Struggling dislodges whatever he uses, so the result is the smell of burning flesh.

He clicks his tongue in disappointment, looking down at Timmy’s closed eyes and painfully pale face.

His frown deepens when Tim Drake rolls his head over to face the wall instead.

Silver chains wrap his arms, legs, neck, and torso, rendering him utterly immobile. Holy relics hang over the gurney as an added safety measure. He’s completely naked under a flimsy sheet.

“Aren’t you going to say hello?” He asks softly. “I’m letting Alfred pick up Dami so I can spend some extra time with you today.”

IVs are grotesquely hooked into each major artery, set on slow drain. The multiple blood bags hooked under the gurney show the slow trickle as the bags fill to a crawl.

Tim’s violet-blue eyes crack open a sliver, but he doesn’t look away from the wall, away from freedom.

“That isn’t very nice,” Dick’s tone stays soft, yet firm. “You know what I’m trying to do here.”

The sound of Tim trying to swallow is heard over the soft mechanical beeping, the hum of working equipment. “You know how important you are to this, Timmy. I don’t like how you keep refusing to be a team player.” Dick pauses just a moment, eyes narrow, “is this still about Damian being Robin now? Because you know how many times we’ve been over this.”

Tim closes his eyes again, a muscle in his jaw jumps.

“Well, I think you’ve been sulking about it long enough,” Dick brusquely throws the sheet out of the way to show IVs, burns, and the network of complicated blood vessels below deathly pale skin. “You knew even before you went to Iraq my choices were the best for everyone, not just you.”

Dick checks all the leads, makes sure the drip is slow. He doesn’t so much as lift up the solid silver chains and nudge them with the cloth he keeps underneath, the point of it is to try and keep Tim’s skin from burning, temporarily cauterizing his veins and killing the supply. The last time the chains were displaced this much, Dick had made the mistake of lifting one, giving Tim enough power to bare his fangs and lunge. Since then, the chains have stayed put, only shuffled around a little.

“And if you would have just listened to me and stayed in Gotham, you wouldn’t have been caught by vampires in the first place. You know that, don’t you? If you would have worked with us at home, Ra’s would have never taken that much of an interest and led them right to you. Heck, you might still be alive and have your spleen.”

Shaking his head in frustration at all the events from last year when Bruce’s body was brought back, when the Battle for the Cowl had forced him to raise his hand against Jason again and break his heart over Little Wing again, when he knew Tim didn’t need any more mentorship, didn’t need the support and encouragement Damian did after losing their father, and the ultimate decision to let Tim decide his own future after Robin, when seeing Tim six months after his disappearance as a vampire in a cape, all of it had made the choice on how to handle this situation.

How to fix everything that had gone so horribly wrong.

Do what he had to do, try disseminating the secrets of immortality so they could bring Bruce back.

And like this, Tim is going to help him do it.

“But it’s okay,” he’s back to smiling again, “we’ve worked past all that, haven’t we, Timmy?” Dick is satisfied all the leads are fine and the slow flow unimpeded. He steps back to the bag on the table.

In one hand is a pint of O Positive. In the other, a Krispy Kreme with sprinkles.

Both their favorites.

“C’mon,” he cajoles after taking a bite of his donut, “it’s one of Steph’s extra pints. I know you’re going to like it.”

He holds the oozing bag to Tim’s averted mouth and patiently waits, nibbles on his donut in the other hand.

“Why don’t,” and the tone is hoarse, faint because Timmy mostly doesn’t really talk to him anymore, “you just kill me?”

Dick pauses mid-chew, blinking down at the eyes filling with bloody tears, the hitch in the chest that doesn’t really move anymore.

Dick swallows the bite, suddenly more like ash than icing in his mouth. “You know I can’t do that,” is more harsh than he means. “We don’t kill. Not even vampires.”

“Then let me go.”

“Can’t let you go out and kill people either, Tim, and I need the supply for testing.”

“This is torture. This is fucking torture and you don’t even give a shit about me anymore–”

With a flick of his fingers, a crucifix falls right on Tim’s chest, and the screams are awful, horrible, but that is probably never going to outweigh the smell.

By the time Dick finishes his donut, Tim is weakly writhing in agony and the screams have died down to soft whimpers, mouth open to show those killer fangs.

He dusts his hands off and pulls on a glove from the Nightwing suit under his uniform, gingerly lifts the holy item off, grimaces when tissue and flesh stick to it.

“Kill me,” Timmy whimpers. “Just fucking kill me.”

Dick scoffs and takes the chance to lean down, presses his mouth to Tim’s forehead. “You know I can’t lose anyone else,” is the softest of reprimands. “Don’t worry. Once I just figure this out, we’ll get Bruce back and he’ll help us reverse the turning. Before you know it, this will seem like just a bad dream.”

Dick presses another kiss to each eyelid, talking softly against the deceptively soft yet immortal skin. “And when you’re back to yourself, we can be together again. I’ll take care of you just like I used to, promise.”

Dick leans back up with a small smile on his face and familiar fondness in his eyes. He holds the bag up to Tim’s mouth again, ignores the red tears streaming down the pale face. “We’ll get there, okay? I’m close to the answers we need. I just need a little more time. But, I have to have samples to work with, which means you to drink, Timmy.”

Like usual, the pink tracks down his face stand out starkly in the false sunlight when Tim finally gives in and punctures the bag with his fangs.

#how is this my life #dicktim #dicktimweek2021 #dick grayson #tim drake #vampire!tim #dark!dick grayson #tw: captivity #this might not be for you #and that's okay #winter goes a little off the rails #because writing #my fic #my writing

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msmarvelouswinchester · 3 years

Text

Irresistibly Yours

Chapter 4 - My Apologies

Summary - Y/N Y/L/N moves to NYC in hopes for a fresh start after a nasty breakup. There she meets her neighbor, the cynical lawyer, Dean Winchester. A love-hate relationship starts evolving between them ever since they met in the elevator one morning but a desperate situation and a string of lies forces the two friendly rivals to go on a date or rather a fake date. Will sparks fly between them when Dean gets to know Y/N real and up close? Will Y/N finally find her Prince Charming in the grumpy, workaholic, divorce lawyer?

Pairing - Lawyer!Dean Winchester x Y/N

Warning - None

WC - 2551

Square Filled - Fluff ( @girl-next-door-writes's Make Me Feel Bingo); Neighbours AU ( @anyfandomfluffbingo )

A/N - A new chapter! Hope you enjoy reading this!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Beta'd by @miss-nerd95 <33

Series Masterlist Masterlist

Click. Click. Click.

Adjusting her glasses on the nose, Y/N toyed around with the pen in hand, blankly staring at the kitchen wall. The empty sheet of paper sat there on the table, glaring at her. It was a bit old-school, considering her laptop was lying only a small distance away but this was how she preferred to work on her novel. It had nothing to do with her laziness.

The fear of another rejection was weighing heavily on her and she was really close to giving up on her dream of being an actually published writer. However, after her little pep talk to herself last night, she had this new indomitable spirit ignited inside her. Though that spirit was fading away with every passing minute now.

Y/N dropped the pen on the table with a huff, its metallic body hitting the wooden surface of the table as she got up to make herself a cup of coffee. Now, she might not want to admit it, but her novel wasn't the only thing that was troubling her.

A stranger’s callous comments should never hurt so much but when Dean called her stupid or rather a brainless idiot, for some reason, Y/N took it to the heart. She had then come to the conclusion that he was an ass and it was futile to even try and start a healthy relationship, but the bouquet of flowers sitting on the counter in front of her changed every perception of him yet again.

Ms. L/N, I didn't have any intentions of humiliating you. I'm really sorry. I hope you accept this small token of apology.

Walking up to the counter, Y/N picked up the small, white card and read the handwritten apology for the hundredth time that day. She didn't know if she should be impressed at his tacky methods of apologies or be annoyed at him for wrecking her mental sanity. Shaking off her thoughts, she was just about to dive back right into her writing when the coffee machine beeped.

“This is not gonna work.” She sighed, pouring one cup of the warm liquid and bringing it close to her lips. After finishing her drink, she decided to go out on a walk to clear her head but just as she stepped out of her house, she heard soft pitter patters of feet out in the hallway before a small figure of a hazel-eyed girl came into her sight.

Y/N tilted her head in confusion as the little girl ran in the halls. She looked around for her parents, but didn't see anyone else.

“Hey, pretty girl. What are you doing out here all alone?” She called out to the girl, making her stop in her tracks and look at Y/N.

“Daddy says not to talk to strangers.” She said while she cautiously approached the woman anyway.

“Where's your Dad?" She smiled softly, " I'm Y/N. See now you know me.”

“Daddy's-”

“I told you to stay inside, babygirl.” Y/N’s heart skipped a beat when she heard the all too familiar voice of her ridiculously handsome neighbor before the tall figure of the man himself appeared in front of her. His eyes were focused on the little girl as he walked up to her. Dean crouched down to her height, hands gently placed on her shoulders. “Never go anywhere alone again. Alright?”

Does he have a daughter?

But she had never seen the girl before. Y/N was in awe as she saw the grumpy facade fade away when he talked with her. She realised that there were so many things about Dean that she truly didn't know. Maybe she had, after all, misjudged him on some petty conflicts.

“At least your kid was within the building.” Y/N said.

“Ms. L/N.” Dean regarded and turned to look at her. He shuffled on his feet which made Y/N raise a curious brow.

