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cursedcola · 4 months ago

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Prompt: “I Lived Bitch” <- You send them a text message of an an image. Said image is a headshot of you with bandages around your head, a couple of bruises on your face, and the staple cheeky peace sign to tie it all together. Context Varies. Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Characters: Overblot Homies Format: TEXT.IMG + Bullets.

Parts: (Riddle, Leona, Azul, Jamil) (Here) , (Vil, Idia, Malleus) Masterlist: Link A/N: Saw some of these floating around and thought the text format would be good for some mixed scenarios <3. Sorry they’re not all in one. Tumblr has a picture limit. Edit: HUZZAH I have discovered a way to put more images. Less parts hehe.

A gradual spiral. Riddle isn’t one to dwell until order is disrupted. He initially thinks you’re off causing mischief with Ace and Deuce - already preparing for whatever comes.

When they arrive on their own, knowing nothing about you? He’s uncomfortable. When Grim struts in on his own, he’s concerned. When Crewel stops him saying that you missed half your classes and didn’t have any absentee excuse? He’s panicking.

The controlled type of panic where it feels like that first month of Sophomore year all over again. Grim’s already earned a collar. How could he not know where his prefect is? The Headmaster is irresponsible surely, but you were a good student. Riddle wouldn’t partner with someone unable to uphold their basic responsibilities.

Riddle was one hour short of marching to Crowley’s office, because perhaps it was STYX scenario again and he wasn’t having a repetition.

You finally respond when he’s desperately trying to study - he wasn’t going to sacrifice his schedule.

Which gets forgotten regardless. He leaves the books abandoned (not that he could get past one page without drifting) and speed walks to the clinic. That anxious red poking out from his collar, heels smacking against marble. It’s rare for him to ever walk with his head in a screen - such a thing is rude, but his eyes are glued as he turns each corner.

He’s not happy you chose to downplay the situation. Considering his history with medicinal magic, Riddle’s already bombarding the nurse for your medical report once he enters. Then he sits silently at your bedside, flipping through the clipped papers. The occasional scoff turns to a tick in his jaw when reading the incident report.

Cave in of the Ramshackle stairwell? Looks like he’s having a word with the Headmaster after all.

Unlike Riddle, there’s an instant agitation with this one. Call it the princely charm of wanting instant responses.

Also. You don’t ignore him for silly reasons. When you say that you’re meeting him somewhere, you do. Same for Leona. He might gripe but he always shows up.

So he doesn’t need to wait. There’s already a nagging feeling in his stomach after the first twenty minutes pass.

He’s logical. Knows all your spots. Knows your schedule and would honestly even text Azul (if you’re working that day). Pain in the ass, but he’ll do it.

So first instinct is to do a play-by-play of the past week in his head. Look for any reason you might be pissed or too ‘busy’ to hold your plans. When he comes up empty, he’ll strut up to the little frosh table. Stir some anxiety with a glare or whatever, which gets serious when no one has any idea where you’re at. Not even the little weasel.

Any longer and he might’ve gone to Rook. We all know how Leona feels about Rook, but he’s the best when it comes to tabbing someone.

Your text comes during Spelldrive practice. He’s standing on his broom, looking over the field, arms crossed and agitated with the TWST equivalent of a bluetooth headset in his ear.

Dips out so fast. 0mph to roughly 50 after waving Ruggie to finish without him. Flies right out the practice court, overhead main campus, and outside the infirmary. Not in the mood to deal with the nurse or any of that crap. Comes in through the window.

Pissed. Pissed he didn’t think to check here, and pissed he should’ve had to. Did you learn nothing from the Spelldrive tournament? Broomwork isn’t easy, and not meant for two people unless someone with strong magic can support it.

Wants to know which idiot let you fall, but he’s been on edge all day. He can grill it out of you later. Scoot over and make room, he’s owed his mid-day nap. No. He’s not sleeping in a free bed. The scent of antibacterial spray is shanking his nose, so he needs yours to mask it.

In truth he is NOT okay. He’s very pissed and doesn’t sleep a wink. How could he? Pulls the curtain around your bed and flops over you with his tail curled around your leg. Hurts? Tough luck. Don’t pull a stunt like that ever again.