“Hello, Mr. Winchester.” A look of guilt with an underlying hurt flashed in his eyes when she didn't acknowledge him by his first name. He was very sure his effort at a decent apology had been appalling and it made him wince, thinking of the awfully cringy card he had curated by his own hand to convey his regrets.

“She is pwetty.” The girl tapped his knee, attracting his attention while looking at Y/N.

“Y-yeah.” Heat crept up Y/N’s neck when she heard Dean agree with the kid. A moment of awkward silence passed as Dean looked back up at the woman, this time his gaze not faltering making the woman’s cheeks warm up even more. “She is pretty, baby.”

“You are prettier. Look at you! You look absolutely stunning in that dress and hair!” Y/N jumped in deciding to not make the situation more awkward. She hoped that Dean was maintaining his usual poker face, but instead, the corner of his lips tugged up in a little smile as the girl diverted her attention to Y/N.

“Uncle De did my hair.” She said proudly and Y/N stared at Dean. Uncle De? Never in her wildest dreams would she have thought of him to be such a gentle soul. She now remembered that the last time she saw Dean, he had told her about meeting up with his brother.

“He did an excellent job, I see.” The woman said as Dean got up and stood up straight. “What's your name, pretty girl?” She looked up at Dean, as he nodded his head.

“Ava.” She muttered.

“So Ava, remember next time to not go anywhere without Uncle De’s permission. Promise?” Y/N said and walked up closer to the two humans as Ava nodded her head agreeing to her proposition, all the while Dean’s eyes trailed along the woman's every movement. He was the best in his profession and he excelled at reading his client's body languages to figure out conflict, but Y/N was like a puzzle to him right now so he decided to take matters in his own hands.

“I hope you liked the flowers.” There it was, subtle, but at least he owned up to his apology. Y/N observed him for a moment, watching as he was nervously wringing his hands together. He seemed nervous around her. This wasn't the Dean Winchester she had come to know in the last few, quite unfortunate encounters.

“I did.” Y/N wasn't going to let him off the hook that easily. He tightly held Ava’s hand to not let her out of his sight.

“De-” she pouted, “Uncle De!” The said man looked down at his niece.

“Stay put for a moment, babygirl. Uncle De needs to talk to this lovely young lady. Then we can go and get ice cream, like I had promised.” He said, before looking up at Y/N. “Listen, I'm sorry for what happened that day. I did not-” Sighing, Dean said before he was unceremoniously cut off by his phone vibrating in his pocket.

His face scrunched up as he stared at his phone screen. Sucking in a deep breath, he let the phone ring until the caller reached the voicemail. He chewed on his plump, pink lip when his phone lit up with a voice message. Y/N had an instinct he was avoiding someone, maybe an ex. Dean must have had some girlfriends.

“I'm sorry, I was saying-” the phone rang again and Dean was so close to throwing the little device against the wall.

“I think you should take that, which seems important. And I would leave you with your work things. I was going out for a walk anyway. Have a good day, Winchester.” Y/N said and walked right past the man.

“Hold up!” Y/N stopped walking before turning around to face the lawyer. “I never had the intention of hurting you.”

“Then you know the story wrong.” She said, shrugging

“Well if we study closely, the scarecrow was actually very intelligent but he never realised it.” Dean shrugged.

“So you're saying that I act stupid.” This time Y/N wasn't offended but she liked watching him squirm.

“N-no I didn't mean that-” He struggled to come up with yet another apology. “Can we drop the subject of the scarecrow? Let's just pretend the story doesn't exist in this context.” Y/N chuckled at the poor man, making him shake his head lightly.

“It's okay, Dean. Go, get the kid some ice cream.” She smiled.

“Join me for a drink sometime.” Dean blurted out without thinking. Pressing his lips into a thin line, he stared at Y/N, trying to gauge her reaction.

“I never pegged you for a guy to ask me for a drink.” She raised a brow at him.

“The card and flowers were pretty lame, I agree…but I do owe you a drink, or maybe a coffee, whatever you prefer.” He said. He knew his method of apologising was crappy but at that moment it was the best he could come up with. Dean never was a man of many words and he sucked at expressing his feelings so it was near impossible for him to think of anything better than this, but now he realised it would have been much better if he would have just knocked on her door.

“Sure.” Y/N nodded.

“How does tomorrow sound? Ava will be back with my brother by then. As you can see I kind of have my hands full right now.” He smiled. Y/N pondered over the sudden change in her hot neighbour’s behaviour. If this was the way Dean chose to open up to her, then so be it.

“Tomorrow sounds good,” she smiled back.

“G-great then!” Heat crept up his neck as he looked at Ava, a bit flustered. He didn't know what her deal was but she always rendered him speechless or stumbled on his own words, trying to form a good comeback. Y/N had an effect on him that neither Jo nor Lisa had ever had on him. Her perky attitude made him want to spend any time he got with her. They were poles apart but Dean found a sense of familiarity in her.

“I won't hold back you two any longer.” Crouching in front of the girl and ruffling her brown hair, Y/N said, “Don't settle with anything less than a triple scoop.”

“Don't give her any ideas,” Dean teasingly warned, “I have no idea how to deal with a kid on a sugar rush.”

“Then don't shy away from asking for a little help. I had to babysit my cousin's kids many times. I know a thing or two about babysitting,” Y/N said.

“I'll definitely take you up on that if things get out of hand.” He said, “See you tomorrow night. Have a good day, Ms. L/N.” He grabbed Ava’s hands tightly, pulling her close as he started to walk towards the elevator. Y/N shook her head, an amused laugh leaving her lips. Some things never change.

“I think the cupcakes worked their magic!” Dean teased, sharing a laugh with Y/N over a glass of Manhattan. This was the first time she had ever seen him laugh. Apparently, he was a happy drunk.

“Some roots of jasmine, rose thorns, a pinch of pearl dust and voila! You have the friendship potion,” She barely made it through with a straight face before bursting out in fits of laughter.

“I had a feeling that there was some kind of sorcery involved.” He said, signalling for another glass for both of them.

“This one’s on me,” Y/N said, making Dean scrunch up his face in an adorable pout.

“No it's not. I'm payin’, I was the one who asked you out.” His eyes immediately widened when he realised what slipped out through his mouth. “Not like an ‘asking out’ asking out. This is-” Dean waved at the space between them “-just a gesture of goodwill.”

“You're adorable.” Y/N giggled.

“What?”

“I know this isn't a date. Just two friends hanging out on a Sunday night.” She shook her head, chuckling as the man picked up his refilled glass and took a sip.

Even if Y/N said it was platonic, the ungodly amount of time she had spent in front of her closet to pick out a perfect outfit would definitely make her rethink her answer. She had skimmed through her closet, trying to find the dress that said ‘just friends’ but to her all the dresses she owned screamed ‘I want you to fuck me’.

Nevertheless, she had settled on a simple pair of blue jeans and a crop top. But she had felt seriously underdressed when she knocked on Dean's door and it had opened to reveal the man in a jeans t-shirt and black slacks, staring at her with a smile on his face.

“Well duh! My first impression of you kinda sucked.” Y/N said.

“I did warm up to ya, didn't I?” Dean chuckled. “Another round?”

“Nuh-uh. Sparkling water for me. I don't want to show up at work tomorrow puking my guts out. And that while nursing a painful hangover? No thanks” She laughed.

“You're no fun!” He chuckled with her.

“I am no fun? What about you, Mr. Turn-down-the-volume?” She said as the bartender pushed a glass of water towards her and poured out another to the man.

“You're never gonna let me live that down, are you?” He shook his head.

“Never.”

A moment of silence passed as Y/N looked across the nightclub buzzing with people just like any other Sunday night. She never thought Dean would be the person to even know about nightclubs around the city but guess she didn't know him that well.

“You wanna head back home? I can walk with you to your place, be all gentlemanly,” he smirked. She liked this drunk version of Dean. He was happier, far more cheesy and funnier than his workaholic version.

“Of course. It's not like we live in the same apartment,” she teased. “Hey, you wanna hit the dance floor before we go back?”

His eyes widened at her sudden question. “No, I don't dance.” He shook his head furiously, clearly stating that dancing was definitely not on his agenda.

“Oh come on, don't be shy.” She said.

“Nope.”

“Fine! You are no fun!” She rolled her eyes, “Let's get outta here then.”

The walk back to their apartment was filled with drunken giggles and cheesy banter. “I had a fun time tonight. Apologies accepted.” Y/N said, unlocking the door to her home.

“Glad to know that. I couldn't have lived knowing you hate me,” Dean teased, “I had a good time as well. I really needed a break from work.”

“So you do accept that you work too much?”

“Agree to disagree.” He shrugged, leaning against the doorway, “Night, Y/N.”

She walked up to the man and pecked his cheek, making his eyes go wide at the sudden affection. He swallowed hard as she stared up at him with hooded eyes. Patting his arms lightly, she said, “Night, Dean, see you in the morning.”

“Only if you're running late.”

Chapter 5

Feedback is highly appreciated!

Let me know if you want to be tagged in this series!

#make me feel bingo #anyfandomfluffbingo #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester #dean winchester fic #au dean x reader #au dean winchester x reader #au dean x you #au dean winchester x you #au dean winchester x y/n #au dean x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean x you #dean winchester x y/n #dean x y/n #irresistibly yours

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mustyrosewater · 3 years

Note

Could you please write something about Dio going down on the reader. I love your works!

im so glad you like my writing!! i adore our resident goth boy dio, so i’m so happy to be writing this for you angel!!!

word count : 1435

nsfw warning !! : oral (f recieving) dirty talk, etc

you look down at dio with unblinking eyes as he sinks between your legs, the way that he’s looking at you alone is enough to result in your legs beginning to shake.

the way that he’s staring back at you isn’t helping with the fact that i feels as if it’s news years eve within your stomache.

all of a sudden you feel like a lamb being stared down at by a wolf that was suddenly ready to sink its teeth into your flesh and feast. which, for a lack of a better term, was certainly not far off from what dio was about to do to you.

“don’t look so scared.”

his voice, sharp and mischevious, broke you out of the trance his gaze had created. only just now noticing the smirk that had come across his features as he stared up at you, using one of his ring covered hands to grip your thigh tightly.

even if the metal from his rings dug into your flesh, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care as he brought his face closer and closer to your still clothes pussy; continuing to get closer and closer until you could feel his sharp breaths on your flesh.

leaning your head back, you shut your eyes and let out a quiet whimper, only to be greeted by a harsh squeeze from the hand that was holding your thigh, just enough to make you gasp and look back down at dio, the smirk gone and now replaced with a frown.

“don’t stop looking at me.” he drawled, only breaking your shared gaze to look down at the sight your panties were so selfishly hiding from him.

hooking his fingers at the top of your panties, he pulled them down harshly and unexpectedly, giving you little to no warning before he did so.

a first reaction was to close your legs, only to be stopped by dio’s hands on your knees, wrenching them back open so that he could stare upon you in all its glory, not caring for your shyness.

you couldn’t hide the blush that came to your face as you watched dio stuff the panties into the pocket of his black coat.

“don’t you fucking dare hide from me.” he growled, once again giving your thigh a rough squeeze.

dio had long been responsible for the hand sized bruises on your thighs that you’d been so desperately hiding from your friends and family for so long. bruises that he took pride in, once telling you that they were the markings that let other know that he owned you and that you belonged to him and nobody else.

and you fucking loved it.

you continued to stare in awe as dio once again brought his face closer to your folds, his breath that had previously made you shiver, now causing you to moan softly as your brow creased and you bit your lip.

your reaction brought yet another smirk across dio’s features as he let his eyes flick up to yours, only to return to your eagerly waiting entrance.

without a moment longer of hesitation and once again with little warning, dio lunged forward and licked a long stripe through your folds stopping right at the bud at the top of your flesh and taking it within his mouth, showing no mercy as he sucked on it harshly.

you yourself lunged forward, folding your stomach as you cried out and gripped his hair, only for him to use one of his free hands to grip your wrist roughly and place it at your side. you couldn’t hide your frown of disappointment. he never ever played fair. and you weren’t sure he ever would.

his eyes suddenly looked back up at your own, unmoving and unblinking as he made you watch him devour your pussy; he’d said he liked watching the faces you made.

you couldn’t stop yourself from moving your hips against his mouth, an admittedly involuntary reaction when within seconds he’d already had you writhing under him.

it was torture not being able to touch him at all, you wanted to run your fingers through his ebony hair, to grip and pull at it like you knew he liked.

the little bit of control you had left was suddenly ripped away from you as he reached his arm across your stomach an held it down, stopping your movement completely.

“ungh, dio, please-”

refusing to listen to your pleas, he only continued to suck on your clit, before moving back down to shove his tongue inside you, effectively beginning to fuck you with his tongue.

again, you were unable to stop the cries coming out of you, holding your mouth open in an ‘o’ shape as he suddenly went from having you crying out to not being able to make any sound at all.

as if all of this wasn’t enough, on top of everything, the sounds that he himself was making was enough to make the devil blush.

the deep moans mixed with the wet slurping sounded borderline animalistic, not helped by the fact that he still had not taken his eyes off of you throughout this entire ordeal.

“i- fuck”

any and all words you tried to muster only came out as cut off moans or whimpers. being able to render you speechles with his tongue was something dio was proud of and something he did indeed recognize the irony of, missing no chance to tease you about it as often as possible.

you couldn’t help it, you leaned your head back, it was only for a few seconds at best, but dio saw, and as soon as he did, his tongue disappeared from within you, his mouth was taken off of you alltogether. now leaving you feeling significantly more empty.

“what did i fucking say.”

the fucker. he’d kept his mouth so painfully close it hurt, your flesh pulsing as it felt his breaths, now suddenly longing for what was no longer there.

looking back down, his frown was once again back, showing little to now amusement on his face, only pure seriousness.

“no, dio please, don’t st-”

“i told you not to fucking look away, how could i have made myself any clearer.”

any and all rationality had flung itself out the window, not when you were so desperate for anything, any form of friction at all to return to your flesh.

“i won’t look away again i promise, just please don’t fucking stop.”

he seemed to mull it over, knowing how much it was killing you, taking his sweet time in deciding, all before flashing you another. fucking. smirk.

“i’ll be holding you to that.”

within seconds, his mouth had returned, rougher and messier than before. he ate your pussy like a man starved, like an animal; it was sending you up into a euphoria, finding yourself rapidly approaching the cliff that was your orgasm, harder and faster than before.

“fuck! dio, baby, please don’t fucking stop!”

your cries and the way you writhed and twitched beneath his hold only prompted him to go even rougher, moving his head back and fourth and growling against your flesh, gripping your hips so hard that you were feeling them start to go numb.

with a loud and choked cry, you felt yourself beginning to cum right on his tongue, which he quickly began to lap up as if it were the first water he’d seen after a week in the desert.

he didn’t stop, he didn’t slow down; not until you were nearly in tears from the sheer overstimulation of it all. not until you had to physically sit up and push his forehead so he would finally stop.

as you sat there panting, dio looked up at you and grinned, his chin dripping and shining with your release, looking just as smug and proud as ever.

your heart was thundering in your head as you leaned down to kiss him, feeling little to no shame that you could taste yourself on his tongue; only finding it more enjoyable in the moment.

continuing to kiss you as he began to climb on top of you; dio wasted no time in beginning to rub the hardness that was his clothed cock against your absolutely wrecked pussy, already having you whimpering against his mouth all over again.

finally breaking away from the kiss, you smiled at one another as you reached down to grip his cock through his leather pants.

“even stevens.” you joked weakly, your voice croaking from crying out so much.

your words only resulted in a laugh from dio, who let his forehead rest against your collarbone as he laughed before leaning back up to kiss you again.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #dio #shane dio morrisey #shane dio morrisey x reader #shane dio morrisey nypd blue #nypd blue #nypd blue oh golly goth #pedro pascal nypd blue #shane morrisey #shane morrisey smut #shane dio morrissey smut #shane dio morrissey #shane dio morrissey x reader #shane dio morrissey nypd blue

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stayarmytinyzenmoa-l · 3 years

Text

Locked and Reloaded [Ch. 5]

Marvel AU

TW: Language, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Blood, Gun Violence, Implied Abusive Household

Genre: Action, Light Comedy, Angst

Pairing: NCT Dream x Reader

YN Pronouns: Female (She/Her)

(5/?) [First] | [Previous] | [Next]

[Main Masterlist] | [Locked and Reloaded Masterlist]

Word Count: 6.5K

Notes: It’s about time these members entered the story. I’m dropping this now instead of a Saturday upload because I’m getting my second dose of vaccine in about nine hours, and from how both of my parents reacted something tells me that I’m going to be incapacitated for the next two days, so I decided to finish this bad boy up now! Currently next on my list to work on is Infatuation, so I’ll see you in that update!

Disclaimer: Please remember that this is an AU and a work of fiction, obviously the idols mentioned/written about in this story would never partake in or condone these actions. I would never wish any of these actions to occur to the Idol(s) mentioned in the writings of these stories, nor do I wish any harm on them.

“That’s stupid,” you told your older brother. Baekhyun just laughed. You had just finished ranting to him how a majority of the premise of chemistry was ridiculous, being founded on one key theory that could be amended at any moment, something now set in stone or put to law. It was a theoretical science that clashed with the lawfulness of physics and the puzzle of biology. “Chemistry is literally the weakest link.”

“I don’t quite think so, songbird,” the nickname was sweet in his voice, it was one you had had for as long as you could remember. He leans against your desk and he points at the picture. “It’s just atomic theory.”

“Yeah, and it’s stupid. Imagine, all of this work, all seven hundred of these pages and countless other books could get proved incorrect if someone disproves it.”

“You read this entire textbook and that’s all you have to say about it?” Baekhyun raised his eyebrow and crossed his arms. “Wah, you’re so amazing and you don’t even know it,” he hugged your head to his stomach and you pushed him away.

“Ew, you’re so gross,” you wiped the sweat from your face. “At least shower before coming into my room! You’re disgusting when you use the gym.”

“And miss my darling sister? No way, that and I came to congratulate you!” He points at the certificate on your desk just under your coffee mug. “Not every day you win the science fair… again.”

“Yeah, yeah, thanks,” you put a textbook over it. He was right, but it was hardly an achievement for you at this point, it was an expectation.

“What did you do this year?” None of them even showed up, the only person there to help you with your project was Jeno, but he was always there whether you liked it or not.

“You don’t know?”

“I was at the conference, remember?”

“Oh, right,” you sighed. “It was just an observation on bees.”

“Whoa! Bees are great! They’re so helpful for pollination, for honey, and so much more!” Baekhyun smiles. “Hey, your birthday’s coming up, right? Fourteen? Oh god, oh no, my songbird? A teen? I don’t think I can handle this.”

“You’re overreacting! It’s not like I’m going to be any different. Plus, I’m already a teen.”