Azul is tweaking out - just so you know. First out of panic and then for the little sweettalk - even if he asked for it

Already used to you getting knocked over the head - Floyd's a bit too rough for his liking when swinging ya around, but what can he do?

Amidst packing up his belongings in a rush, the VIP lounge's empty so he can skidadle along like he normally would when alone. The moment the picture loads, he's honestly glad you texted vs. video call since it's easier to feign that cocky attitude of his via message.

Despite sassing you about the twins - he's a bit miffed you'd think for a moment he isn't coming himself. If anything to get the story from word-of-mouth vs. whatever Jade's going to relay.

Speaking of, oh look - one of the lounge couches is already set up to accommodate one injured prefect. A light meal and some tea too. Floyd's itching for a squeeze, but the most you get is a rough toss on the cushion before Azul's got him in one of those rare gridlocks where Floyd backs down. Did you think he couldn't? Octopi are freaking strong.

Rather than be outwardly miffed, he's already regained his composure during his walk to the infirmary.

So...you fell while trying to get an overhead shot of campus for the newspaper? And you were just...given access? To one of the high towers? You. A student without a broom or ability to cast a safeguard charm.

....Hmm. Someone gave you access? Curious. Only Professors are allowed to hand out access passes. Sounds a bit 'fishy' but he's satisfied. Looks like Floyd might get to play after all.

....oh he's not mad, he's just disappointed (ouch)

He's too busy to sit and worry over where you're at. Jamil trust (ed) that as the only other mildly-sane person at this school, you'd make educated decisions

Okay. That's a lie. You're not sane, but he accepted as much when he begrudgingly fell for said insanity...damn hearts and their lack of logic

Honestly? He was shocked you put him as an emergency contact. Flattered even. Until the simmering frustration began to boil - because of course you went of campus. Of course you took the trolly down to the Isle shops, and of course you got hit by a car trying to stop Grim from running across the street (he saw a sushi shop and bolted).

Of course Jamil can't just go on his own. He has to finish his tasks, get permission, and using the carpet means telling Kalim. Which will then lead to him getting worked up and lo behold it is an event now.

At least using the Al Asim name gets the permission granted without a fuss...Jamil just wants to see that you're okay in person for himself...and also lay into you for being reckless. No holding back.

Hah. Haha. -_-

Don't try getting out of this by acting cute with the little 'i love you' and grabby hands once he gets there. He's not that soft-hearted...yet. Jamil has his principles.

Kalim might jump off and barrel in past medical professionals without thinking twice. Jamil will do his casual glance-over, speak with the nurses, and pull up a chair once he realizes you won't be let go until morning. Great. Now it's just you three stuck in a small hospital room (Kalim got ya booted up to a private stay) as some strange impromptu sleepover.

Just...give him a bit. Wait for Kalim to pass out on the spare cot and then he'll stop looking so emotionally repressed. Believe it or not, he'd trade places with you in a heartbeat if he could.

Not because he feels obligated, but because getting the 'hey, your partner is off in a clinic miles away' call during his normal schedule was a heart attack Jamil wasn't prepped for.

He thought the worst news could be that you'd gone home without saying anything. Somehow? This was nearly on par. 90% on par.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #twst imagines #twst scenarios #azul ashengrotto #riddle rosehearts x reader #riddle rosehearts #leona kingscholar #leona kingscholar x reader #jamil viper #jamil viper x reader #cola writes #heartslabyul #savanaclaw #octavinelle #scarabia

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dyingswanpavlova · 5 months ago

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"Your girl" - Part 3 | The Salesman x Reader

Summary: He tries to be nice for once to win you over, but is he being genuine? Or will it backfire? All the while your mind is playing confusing tricks on you.

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, kidnapping, mentions of rape, violence, mentions of murder, body issues, trauma talk, hinting at stockholm syndrome, manipulation, mentions of erection/arousal/masturbation, mentions of abuse earlier in life, not beta read, 18+!

"Your girl" - The Salesman x Reader Masterlist

"I do not intend to rape you, if that is what you think."

It was weird. The words were supposed to comfort you, right? Make you breathe easier. Instead you felt your chest tighten. Again.

Because he brought it up out of nowhere? Who could tell?

You sat on the couch, your arms wrapped around your legs like they usually were ever since you started participating in his mind games. It wasn't really like you had any other choice.

Your body, once young and healthy, albeit loaded with trauma to the brim, felt bruised and battered. It was a fight you were forced to fight every day and it felt like war. War against him, against yourself and life itself. Your face hurt horribly and it was all his fault. Or was it your own? God, you were confused.

"Don't get me wrong. I do intend to fuck you." His eyes crinkled in a smile. "Oh, I intend to fuck you again and again and again, until you feel like you're being ripped apart and you'll be begging me to stop."

There was it again, the cold sweat. Almost like an old friend you could count on.

Why didn't you have any real friends? You suddenly asked yourself. If only you had invested one of your Sundays into getting to meet at least one person. Maybe then someone would miss you now.

There was still your work. But you couldn't really tell if they'd get suspicious after you stopped coming or if maybe they simply accepted it. Your boss knew you had some issues. How you hated confrontration. He probably assumed you simply were gone for good.

Poor girl. Well, whatever, time is money. At least I get to keep her last paycheck.

But somehow you were sure that no one really missed you. No one waited for you at home. And no one cared that you still spent your days in the captivity of a psychopath. Or was it a sociopath? What was the damn difference again?

"Why don't you do it then?" You heard yourself ask.

One might think you would have learned your lesson not to talk back the day when he threw everything edible away and turned off the water supply. Or after he just beat the crap out of you.

But no, here you were, being smart with him. At least right now he didn't seem to mind. His fucked up smile was still in place.

"Because, my sweet, darling girl", he said slowly and crouched down before you, "because I want to fuck you when you're mine. I don't want scraps and pitiful silence. I'm not like the filth I threw on the train lines."

A violent shiver ran down your spine. It was the first time he mentioned the incident. For a few days you had almost asked yourself if that had really happened. And you had also asked yourself if your life so far had been a hallucination. Maybe you had always been his prisoner and maybe you had made up the role of your mother to keep yourself entertained and somehow deal with everything. They did have a lot in common.

"I want it willingly."

Odd. He didn't seem like the gentle type. Or the type who cared about consent.

"Don't mistake my words. I'm going to fuck you, no matter how you feel."

Ah.

"I don't give a shit if you feel sore, you have a headache, you've been crying or you're bleeding. I don't care if it is me who made you bleed." He leaned in so close that his warm, minty breath tickled your ear. "All the better."

For a moment, you were sure he was gonna bite your earlobe. A sound rumbled in his throat, almost like a groan and his lips were so close to your skin, you felt the wet warmth of that groan. But eventually, he pulled his head back and instead stared at you intensely.

"God, I want you."

The last two days had been weirder than usual. Instead of playing tricks on your mind and hitting you till blood trickled down your lip, he had been...considerate? It was hard to tell if that was the right word for it.

Many things were hard to tell nowadays.

It started with the dresses. He once came home - home, God help you - carrying countless bags which contained pretty and expensive dresses. All in your size and all to your liking.

Your style so far had been modest and humble, convenient mostly.

You knew that you could be pretty when you tried and wanted. Yet on most days you simply didn't care enough.

But when he came back with the dresses and left them in your room - and after you had spent enough hours sulking in the corner and being devastated about your loss of dignity when he forced you to drink water from a fucking bowl on the ground - Be a good girl and drink. I'd be really annoyed if you died of thirst. Yes, just like that. My good girl. - your curiosity finally got the better of you and you glanced into one of the bags.

Everything from silk to cashmere, with no ridiculous colors in sight. Everything was black, white, beige, cream, light rose or babyblue.

Then the lotus silk one in dark green.

It made you feel like a princess.

It felt like tiny kisses on your skin.

You couldn't help but try each and every one of them on.

And God, they felt good on you.

And eventually, you were forced to wear them. All you had was that one night dress. You had tried washing it in the sink and drying it on the radiator. But additionally to all the other bullshit he put you through, it was just too much. And so you put it on. The green one first.

The look on his face when you timidly left your room and tiptoed over to the living room had made you feel...