“Oh, (Y/N), you have no idea. Thirteen is the one year free trial before you start having to pay to be a teen. Once you turn fourteen, ugh, I don’t even know how to say this,” Baekhyun fake cries and wipes away the invisible tears. “It’ll be like you’re a whole different person.”

“Stop that! Why are you acting so weird?” You laughed and turned to him. Baekhyun crossed his arms over his chest and your smile dropped. You knew that look on his face better than anyone. “You’re leaving again, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I leave tonight,” he says.

“How long?”

“Maybe a week this time, dad wants to show me the properties over in Zone 8.”

“Seriously? What for?” The factories that far out from the city were nearly ghost factories, they just handled building the smaller removable parts of the weapons your father developed. You couldn’t think of a possible reason why Baekhyun would have to go out that far.

“I have no clue, maybe he just wants me to see the Byun system at a smaller scale,” Baekhyun sighs. “Will you be okay here?”

“Will I be okay here? Don’t make me laugh,” you slammed your textbook shut and stared at him. “She hates me.”

“Don’t say that.”

“She does! You’ve seen the way she talks to me when you’re not around, Baek, I genuinely think that woman wants to get rid of me.”

“She’s your mother.”

“No, she’s your mother.” You didn’t mean for it to come out as accusing as it did. But you could genuinely say that you never felt anything from her aside from the obvious disdain she must have held for you. But what could you do? You’d hate you too. If one day your husband showed up at your doorstep with a kid you didn’t recognize telling you to treat her as if she was your own, you’d despise that child’s existence. All you were was proof of infidelity, and your stepmother made that very clear. You were her daughter on paper alone, but in reality, you were nothing more than a freeloader. “I’m just the bastard kid from dad’s mistress.”

“Do not,” Baekhyun held a finger up and stared at you with an intensity you’ve never seen on his face before. Seriousness wasn’t something that Baekhyun often used, especially around you. “Do not ever reduce yourself to that. Do you understand? You are so much more than that and you can’t let anyone who says that to you bring you down, you cannot let that weigh on you. Who even told you that?”

“She did. Who else?”

“God…” Baekhyun looked away and huffed. He held his hand to his forehead and sighed. “Keep in touch with me, okay? Just one more year and I can take it to court.”

“Forget it, Baek,” you waved your hand. “It would never work. We have no proof.”

“Well,” Baekhyun pressed his lips together and placed a tape in front of you.

“A tape? Seriously?”

“Don’t hate on old tech, they’re still around for a reason. I have a walkman in my room, second drawer on my desk. Listen to it later, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” you placed the tape in your own drawer, out of sight and out of mind.

“Just wait for me, alright?”

“Yeah.”

“(Y/N), I’m serious.”

“I know.”

“I’ll be back, okay?”

“Okay, just go, dad’s probably waiting for you,” you opened your textbook again and stared at the passages on it. You had a really bad feeling about tonight, but you couldn’t quite place your finger on it.

“Love you, songbird.”

“I know.”

“Sungchan! Four o’clock!” You shouted towards the agent. Sungchan, moving a second too late was met with the spine of a book to his face, promptly knocking him out. “Aw, geez,” you shoved your bag under a table, hoping that it would be somewhat okay after the fight, and threw a metal tray, the circular object blocking one of the flying weapons from hitting Shotaro on his way to Sungchan.

“Thank you!” He shouts. He leans next to his best friend and tries to wake him up while the fight continued.

“I’ll try to keep you guys covered, but you might need to fill in for me eventually, Reaper’s not doing too good over there,” you stumbled over to the two and handed Shotaro one of the pillows from the couch. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah, just knocked out, but I have to watch him just in case… you know.”

“I do, just make sure he’s fine.”

With Jeno’s sudden appearance the Sanctum became a new battleground. Ancient artifacts were being used left and right for battle, whether they were used correctly or not, and with incoherent shouts filling the previously calm room. Strange was doing his best to prevent anything potentially world-threatening from happening, the Sorcerer Supreme understanding the laws of the universe, as well as any of you did, while the Maverick worked to bring down Vulture. The surprise attack rendered them at an unfortunate disadvantage. Strange was more concerned with keeping the battle within the Sanctum than he was helping any of you out, which was entirely understandable.

“I got it!” Peter shoved back the bookcase that was about to fall on you.

“Thanks, Peter.”

“Just so you know I am so sorry I did not mean for any of this to happen I didn’t know.”

“Oh goodness, no hard feelings, Peter, it happens to the best of us,” you said to him. “There’s no way you could’ve known.”

“Thanks, (Y/N), that means a— Watch out!” He pushed you out of the way just as a shield lodged itself between you, you turned towards the source and saw Vulture, and you had to stop yourself from getting any more frustrated than you already are.

“Fucking hell,” you clapped your hands together and jogged in place. “Stretching before fights is good for you, Peter, don’t forget that,” you said to him. Then you saw Cap waving his hand. You pulled the shield from its spot and threw it back to him.

“Nice arm!”

“Don’t lose your shit!” You moved your head to the side just as a bullet whizzed past you. “And watch where you’re aiming!” You dodged another bullet as it ricocheted off of one of the metal artifacts of the Sanctum.

“I am,” Jaemin’s voice was steady despite the chaos. “Reaper!” Jaemin tossed one o the artifacts towards the other, particularly a sharp one, and Jeno drove it into the wall next to Vulture, just barely grazing the Follower. Vulture grabbed onto the back of Jeno’s neck, the razor claws on his hands emerging and sinking into the half-demon before Vulture slammed Jeno’s head through the wall.

“Urgh, I felt that,” you rubbed the back of your neck as the phantom pain shot through it. You quickly stepped back just as an eldritch whip snapped in front of you.

“Mr. Wong?!” Peter gasps.

“That one isn’t in our database,” Jaemin grabbed onto the whip as it went towards you again, ‘Wong’ staring at him with a slight confusion, to which Jaemin just tugged it away from the other’s hands, watching the concentrated energy dissipate.

“Well then add him later, dammit,” you charged towards Vulture but soon felt something wrap around your ankle. You looked at the portal next to your foot and the hand around it. “Ew! Oh my god!” You yanked it out of ‘Wong’s’ grasp and shot towards him, the bullets disappearing before they could get anywhere close. No wonder it was so fucking convenient, you hoped whoever the real Wong was and where he was currently wasn’t too horrible.

“We should name this guy,” Jaemin dodged the eldritch disk that nearly sliced his throat. “I’m thinking Frisbee.”

“Oh come on, let’s stay true to tradition and wait for Hyuck,” you pulled a sword from the suit of armor next to you and blocked the whip again. You turned the hilt in your hand and smiled. “Ooh, I like this. You know my ex used to be an expert fencer.”

“I almost forgot about that one,” Jaemin hums. “What’s with sleeping beauty over there?”

“Got hit in a face with a book.”

“Oh that’s good, one less bomb we have to worry about.”

“That’s rude,” you scolded him.

“Can someone help me over here?!” Jeno’s pissed off voice came from the office. He pushed himself up from the rubble and cracked his neck before his knuckles. “I’m going to kill this guy, fuck the Agreement.”

“Does the Agreement even apply this far out?” You asked. Jaemin pulled out his phone briefly. The Agreement was offered by the D98 Avengers, basically promising not to do any dimension altering things, but it was just a promise, nothing was set in stone and thus was lacking in any legality. It was a gentleman’s promise, so to say.

“Technically it doesn’t, D62 is far out of D98 bounds. And since none of the Avengers are here…” Jaemin let Jeno fill in the blanks himself.

“Good,” Jeno tapped his wrists together, a blood-red magic circle appearing between them.

“Wait, do you guys hear that?” You looked around while skillfully parrying evil Wong’s attacks.

“Hear what?” Shotaro was nursing the passed out Sungchan while blocking any projectiles that made their way towards him.

“It kind of sounds like screaming,” Jaemin furrowed his eyebrows.

“No, it sounds like… no, of all the members to send,” you groaned. Then the sound of doors crashing open accompanied the chaos that was the Sanctum while a familiar face ran in head first, literally, screaming his head off, and rams into Dr. Strange.

“I got this one, V! Don’t worry!” Chenle shouts.

“You idiot he’s on our side!” Jeno grabs a polearm from a nearby suit of armor and whacks it over Vulture’s head, the polearm breaking in half right after and really just pissing off the Follower more.

“Oh is he? Sorry!” Chenle detached himself from the sorcerer.

“Looks like we’ll be having a change in plans,” Strange murmured and disappeared from the room.

“Did the wizard just dip?!” You yelled.

“I think so!” Chenle yelled back, despite being right next to you.

“Why are you even here?!”

“We were talking to Fury when Jeno just fell into a sudden pool of blood! I followed your tracker here because I figured you’re in trouble. Be grateful!”

“I never said I wasn’t?!” You heard a pang next to you and turned to your side, a circular shield blocking your vision for only a brief moment before connecting with Other Wong’s abdomen.

“Thanks,” you nodded towards Steve.

“No problem,” he says. “But where’d that bullet come from?” Cap looks around the room. Jaemin rushes next to you and grabs something, pointing it upwards. Within a few moments, someone materializes next to him. A classic cloaking spell, of course, right when you needed it most.

“Monsieur,” her voice was hoarse.

“Lynx,” you saw him grimace while the woman drove a knife into Jaemin’s side and twisted it harshly. A loud groan left the man’s throat while you darted next to him and tackled the woman to the ground.

“I like your D62 version better!” You pressed your gun to her head and she threw you off before you could pull the trigger.

“Nat!?” Steve blocked another gunshot from her with his shield.

“Not Nat,” Bucky answers.

“Where have you been?”

“This thing’s still glowing,” Bucky held up the crystal.

“Give that to me!” Chenle appears next to them and grabs it. “You meaty idiots don’t know what to do with this.”

“Was that an insult?”

“Apperio!” Chenle ignored the Captain and chanted the charm, a magic circle appeared around the crystal. Following the ripple of two blue circles that expanded throughout the room, two more people appeared.

“There’s more of them?!” You shot Vulture in the leg. Before you were two other notorious members of the Elite. Arachnid, who you fought before, and Dead Shot, someone you were hoping not to run into in this dimension. “Someone get Parker out of here as soon as he touches Arachnid it’s over!” You shout.

“Oh please, I wouldn’t even try that. What good is this mission if any of us blow up the dimension while we’re at it,” Arachnid catches the flying dagger and flings it back towards Jaemin, who easily dodged it.

“We have orders to keep you alive, Vendetta, comply and the others will live,” Dead Shot spoke in his trademarked mechanical voice.

“Fuck that,” you pointed your gun at Arachnid and click. Click, click. “Well, this is awkward,” you chucked the magnum at Arachnid, the handle of the gun hitting the area between the mutant’s eyes and stunning him briefly, while Dead Shot released a flurry of bullets. You ran along the wall to dodge them, looking for something to shield yourself with now that Cap and Bucky were busy with Lynx, Jeno had Vulture busy, and Jaemin moved over to Arachnid so that Peter could handle Evil-Wong instead.

“Surrender or be forced to, Vendetta.”

“Well, shit,” you held a book in front of you while Dead Shot went through consecutive rounds.

“How could you not know a Follower was here?!” Jeno was pushed back next to you while deflecting Vulture’s attacks.

“How the hell was I supposed to know?! I didn’t even know that those three were here until a couple of minutes ago!”

“Are you kidding me?!”

“No, I’m not kidding you because if I was we wouldn’t be in this mess!”

“It has been thirty minutes! I let you and Jaemin go for thirty minutes and this happens!”

“In our defense,” Jaemin gets pushed back to the other side of you and clears his throat. “Peter brought us here.”

“I said I’m sorry!” Peter brushes off the embers on his suit. “Aw man, how am I going to explain this to Mr. Stark?”

“Explain? Have you been reporting us to him?!” You asked.

“Uh… no,” Peter’s phone goes off and he answers it. “Hi, Mr. Stark, there’s kind of a situation going on right now—”

“Tell them not to come here! If any of the other Followers show up it could tear the fabric of reality apart!” Chenle shouts. A magic circle appears under Peter’s phone and it short circuits. Chenle adjusts the watch around his wrist, a much larger magic circle appearing from it.

“Vocavi te ab umbris,” at the utterance of the words the shadows in the room gathered together to a much larger amalgamate. “Go, Vendetta, I’ll keep them handled.”

“Fuck,” you spotted your backpack, which was pushed up against the wall on the other side of the room.

“What now?” Jeno asks.

“Backpack.”

“What about it?”

“There’s something really important in there,” Jaemin sounded disappointed. “We could hole-in-one it, V.”

“We could,” you said. “But that risks shaking it up too much.

“Hot potato then?” Jeno offers.

“Who would start it?”

“The closest person is Shotaro, if he throws it far enough I could probably catch it,” Jeno says. “Pass it over to Jaemin.”

“Then I’ll pass it to you. But by then you need to be in that hallway,” Jaemin says.

“Got it, I can do that.”

“And if anything goes wrong?”

“Wing it.”

“We’re going to die in this dimension, aren’t we?” Jeno frowns.

“On the count of three, break,” Jaemin says, ignoring his best friend’s words. You hand Jeno the old sword, which he took without question. “One.”

“What do I need this for?”

“Well, I certainly don’t need it.”

“Two.”

“Wait, are we even on the same page?”

“I don’t know, are we?”

“Three!” Jaemin shoved you forward and you took off, dodging literally everything on your way to get out and probably get some more help.

“Shotaro! Pass me that backpack!” Jeno shouts over the gunshots. Shotaro perked up and grabbed the black bag, chucking it towards Jeno, who caught it easily. “Monsieur— Fuck, too far, Apollo! Pass this over to him!” Jeno tossed the backpack towards Chenle, the heavy bag slamming into the magician mid-spell.

“What the hell?!”

“Pass it here!” Jaemin knocked over Lynx and used her head the propel himself up and grab the backpack after Chenle threw it. He ran over towards you and threw it. Right as your hand grabbed the strap, it was yanked away from you.

“Fuck!” You looked back at who had it now, seeing your backpack in the hands of the last person who should have it. You were about the run over to him, but the bullet that landed too close for comfort reminded you that you had to leave now. “Arachnid has it!” You’d just have to put your trust into the three that were already here.

“Got it,” Jeno bashed his knee into Vulture’s head, finally incapacitating the Follower and switched targets. You turned around and ran into the hallway. You just had to call one of the other members to run over here with some extra materials. You hit the side of your phone, which only frizzed at the motion. Chenle must have jammed the signals to prevent more reinforcements from coming, great. You couldn’t run around forever, Dead Shot always hit his targets in the end, you continued down the hallway, not bothering to look back, but when you found yourself cornered against a hallway, you forced to figure out a solution. With the smell of smoke and the sounds of bullets hitting the ground— Wait a second. You looked down the hallway, bullets hitting metal and ricocheting towards you but never hitting any intended destination, there wasn’t even a bullet hole in sight, instead there were just empty shells on the ground. But in your analysis you failed to notice the stray bullet that was right in front of you. Then you saw someone’s closed fist in front of you.

“Did I get all of them?” He panted. He opened his hand and twelve bullets fell out of it.

“Oh my god, Mark, you’re just in time, I don’t remember you being this fast either,” you caught your breath and hugged the speedster, separating quickly. Mark pat down the smoke on his boots.

“I don’t think I’ve ever run that fast…” He stretches his back and kicks the bullet shells aside.

“How’d you even get here?”

“The sorcerer guy called Baekhyun and asked us to come right away. I had a feeling it wasn’t anything good so I came first, told them I’d scout the area. It’s a good thing I came, otherwise you’d look like Sponge-Bob…” He laughs awkwardly. “You’re at your quota, aren’t you?” He looks down at your feet. You followed his gaze and saw the rusted knife sticking out from it, then you noticed the bloody trail you left behind. You sighed and pulled the old thing out.

“Remind me to get a Tetanus shot.”

“You are at your quota,” he gasped.

“Can’t afford to possibly die right now,” you shook your head. “I thought since the dimension was far enough it’d get me some leeway, but I guess not,” you grimaced.

“Shit, it really is a good thing that I came just in time,” Mark looks over his shoulder. “Dead Shot should be on his way, you didn’t make it hard to find you.”

“Don’t smart-mouth me right now, Mark.”

“Right, yeah, sorry about that,” the speedster ruffled his blue hair and unzipped his jacket, pulling out a book from it. It was heavy, no doubt, leather-bound with metal embellishments around it. The book had lived through as many eons as it did dimensions. You had asked Mark to try to get it for you if he could, but nothing more than that. Better to leave him in blissful ignorance. “Look, I don’t have a lot of time to say this,” he says while he hands it to you.

“Just spit it out.”

“I was looking into that thing you asked me about and here, this is all I got,” he says. “Whatever you need it for it’d better be important, I almost got turned into a frog for it. The guy I got it from warned me not to read it though.”

“Why?”

“I dunno, something about corrupting the person who reads it.”

“Oh shit, I should have Jeno read it then.”

“True, you can’t corrupt a demon.”

“But then again he is only half.”

“Look, (Y/N), I only got you the book because you were so insistent on it. Just reassure me and tell me that you won’t do anything stupid with it.”

“I won’t, I won’t, I may be stupid but I’m not that stupid, Mark. When are the others coming?”

“I just gave them the signal to enter, they’ll be taking care of the Follower problem here in a bit. But you’re going to have to explain why you’re here to them, and I’m afraid that it might involve you revealing your identities this time.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Why else would you be in D62 being housed and paid by this dimension’s Avengers?”

“Fair enough—” you were cut off by the bullet grazing your ear and landing in the wall behind you. Another one rang out and Mark grimaced, holding his hand to his shoulder

“Argh! Come on!” He grunts. He puts a hand on your back and one behind your neck.

“Why?”

“Whiplash,” you blinked and suddenly found yourself back in the Avenger’s Compound.

“Mark, don’t you dare!”

“Sorry! Jeno’s orders! I’d rather a pissed off you than Jeno!”

“Mark, I swear if you zoom out of here—” but the speedster was already gone by the time you turned around. “Dammit!” You kicked the wall and winced immediately, you completely forgot that it was the same foot that had a knife driven through it earlier.

He was right, you’d reached your quota. There was a certain amount of times you were allowed to “die” until it would be too much, and you knew you’d be at this quota when your body would stop healing itself, it was getting ready for its original host to return. You just didn't think you’d reach it soon, and who knows until the number resets? It was always a varying number, and until it did you had to lay low. It was such a hassle that you always tried to avoid it, but coming to this dimension seemed to have expedited the whole thing. You heard a bag of chips drop behind you.

“(Y/N)? When did you get here?” Jisung stared at you while he picked up the bag.

“Mark.”

“Mark’s here? Where?” Jisung looks around.