It made you feel...

You wanted to slap yourself until you came back to your senses, but no. It was enough when he did.

Desired. It made you feel desired.

It made you feel beautiful in a way you hadn't ever experienced before.

Sure, despite your questionable upbringing and your mother who constantly made sure you felt just below miserable, there had been men ogling you. Like the one who attacked you.

They'd stop what they were doing and glance you up and down, making sure you felt like a well-seasoned piece of meat.

Edible.

Fuckable.

But none of it was any comparison to him. The look in his eyes had been nothing short or fascination. The way his eyes gleamed and his lips parted in that soft exhale. His eyes didn't just linger on your breasts or ass. His sized you up entirely, like you were a porcelain doll to be cherished.

Of course you expected to hate the feeling.

But to your undying horror, you didn't.

You tried to think back to the many hits you'd taken from him, the humiliation and the countless tears.

And still, when he looked at you like that, you felt your cheeks grow warm and your insides tingle.

"Try them on for me." He had breathed.

You opened your mouth to protest, because that was what you usually did by now, you protested, but one look at him and it shut you up. Not because he was angry or because he had threatened you.

Because of that damn look.

You found yourself walking back to your room, your hands shaking and your heart racing. What were you doing here? Was this your life? Was this your punishment? Was he someone your mother had hired to punish you for escaping her?

You pushed all those thoughts aside and changed into the next dress. It was almost regal looking, a long white dress that hugged your body like a gentle embrace.

None of the dresses were cheap looking. They weren't even all too revealing. A little more than what you usually wore, yes, but all in all they were still kind of modest. But they highlighted your beauty in a way that made you feel exactly that.

Beautiful.

You took a shaky breath and made your way back to the living room. He had settled down on the couch, a glass of whiskey in his hand which he swirled around, lost in thought. The moment he heard you, he looked up from his glass and his eyes lit up in the same delight they had before, even more so.

He did something more now. He bit his lip.

He twirled his finger around, silently beckoning you to turn around, which you did. You turned around, almost timidly, feeling somewhat small under his assessing gaze. You still felt beautiful, but a part of you expected...

What?

That he laughed?

That he scoffed and recoiled in disgust?

Yes. Yes, that was exactly what a part of you felt he might do. Instead, he set his glass down and stood up, approaching you slowly and carefully, as though not to startle you.

You held your breath. He would hit you. You had done something wrong. You were wrong. You looked wrong. You didn't look the way he wanted you to.

He'd get rid of you.

By the time he reached you, you nearly suffocated. Your chest heaved rapidly under his scrutinizing gaze. When he lifted his hand and moved to touch your cheek, your eyes fluttered shut and you gasped.

But instead of hitting you, he...caressed you.

His touch was so gentle, more gentle than ever before. Like he was holding a delicate bird.

"Stand up straight." He breathed in your ear.

You swallowed thickly. And slowly obeyed. You fixed your posture slowly, pulling your shoulders back.

"Like that?" You whispered.

He nodded.

"Now your chin." He whispered back and gently placed a finger under your chin to lift it.

You let him guide you, feeling like his fingers left a trail of fire on their wake when he carefully ran them down the side of your neck.

"God, you're exquisite."

When you finally looked up at him, your eyes were wide and your breathing still far too quick. But his expression was calm. So calm. Almost gentle.

If he wasn't such a psychopath, he'd be really handsome, you realized. His eyes shone in a warm brown and his smile, albeit twisted, was beautiful. He was beautiful. Like a man made of marble who didn't mind getting messy.

When you realized what the hell you were thinking, you recoiled as if you’d been burned. His expression didn't waver, but he slowly pulled his hand back.

"Show me the next one." He murmured and sat back down.

You quickly made your way back and slumped down, your back pressed against the door.

What on earth was that? Were you now entirely out of your mind?

You didn't have many rules, but one of them went above all others.

Avoid him. Avoid him at all costs.

No unnecessary contact, because then you'd have less opportunities to make him angry. And maybe, just maybe, then you'd get out of the alive. You still had hope.

After a long moment of gathering your thoughts, you changed into the next dress. A soft beige cashmere dress, which hugged your curves sinfully.