“There was a complication at Dr. Strange’s place,” you limped towards him, he rushed over to you and reached for your hand to help you, but you tugged it away. “I’m fine.”

“Oh, okay,” Jisung gave you a little more space, but still walked next to you, sporting that easy-to-read concern. “Do they need help?”

“No. The Avengers are coming.”

“Oh… oh no,” Jisung caught onto why you were being short now. “Oh no, oh no, we won’t have a choice then.”

“No, we won’t,” you heaved the large book under your arm. Jisung looked at it but chose not to question you. “I’ll be in my room, I have a lot of thinking to do before we explain ourselves to the lapdogs so, if you need me, I’ll be in there,” Jisung says.

“Oi, (Y/N)!” Haechan held his hand up and Jisung furiously shook his head. Hyuck pressed on regardless. “Think you need this,” he waved the small box in his hand and you did a doubletake.

“Where did you get that?!” You rushed forward and snatched it out of his hands. “Be a bit more gentle with it!”

“Whoa! What’s got you pissed? Jeno drowned and dropped this. Changmin said to give it to you so I figured it’s important, damn.”

“The Avengers are coming.”

“Like… these Avengers?” He points around the room. “Or our Avengers.”

“The second one,” Jisung nods. “Right, (Y/N)?” You didn’t answer, you were already halfway to your room. You tossed the book on your bed and you opened the small box, pulling the vial of iridescent liquid from it. You twisted it open and downed its limited contents in one gulp. You felt all of your muscles relax at once and you sat on the bed. The wound on your foot closed quickly.

“Postponed, at least for now,” you stretched your arms. “But not permanently,” you placed the vial back in the box and you grabbed the book. As you held the two sides in your hands, ready to open it, you recalled Mark’s warning. Then you remembered the words of the Demon King himself.

“If you know what’s good for you, and what’s good for the world you reside in. Do not seek more than you already know about yourself.”

The times you spoke to Jeno’s father were limited, and your best friend liked it that way, preferred it actually, but the times you did talk they were always pleasant. Save for that warning. He knew something you didn’t, the both of them. You acquired this book without any of their knowledge. For years you just went with it, there’s a quota for death, there’s a reason why you can’t die, there’s a reason why you should avoid stepping near the Seraph, but now in this new universe, you had to know. There was something calling out to you in this dimension, it was very faint, and you didn’t truly notice it until you walked into the Sanctum.

You put the book away, sliding it under the bed.

Trust is mutual, if two very powerful beings are telling you to stay in your lane you probably should. You knew the bare minimum of your condition, so to say, you knew what you had to. Die too many times too close together and something else will come and reclaim its host, and all you knew about that entity was that it was some eldritch creature that took a millennia to finally contain, and for some reason, it had some affinity for you. That is where your knowledge stopped and your curiosity began. What could be so powerful that even the all-powerful Demon King wanted to keep it contained, and what did it have to do with you? Your answers were under your bed. But you risked too much by simply opening the book on its own. You hit your head lightly on the wall behind you. The liquid in the vial would extend your quota by at most three, you had to use them carefully. If you were going to attract a horrific monster, it would probably be best to not do it in a world that you didn’t belong to.

There was a knock at your door.

“What do you want, Renjun?”

The door opened slowly, and someone else stood at it.

“Is now a bad time?” Stark asks. You shook your head.

“It’s your building, come in,” you sighed. He walked in at your invitation, sitting at the table to the side.

“So this is what S.H.I.E.L.D. meant by living accommodations,” he laughs.

“What did you need, Mr. Stark?”

“Tony’s fine, thanks,” he says. “Sorry, it was eating away at me, I had to ask.”

“You wanna know about what you’re like in my dimension, right?”

“I’d appreciate it, but, something tells me I should come back later.”

“Oh, no, no, it’s fine.”

“Where are your friends?”

“Probably getting their asses kicked, but I’m here instead,” you shrugged. “Honestly, you’re not that different. Maybe a little less depressed, but that’s about it. For what it counts, to our knowledge, you aren’t a Follower. You work closely with the Seraph, if they found out then you would’ve been executed on spot, at the very least.”

“Oh yeah? Crazy leader or rational one?”

“Bit of both,” you leaned forward on your bed, kicking the book further under your bed. “Want to know anything else?”

“I was wondering if you could walk me through your Traveler of yours, is it anything like Time Travel?”

“Let’s call it two sides of the same coin.”

“How so? What do you use? Cosmic strings? Möbius strip?”

“Have you heard of the infinite cylinder theory?”

“Also known as Tipler?

“Yes!”

“Then yes, I’m aware.”

“How about Schrödinger’s Equation?”

“We’re talking hamiltonian operators?”

“Bingo. If you can manipulate those two concepts, you can get time travel, but it’s not perfect. So manipulate them differently, add a few more concepts because you have to take relativity into account, and bam. Dimensional Travel.”

“That easy?”

“Yeah, well, no, but in theory sure.”

“And you never went to high school?”

“What’s that got to do with it? If you need a degree to prove you’re right then you’re probably not the sharpest tool in the shed,” you shrug. Tony opened his mouth to retaliate, but couldn’t think of a good comeback to that. “Something tells me you want to ask me something more specific though, Peter let slip that he’s been sending you updates, so I’m sure you’re here for a different reason.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why help us?”

“Don’t really know how to answer that one, Tony,” you placed your ankle on your opposite knee and rolled out your ankle. “Usually we just take whichever job pays the most, but Changmin asked us personally to take this one, so how could we say no? The guy rarely ever asks us favors, and it was the least we could do.”

“That simple?”

“What? Did you want me to say that we wanted to meet you guys? I mean, it’s certainly a plus. Most of your team happen to be carbon copies of the same one who wants to kill us, so there’s that, we’re observing the ways you act, maybe it’ll help us in the future, maybe not. It’s like a two-way deal, you get your Traveler, and we get data.”

“Data,” Tony scoffs. “I can see why you’d come to that conclusion.”

“What can I say? It’s helpful. But, I can definitely say that we might be relieved of our duties soon, we’re technically here illegally, I’ll have you know,” you said to him. “We’re supposed to get official approval from the Secretary of Travel before jumping dimensions, but we’re not exactly law followers so we never did. But now that an official government team is on their way, hoo boy, my greatest rival is yet to come. Paperwork,” you made light of what would otherwise be a very very bad situation.

“I heard, so we get to meet the other Avengers.”

“Yup. And, let me tell you right now, they’re not the nicest people.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, just you wait until I tell you about them.”

The shadow amalgamate shattered into what it once was, scurrying back to their original positions, once Chenle had the wind knocked out of him by Lynx. He landed harshly on Jaemin, who then lost his balance and sent the two tumbling down to the first floor of the Sanctum.

“Sorry,” Chenle rolled off the top of Jaemin.

“It’s fine, call it even for the incident with the banshee.”

“Agreed, ugh, my head’s doing cartwheels…”

“Cartwheels? I feel like mine is being churned,” Jaemin holds his head. Chenle and Jaemin lay next to each other for a moment, trying to stop their spinning heads when someone stood over them.

“Are we bothering you, gentlemen?”

“Ugh, these fuckers are here,” Jaemin covered his eyes with his arms. “Tell me when they’re gone, Apollo.”

“That’s kind of mean,” Mark frowns. Jaemin moves his hand.

“Mark’s not a bad person, actually, Tony. I feel bad because I encouraged him to join the Avengers when they asked, but the other guys saw it as a complete betrayal. But he’s loyal, he doesn’t hate us and we don’t hate him, or at least I don’t.”

“Oh look! The traitor!” He lazily points at him. “Do you know how much shit we’ve been through since you left?”

“All the dishes we’ve had to wash?”

“V won’t even let us take your room because she thinks you’re coming back! You dumb traitor, what happened to our friendship bracelets, Mark?! Huh?!”

“You guys, don’t call me that, come on! Look I’m still wearing it!” Mark whines.

“Go away! You left us for your cooler friends who can legally blow things up, go! Go have fun with them!” Chenle points an accusing finger towards the speedster.

“Just leave them there,” Mark whispers.

“We’re looking for Strange,” a deeper voice says.

“Oh my god, is that Wong Yukhei?” Jaemin asks, his blurred vision not helping him at all. “You know, Vendetta has a cardboard cutout of you, I think she talks to it sometimes,” he laughs, his words slightly slurred as a result of the head damage received when he fell on the hard floors in the first place.

“Flattered,” Yukhei responds.

“Wong Yukhei, decorated soldier from the order of war and the first in the super-soldier experiments. Actually not a bad guy, but feels the need to flex his bravado every now and then because of the team he’s on, and honestly, I kind of relate to that.”

“The hatless wizard is somewhere upstairs,” Chenle points up and lets his arm drop to his side. “We’d help, but you guys look like one big ugly walrus right now.” Jaemin starts cracking up and the two high five.

“Do we have to work with them?” Another voice snapped.

“Li Yongqin, Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul, Lee Youngheum, he has too many names to remember so people usually just call him Ten. He was a perfect student in the military academies, which I’m guessing where his nickname comes from. But he’s pretty impatient, rather ill-tempered from my experience."

“We don’t have a choice,” a more suave on this time.

“Ooh, Lee Taemin. He's an interesting one, Tony. We’re actually pretty close, or used to be at least. He’s very good at what he does, he has years of experience under his belt, but it’s pretty scary. He’s probably done his research by now, be careful, he knows you better than you know yourself. Don’t argue.”

“Gentlemen, let’s end this, we have clearance from the Seraph to exterminate the Followers,” a more powerful one.

“Oh, oh, Lee Taeyong! He’s great. I’ve seen him work a couple of times, I think he’s shot me in the head before. Don’t ask. I have a great deal of respect for him, but he’s kind of anti-social, not easy to get along with him, but I think it’s all miscommunication in the end. I think if we really got to know each other we’d hit it off, but otherwise, I think I’m just a person with a bounty on her head in his eyes.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Jaemin pushed himself up, his eyes finally focusing. “Exterminate? Yeah, you guys do that, but let the Maverick leave first, we don’t want to get caught up in your deathmatch again,” Jaemin hits the side of his head a few times.

“Where’s the Vendetta?”

“Not here! She left because Reaper was being a little bitch!” Jaemin laughs again and Chenle joins him.

“We’re wasting our time here with these idiots,” another person says. Chenle squints his eyes to make out the figure.

“Now there’s Kim Jongin, he’s one of the people who started the Avengers project and got them all together. He’s an indispensable member, in my opinion. But when you’re in a team with that many star-studded members who are constantly in the public eye, it’s easy to get lost in the lights. But he knows how to keep things according to itinerary.”

“Who are you again?” He asks. “I thought the Avengers only had six members,” he stifles back a laugh.

“Dude that’s low!” Jaemin cackles. Mark swallows down a laugh when Taemin looks over at him, both of them trying to be respectful to their teammate.

“I know that’s why I said it!” Chenle hits his teammate’s arm and Jaemin winces, but the two continue in their little circus.

“Forget them, let’s just go,” Jongin. The team ascends the steps.

“Enter, the Avengers,” Baekhyun smiles.

“And finally there’s their leader. Byun Baekhyun— yes, he’s my older brother, no we don’t talk, and I don’t think he even knows I’m alive. He’s similar to you in some aspects, he pays for all of their shit. But he’s manipulative. He knows how to get into your head. Be careful with him.”

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texanredrose · 3 years

Note

The Princess’ Bride? Love the title

Would you believe I've been working on that one for around 4 years? Where does the time go...

It seemed like perhaps a dumb question, but she’d always been a stickler for details. “Are you the bladesmith of Patch?”

The blonde turned her head while lowering the hot metal into the water, sending steam billowing up behind her as vibrant lilac eyes landed on the princess. Sweat dripped from her brow and across the defined muscles of her exposed arms, collecting in the hollow below her throat and streaking into the valley created by her generous bosom, barely visible over top the leather apron she wore. The simple white tunic underneath was already soaked, nearly see through, drawn tight across the skin of her back and sides, smudged with black in some places, and stuffed into plain brown breeches that were in turn tucked into worn leather boots. A length of cloth, bright orange and tied around her right bicep, brought a little more color to her appearance but was easily outshone by her untamed blonde hair, catching the sunlight filtering in through the steam and giving her a halo of golden light as she spoke.

“Who wants to know?”

Weiss was, quite frankly, rendered speechless. General Ironwood hadn’t mentioned the woman would be so unerringly beautiful, that the rougher part of her appearance wouldn’t diminish the lingering softness in her cheeks and would instead enhance it, or that she would look at the princess like one might regard a fly- a minor annoyance that may be somewhat worthy of her attention if only to be rid of it sooner. Many things Weiss had encountered in her lifetime and disrespect was one of them, but never in this form. It was always tied to something- her height, the scar marring her left eye, her status as the second born- but, as she became dimly aware of Winter joining her, the blonde’s expression didn’t change. If anything, she looked even less impressed with her visitors than before. It wasn’t disrespect; merely indifference towards them, as if they were common folk off the street.

The change of pace was… refreshing, quite honestly. But it did make her completely forget what it was she was supposed to be doing until her sister oh-so-helpfully and subtly smacked the back of her head.

Right.

“Uh… yes, well, I am Princess Weiss of Atlas-” Why did she use her formal title? Was that entirely necessary, given the circumstances? “-and this is my sister, Princess Winter. I was told you make swords.”

There was enough of a lilt at the end of her words to imply a question, which was pretty stupid, actually, especially as the blonde withdrew the sword she’d just quenched in the barrel and held it out.

“Yup. You got me. I make swords.” The bladesmith turned her attention to the blade, turning it over slowly and inspecting it. “That all you wanted?”

“Er, no, not quite.” Snapping herself out of her embarrassing stupor, Weiss regained her composure, pointedly ignoring the smirk tugging at her sister’s lips or the blush adorning her own face. “I would like to enlist your services, Miss…?”

“Yang. No ‘Miss’, though. Not my thing.” She muttered, still apparently absorbed in her work. “What kind of sword do you want?”

It might be the fact that she didn’t have the woman’s undivided attention, which was such a rare event that it threw her off balance. It could’ve been that she’d never paid as much attention to their martial lessons as Winter had, rendering the question a tad redundant. Possibly, it was the heat after being seated in the saddle for so long that morning that was having an effect on her ability to speak properly. Whatever the cause, her response was nothing short of brilliant.

“The pointy kind.”

There was a moment of silence in which she could distinctly hear her sister’s barely concealed snort. Were she younger, she would’ve immediately snapped at the older woman for it, because sometimes it was easier to get mad at someone else for reacting to her mistakes than admitting she’d made one in the first place, but as it was, the princess merely stood there, frozen, while the bladesmith slowly turned to look at her.

Another moment passed before the blonde laughed, seemingly surprised by her own reaction as she set her work aside entirely and she raised a hand to rub her forehead. “Did- did you- oh, wow, that was an awful joke!”

“But it made you laugh,” Weiss replied, more than willing to pass her response off as mere jest than a complete lack of just about everything on her part. Even Winter seemed willing to let the excuse slide, though she would no doubt be teased the moment they were heading back to the castle.

“Yeah…” Yang started to regain control of herself, turning to face her guests fully. “Yeah, it did. It’s been awhile since I’ve laughed like that.” Gone was the gruff, serious expression from before, replaced by a brightness to her smile that threatened to obscure the sun. Well, to the princess, anyway. “But, seriously, what kind of blade are we talkin’ about?” Apparently taking note of the heiress for the first time, lilac eyes fell to the sword hanging on her belt. “And what’s wrong with the one you’ve got?”

“Are you familiar with rapiers?” She tried to frame the words as a honest question, having been chastised in the past for making such things seem demeaning when it wasn’t her intention. Okay, it wasn’t her intention every time. Regardless, she awkwardly drew the weapon in question, frowning slightly as the strange weight of it settled in her hand. “This one has been passed down by the royal family for ages but it… doesn’t feel right.”

“Huh.” The blonde moved closer, easily sidestepping her equipment to stand before the princess, peering down at the weapon. Suddenly, Weiss became acutely aware that she was eye level with Yang’s chin which, with just a little bit of looking down, would provide her with a view that wasn’t entirely appropriate so she was just going to look up and focus on that for the moment. “Swing it a few times. Let me see how you handle it.”

That was an… odd request- certainly not one she’d received from any bladesmith before- but she obliged, stepping away slightly to ensure she had room to manipulate the blade. With a few careful slashes, a thrust, and a flourish for good measure, she concluded her little demonstration with a small smile. “Was that sufficient?”

The blonde nodded, holding out her hand to inspect the weapon herself. Weiss offered it grip first, watching as Yang attempted to replicate the moves, lacking the same refined technique but seemingly unbothered by that. With another nod, she turned her attention to the princess, walking around her, and suddenly Weiss felt like she was being weighed and judged. This was nothing new, especially given her station, but she’d never felt quite this nervous. When she stood before the royal court, she was at least assured that anyone speaking ill of her would be quickly silenced by a harsh glare; she had no idea if she possessed what it was the bladesmith was looking for or what she might do if she didn’t.

“Alright,” Yang said, offering the family heirloom back with the same care the princess had offered it to her. “Give me… a fortnight, I think, and I’ll have something for you.”

“And the price?” Weiss raised a brow. “I expect you’d want something upfront for your valued services.”

“Nah.” The blonde waved her off, returning to her abandoned work. “If you like what I make, we can talk about price then. I don’t take people’s coin for a promise.” She hesitated in picking up the tongs which held the blade, shoulders sagging slightly. “They break too easy.”

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antigenius · 4 years

Text

Submission (PART 2)

A/n: so... this took a while. Hope this is good :”))) All characters are aged up as per usual!! Warnings: NSFW +18, this is a smut (ofc), handcuffs, unprotected sex, sliight yandere.

His fingers nestle inside you, cold thumb pressing against your nub hard. His stare was cold, malice glittered with such ferocity that your heart stopped for a moment. This wasn’t the sweet Deku you met four years back. The one that stuttered and laughed shyly when you flirted with him. This wasn’t the one that made you pancakes and cuddled you for long hours on the couch.

This Deku was the one you hated.

The one that pushed your buttons. The one that lived to see you mad. The one that held you tight to his chest and made your heart beat become vibrations. The one that held your body by the strings, shackling you to his alluring aura.

His lips enclose yours, his teeth grazing your bottom lip as his fingers scissor you, stroking with utmost precision. You wouldn’t be surprised if he knew what to do by memory, but how he remembered was the last thought on your mind right now.

“Iz.. Iz…”

His name was trembling from your lips. He smirked.

“Go on love, what’s my name?”

His free hand tips your chin up, a condescending glaze sending burning embers through your veins. The name rolls from your tongue, any semblance of your resistance crumbling in his touch.

“Izuku…!”