You took a deep breath and made your way back. His gaze was fixed on the door and he looked at you with a subtle smirk.

"Look at that." He murmured.

You didn't know what he was referring to while you walked in there, a slight frown on your face.

"What?"

"Nothing. Turn around."

You turned around. It was easier this time. And it got easier with every dress. You changed, came in an twirled around. Changed, came in and twirled around. And at some point, his eyes started feeling almost natural on you. Like you were meant to wear those dresses for him on that particular day. It wasn't until the last dress, a beautiful, yet simple black dress, that you realized. Your stance had somewhat changed.

You stared at yourself in the mirror with a deep frown.

Was that you?

Who were you?

And how did you pull it off to show off these dresses looking almost...confident?

You made your way back, looking at him with an unreadable expression.

His face lit up at the sight and he took a sip of his drink.

"My favorite by far. That and the green one."

You stared at him speechlessly. What on earth were you supposed to do with that information?

He approached you slowly, with that predatory air on him as he slowly circled you, looking you up and down.

"Do you like the dresses?" He asked slowly.

"Yes." You whispered.

"Good." He smirked. "Then thank me."

You slowly, almost carefully, looked up at him. Did he expect...you to...

"Thank me." He whispered.

"Thank you for the dresses." You whispered back.

And just like that, he smiled in satisfaction.

"You're very welcome. They all look wonderful on you."

He sat back down and beckoned you to sit beside him, which you reluctantly did. You tried to keep your knees from bouncing up and down nervously and folded your hands in your lap.

"Who are you?"

You simply stared at him. Because you knew, every time you answered the question, even if you said the right words...Something bad happened. So, this time you stayed silent.

He took a slow breath and leaned closer.

"Who are you?"

"Please." You whispered. "Please, don't."

His expression immediately darkened and he took a tight hold of your chin.

"Answer the goddamn question."

"Your girl." You said quietly, but you were unable to meet his eyes as you did. "I'm your girl."

He hummed softly.

"Why?"

You blinked. "Why?"

He nodded. "Yes. Why?"

Suddenly your throat felt dry. You liked to think that you were actually pretty clever. But whenever you spoke to him, you felt like a complete idiot.

"Because I...I just am."

He raised a brow. "You just are?"

"I don't know what you want to hear."

His grip on your face loosened slightly and he shook his head.

"Do you despise me?" He suddenly asked. There was no emotion in his tone, just pure calculation.

You blinked again. You were almost sure you were going to die tonight. Too bad. The pretty dress would end up soaked in blood.

"I..."

"Because just a few minutes ago, you looked at me like you want me."

Suddenly you felt your face heat up in embarrassment. Actually, you had hoped he hadn't caught on that moment of weakness.

"That's not true." Somehow you managed to force a certain firmness in your voice.

He just smiled. "It's alright, sweet girl. You can deny it all you want, but we both know the truth. I know you’re ashamed. That’s fine. But a part of you likes me."

"But it isn't true!"

He tsked. "Listen, why don't you calm down and then we'll-"

"I could never like you!" You called out before you could think about. "I could never want a twisted person like you. You know what? There's a reason why no one ever loved you and why no one ever will. You're simply evil and there's nothing good or loveable about you. Nothing at all."

It felt like one of those horrible moment in apocalypse movies, just a moment before a protagonist is going to die. You knew you had fucked up. You just couldn't tell how bad yet.

By the time you managed to carefully lift your gaze to meet his, you got struck by unease. You could practically follow the shift in his eyes. From teasing and playful to something darker, something dead. He didn't even need to drop the smile. His eyes spoke loud enough.

"I'm sorry." You whispered breathlessly.

You couldn't even tell why you had said that, why the statement that you found something likeable about him had triggered you so badly. You weren't normally this reckless. This suicidal.

"I'm sorry." You whispered again, when he didn't move. "I don't know what came over me. Please. Forgive me. Please, I..."

The coldness in his eyes made you shut up. The man who called you exquisite and asked you to twirl around like a ballerina was gone. And you immediately knew he wasn't going to forgive you.

But what was even worse was that for some reason you felt so terrible for what you had said. Usually, you were pretty kind to everyone and didn't just go around saying hurtful things. If your words reached and hurt him didn't matter. What mattered was that you said them.

Immediately tears stung your eyes and you forced your gaze away from his. God, he would kill you.

And this time you were certain.

So, you weren't truly surprised when he roughly forced your back onto the sofa and straddled you. But you were still scared shitless. Your breath hitched and suddenly, just like that, you couldn't breathe again and you were mute. Betrayed again.

He pinned your wrists above your head and pushed you down with a rough movement, grinding down his hips against yours and forcing your legs apart.

First he would take what he wanted and then he would kill you.

Despite you being mute and frozen, you were still crying. Your body was being shaken by sobs and it only ever seemed to make him angrier.

"It appears to me", he growled furiously, "that you forgot your place."

You quickly shook your head, desperate to make him understand just how much you regretted what you had said, but before you could even try to open your mouth, a firm slap made you cry out in pain.

"No, please-"

There was your voice. And there went another slap. The intensity of it made you cry out as your head lolled to the side.

"Where is your place?" He growled. But before you could respond, he hit you again, all the while you felt his hardness pressed against you, ready to ruin you.

He had never done that before.

Sure, he had hit you when you got something wrong in a game, but he had never straight up beaten you for speaking.

Or what was even worse, he hadn't forced himself on you.

You had sensed the hardness between his legs once before, after he had made you drink the water from a bowl on the floor. But he hadn't mentioned it, hadn't made you look there, let alone touch it. He had skillfully ignored it and probably taken care of it himself afterwards.

He hadn't tried to kiss you.

Hadn't tried to reach between your legs.

Hadn't let you feel him.

But now you felt it, hard and urgent, straining against his pants and then your dress.

You had never felt a man like this before.

What a weird thought to have in this kind of situation.

"Please." You finally managed to sob out. "Please, I swear to you, I'll never do it again. I'll make up for it, please let me make up for it."

By the time his hand shot out for the sixth slap, you felt yourself go dizzy. Your face burned like fire under his palm and everything around you slowly went blurry. Your sight as well as the way you tried to hold your eyes open. They slowly blinked shut.

"I'm sorry." You whispered exhaustedly.

"Don't you dare pass out on me right now." He hissed and tightly grasped your chin.

When, instead of answering, you murmured something inaudible, he sighed deeply.

"Fuck." He murmured. His touch on your face grew softer. Then he slowly tilted your chin up, examining your face.

"I marked your pretty face." He said in a bland tone. You didn't say anything back.

"But I had to remind you that you don't just get to say and do anything you want." He gritted out. He was obviously still furious.

You didn't understand why he sounded like he was trying to justify his actions or why he even cared if you passed out. You had actually expected him to go off on that.

As if on cue, he reached down and carefully adjusted his pants, letting out a soft sigh at the touch.

You felt him press against you for a moment longer. He was obviously fighting with himself. Despite everything, the friction caused a nervous twitch in your lower body. He seemed to notice it and checked your expression. Eventually he forced himself away from you. He got up and ran his hands through his hair.

"Take a nap and calm down. I'll be back in a while."

With quick steps he disappeared to his bedroom. For a short, reckless moment you caught yourself thinking; he'll be occupied fucking his hand for at least five minutes. If you go and find the keys he always carries around when he leaves...

But your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of him. It was barely audible. You were sure you weren't even supposed to hear it. But you did. A moan. He moaned.

You closed your eyes. Oh God.

He had managed it. He had messed up your brain even more than it already was. Instead of crying, because your face hurt like hell, you felt a certain warmth spread through you.

Honey, you cannot seriously-

Shut up, mother.

You heard him again and now you were sure. You felt yourself grow wet. Immediately, your face flared up in even more heat and your breath caught in your throat.

What on earth was wrong with you?

He had nearly killed you, nearly taken you, nearly-

"Ah, oh, fuck." He groaned.

Your brows furrowed and you took a shaky breath. You could almost see it in your mind. The way his hand slowly slid down his chest. It made your heart skip a beat.

Enough!

You jumped up and scurried back to the bathroom. You locked the door and paused before the mirror. The sight made you wince. He had indeed marked you up. His hand, angrily imprinted into your cheek. You gingerly reached out to touch it, but stopped short of your skin.