A hard press on your nerves made you shudder in absolute euphoria. The cuffs made a rattling noise as he softly chuckles.

“Mhm, don’t wear it out too much now.”

His fingers curled into your sopping walls, feeling you clench and curse around them. You could feel them reignite fires in your stomach, fires that you thought had been doused long ago. Your pitiful cries grow louder, the cuffs jangling fervidly to try and free themselves. Your hands longed to roam down his beautiful chest, pull his curls and get your lips together, to feel his abs rippling under your lips, to feel his pecs just beneath your fingertips.

“Izuk-“

His lips crash onto yours, heat flaring to your cheeks at sudden intensity. His tongue was hot and silky, the piercing leaving a slight metallic taste in your mouth. It was sloppy, it was breathtaking, it was all you needed to become putty in his hands.

His fingers leave your soaking cunt, the cold air hitting it and making your thighs rub again.

“C’mon, your turn.”

You look at him quizzically as he rolls his eyes.

“Dumbass.”

He shoves you down to your knees, unbuckling his belt.

“Don’t make me use this on you sweets.” He smacks the belt on his palm twice, a resonating ‘smack’ bouncing in the room’s walls. “Only brats need the belt, and you’re not a brat, right?”

You hated his fucking eyes. His eyes would be one day the death of you. The way they looked down on you, how they devoured you and rendered you useless in every single situation had you fuming. He cleared his throat.

“I expect an answer, sweets.”

“Y-Yes.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Yes who?”

“Yes, Deku.”

A smile paints itself onto his face. “Good. I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

With a bit of rustling, his jeans and boxers hit the floor. He kicks them behind him.

Now if there was ever a pretty cock, Deku’s was fucking gorgeous.

The tip was red, angry from being withheld in his boxers, precum dribbling at the top. It was an average length, but gods was it girthy. It could stretch you in ways you couldn’t get from anyone else. Just like the rest of his body, freckles speckled on his dick like constellations. They were like the sprinkles on a cake, the finishing touch to perfection.

“Whatcha staring for huh?” He smacked the belt again, eyes cold and hard. “Get to it.”

Begrudgingly, you shuffle to him, coming face to face with his cock. You look up at him, and he looks down at you.

“Go on,” he says, “or do you need encouragement?”

You shake your head.

You face back to the cock in front of you. You start with open-mouthed kisses from the base to the top, earning soft grunts of approval and content from the male receiving. You trail the flat of your tongue against the underside of his member, lazily flicking up after the head. It was just how he liked it.

You watch him carefully as you do this, watching his eyebrows knit together and eyes screw shut, watching the tip of his ears turn a rosy shade of red as he hisses.

“Fuck…”

You take the head of his cock and suck, a low groan leaving his plush lips. Still sensitive, like you remembered. You felt his hands run through your hair as you let more of him into your mouth, easing yourself onto him.

However, you didn’t expect him to push your head all the way.

“You were taking too long.”

Your gag reflex was strong, but sudden movements like that makes life harder. Tears prick the corner of your eyes in pain, eventually accustoming to his length. You could feel hm pull your hair, humming.

“Aw… Haven’t sucked dick in a while huh?”

You mumbled under your breath. He pulled you off of him, your scalp aching from his strong grip.

“What did you say?”

You pant, albeit breathless. Nevertheless, you get the words out of you.

“Not like you’d know.”

He laughs at your statement, his cackles almost sounding maniac.

“Cocky aren’t we?” He giggles. “I nearly forgot how fun you were.”

In one swift motion, he pins you to the wall. The handcuffs clash against the plaster. Your breath leaves your lungs in a whooshing movement, coughing as he comes close to you.

“No one’s like you, sweets. No one hates me like you do. No one despises me like you do.” His lips hover over yours, and you could feel his breath over your lips. “Yet, no one loves me like you do. No one wants me like you do. No one needs me like you do.”

His lips press gently onto yours, not a kiss, but you felt skin upon skin. “So instead of staying in that horrid hate-love cycle…” Deku’s eyes were downcast.

“… why don’t you just let me love you?”

He was so close, your bodies were up against each other, you could feel his heart beating fast just by being near you. He felt so warm…

You swallow down the fuzzy feelings. This man was obsessive! He’d write a whole journal on your every movement, take photos from rooms you didn’t even know had a window, and would find you WHEREVER you were. He was scary. He was not to be trusted.

So why did you melt in his touch?

Why did you let his lips touch yours so delicately, something only lovers would do?

Why did you let him see you so vulnerable, to order you around and wrap you around his finger?

His lips were still, waiting for an answer. Your mind felt like goo, nothing coherent coming to the surface, only that he was right in front of you, waiting.

“I love you.”

Those three words made your heart soar and fall at the same time. Those three words made you angry and happy. Sweet, sour. Being weak and in power. They mixed your bubbling pot of emotions even further, when it was already a mess to begin with.

Your mouth opens ever so slightly, his lips mimicking your movement. The words you wanted to say however, were stuck. You were choking, choking on nothing and everything.

“I…”

“You don’t have to tell me.” He says, moving away a bit, the cool air on your face a bittersweet refreshment. “I know you’re gonna say-“

“I love you too.”

He stops. He looks at you in complete confusion, eyes blinking in surprise. You hated to admit it, but even with his creepy tendencies, you knew he was a good guy. You knew he was kind, caring and romantic. You knew he’d never hurt someone for no good reason. You knew he was everything you wanted and more.

You loved him.

“Really?” Deku’s eyes were bright, glittering with joy. “You mean it right? You’re not gonna leave again, right?”

You almost felt guilty now, for breaking up all those years ago. Maybe you had been wrong. Maybe the girls were wrong. Maybe you had to give him another chance. You were just peer-pressured into it by Mina and the gang, but didn’t know Deku like you did, right?

“Here, let me get those off you.”

He brings your hands down, freeing you from the cuffs. They drop to the floor with a clatter. Your eyes flicker from the cuffs back to him. Your eyes met. He approaches you, and this time, you don’t step away.

“May I?”

His hand tips your chin, but it’s different. It’s soft, it’s affectionate, it’s tender. You nod, never taking your eyes off him. He leans down; your noses touch.

A kiss.

It was like a contract.

A contract binding you to him.

He pushes you against the wall again, lifting your legs up and apart. His dick was still fully erect, pulsing, throbbing. His eyes were on you.

“Ready?”

His tone sounded so warm, soothing. You nod again. He pushes into you slowly, stretching you, taking great care to make sure you were okay. You felt loved. You felt cared for. You felt full.

“… I’m gonna move now.”

His thrusts were loving. They explored you, they filled you, like a missing piece of a puzzle you never could’ve solved on your own. You wrap your legs tight around him, letting his hands intertwine with yours. He was so close to you. He was so good to you.

“Iz-Iz…” The whine spills from your swollen lips. “F-fuc-”

He nips your neck, making you arch your back into him. Small marks bloomed across your neck and chest. Deku was meticulous, making sure there was no space left without some attention. You could hear him mumbling sweet nothings to you, sweet, sweet nothings that left your mind even messier than before.

He re-angles himself a little, hips coming onto yours with a loud ‘slap’. He brushes against your walls, teasingly rubbing your g-spot.

“Izuku!!” You buck into him, desperate to get that pleasure again. He smiles.

“Sorry sweets, I couldn’t help it.” He kisses your jaw. “You’re adorable like this.”

So he rubs again, and again, and again, until you saw stars. You grip his hands tight, knot unfolding.

“Izuku!!!”

He doesn’t answer, so you cum. The pleasure sends a current through your veins, a shuddering moan leaving you. Deku doesn’t stop, instead he carries you onto the sofa, the punishing pace from before getting quicker, his length going deeper.

“W-wait!-“

Your words were nothing. Any attempt at begging or pleading were deaf against his ears. Your walls squeezed tight around him, as if trying to slow him down. The action only spurred him further, the wet squelching sounds reverberating shamelessly. It was only a matter of moments when you felt the feeling rise up again, bubbling in your stomach.

“Izu… ku!”

A quiet growl comes from the back of his throat as he pinched your nipples. “What, sweets?”

“I-I-I-“

He doesn’t let you finish, his lips entangling with yours. It was heated, it was hot. He tasted like strawberries, sickenly sweet. Each kiss was like drinking saltwater. You’d drink and drink, but never felt quenched. Your skin was stained red as he cradled you close, his cock exploring every crevice, every nook and cranny within you. He pulls his lips away from yours, eyes piercing into you.

“Who do you belong to?”

His eyes were dark. Forest green turning to jade. You could barely say anything, let alone reply.

“Who?” He asks again, his thrusts getting sloppier.

“Y-you.”

He shakes his head, rolling your nipple between his forefinger and his thumb. “Who?”

“I… Iz…”

You could feel your whole-body trembling, your whole being quivering beneath him. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and your hips pushed hard against his. You could feel electricity crackle down your spine, the building pressure making everything in your vision go white.

“IZUKU!”

Hearing what he wanted, Deku lets himself release, a heavy thick load spilling into you. He lets your back rest against the sofa’s surface, staying in that position so you got every single drop in you. It was hot, viscous, and so filling. You let your tongue hang out in a pant as more came out of him.

“So…” He presses a kiss to your cheek. “Wanna go for a round two?”

Despite your hate, your despise, your disgust, you had been pulled back into submission.

You were always his, you just needed a little reminder~

#deku smut #yandere deku #deku x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha #izuku x reader #midoriya x reader #izuku smut #midoriya smut #izuku midoria x reader #deku top #midoriya izuku #smut

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