He had done this to you. Just as he had done so many other things to you.

You were trapped in these godforsaken halls.

All you had wanted to do was go home after a long day of work, read a book in silence and eat a warm meal. Instead you got trapped into this hell, where he slowly manipulated his way under the trauma that had been cursing through your body and mind for years.

He destroyed all the walls you had built up, all the aid you had taken to repair the little sanity that was left in you.

The little confidence. The little love. The little you.

Now it was all gone.

You felt a tear run down your cheek and you immediately wiped it away. The touch made you wince in pain, it was rather harsh. You couldn't help it. You were angry.

You were so, so angry.

Why was it that no one could ever be good to you?

Why did you always attract the attention of twisted people?

You didn't deserve that. You didn't want it. And God, you didn't ask for it.

You had been a sweet child. Innocent and curious as every child is. Until your mother, who knew nothing but hate by day and pain at night, turned you into a shell of a person. And when you finally, finally made it out of her chokehold and you thought you could now live your life in peace, happily ignoring everything wrong in your life, he came.

He came and destroyed your fragile peace.

With shaky hands you leaned down and splashed your face with cold water. You carefully dried it up and stood like that for a while, holding onto the sink tightly.

And you made a silent promise to yourself.

You would get out of here and get your peace back.

The night was quiet. He didn't try to approach you, punish you, torture you in any way. He simply let you sleep.

The second your face touched the pillow, you passed out.

The morning went on just as quiet. You took a quick bath, before you put on one of the horrible dresses. You didn't care which one, you just wanted this to get over with.

The rest of your life.

After you spent two hours pacing the room, you decided you needed to speak to him. Ask him nicely maybe. Or steal his gun and murder him. You didn't care anymore. You needed to get out.

With quick, determined steps you stormed out to the kitchen and were surprised to find it empty. The other rooms were empty as well. You even gathered all your courage and knocked on his bedroom door. When no answer came, you sighed and went back to the kitchen.

Maybe he had abandoned you. He had thrown away all the food and he would come back in a few days after you died of starvation. Yes, that sounded reasonable.

But to your great surprise, that wasn't the case. Instead, on the kitchen table stood a gracious amount of food. Everything from rice and beans, to spinach and even…lemon cake.

You frowned as you thought back to the second day with him.

"What does always manage to cheer you up?"

"Mostly books." You had whispered, after he had just finished nearly choking you to oblivion, because you had answered another question to his displeasure. "But when things are remarkably bad, then lemon cake."

You stared at the cake as if it was poisonous. Which it probably was. You took a step closer and then you saw the note.

Sorry.

That was it. Just sorry. Sorry?

Your eyes widened as you stared down at it.

What was this?

Did he actually apologize?

You didn't care that it was written on a post-it. The word on the post-it was Sorry.

You had to sit down, because you felt like your knees were about to give in.

After a long moment of simply staring down at it, you reached out and took a bite of the lemon cake.

It was fruity and sweet and everything good in the world.

You took another bite and choked back your sobs.

After he came home, he didn't say anything for a long while and so didn't you. Just a quick glance of acknowledgement.

He didn't comment on how you sat there, reading. Of course you expected him to beat you down with the book. But he didn't. Instead he averted his gaze and disappeared into his room.

And he didn't say anything for the rest of the day either, until suddenly he declared that he didn't intend to rape you and so the conversation dragged on.

You felt especially snarky today, after yesterday he got so angry and took it out on you. After he awkwardly vanished and you heard him. After you remembered that you didn't deserve to be treated like shit, right after you had felt incredibly aroused, because you heard him touch himself.

"God, I want you." He breathed in your ear. And then you did the unthinkable. You pushed him back. The movement was gentle. But you pushed him back.

He growled deep in his throat and seconds later the vase from the coffee table crushed against the wall in a loud scatter. At least it wasn’t you who flew into the wall.

You would have winced from the sound. But it was so sudden and somehow almost funny. But you knew better than to smirk.

"Who are you?" He hissed.

You stayed silent.

He took a long, slow breath. Then he reached out and touched your cheek, his fingers digging into your bruised skin, making you flinch. He raised his hand like he was going to slap you again. You wanted to cower in fear, but you forced yourself to keep looking at him, your eyes wide.

He kept staring down at you and slowly lowered his hand back down.

"You're still beautiful." He said quietly.

You didn't expect him to say that or the way his fingers gently trailed down your cheek. You inhaled sharply and slowly closed your eyes. It was like trusting a bear to guard your life, when it was covered in honey.

"Are you going to hit me again?" You whispered.

After a beat, he quietly said: "No."

His mood swings were terrifying, but you knew there were far scarier things about him.

Like the way his eyes darkened whenever he got really angry. Which was often the case.

Or the way he hummed whenever you did something wrong.

Or the way he made you weak and scary enough, not entirely in a bad way. You were certain he had manipulated you into thinking this. Into, somehow, caring. This was the worst that could happen to you. The absolute worst.

He sighed. "Sweet girl, are you..."

You needed to get the hell out of here. And quickly. So, maybe, maybe, if you just played along…

Maybe then you would get out alive. All you had to do was play along. All you had to be was…

“I’m your girl.”

888 notes · View notes

inseobts · 2 months ago

Note

weird request but reader biting laws ear like to mark him??? not in a sexual setting like in a cute way..weird but cute

Bite-Sized Affection

law × gn!reader

words count: 1.0k

tags: established relationship, fluff, affectionate biting

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

“You’re gonna what?”

Law raises an eyebrow, pen paused mid-sentence, the logbook in front of him left hanging as he gives you the look... somewhere between exhausted and amused, like he’s still deciding whether to sigh or smirk.

You stare him dead in the eye “Bite your ear.”

He exhales, slow “Why?”

“Because I love you,” you say, far too casually, leaning forward over the arm of the couch in his quarters, your chin on your folded arms “And also, your ear looks biteable.”

Law stares.

You grin.

“…That’s not a reason,” he mutters, but there’s a twitch at the corner of his mouth. He’s pretending to go back to his writing, but he’s not fooling anyone. You see the flush crawling up his neck, just barely “You’re weird.”

“You’re dating me.”

“I’m reconsidering.”

“No, you’re not.” you chirp, and without another warning, you lean forward and gently nibble at the shell of his ear. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to leave a ghost of teeth, like a kitten might.

Law flinches “Oi—!”

“Shh. I’m marking my territory.”

“You’re not a dog.”

“Cats do it too. And I’m cuter.”

He groans and drags a hand down his face, leaning away but not too far “This is why I don’t let you into my office during reports.”

“But I’m your emotional support gremlin.”

“And yet, I still write in peace before you show up.”

There’s a knock on the door. Law glares at it like it offended him personally.

Shachi sticks his head in “Captain, you—”

Then stops. Blinks. Eyes you, your suspicious proximity to Law’s head. Eyes Law, who looks mildly exasperated and a little pink in the ears.

“…Did you just bite him again?”

“Maybe.”

“Again?!” Penguin yells from the hallway.

“I’m closing the door now.” Law mutters.

“Marking her territory again—” before they can finish the door shuts with a loud thunk.

You hum, pleased, and lean back against the couch like you’ve done nothing wrong.

Law sighs “You’re gonna drive me insane.”

“You love it.”

He glances at you, expression unreadable “Unfortunately.”

“They’re doing it again” Shachi stage-whispers, crouched behind a crate with Penguin like they’re on a stakeout.

Bepo, sitting calmly with a cup of tea, sighs “They’re not doing anything bad.”

Penguin peeks over the crate “That’s your opinion.”

From their vantage point on the deck, they have a perfect view of you casually sitting next to Law, who’s trying to read. Trying being the key word.

You scoot a little closer.

Law glances at you “Don’t.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“You’re thinking about it.”

“Maybe.”

Law exhales slowly, eyes flicking back to his book “This is harassment.”

“This is love.”

“Your love is invasive.”

You grin “It’s customized.”

And then you lean in and bite his ear again.

It’s soft, playful. Familiar. Like a ritual at this point. Your teeth graze gently against the top curve before you pull back, satisfied.

Law doesn’t even flinch this time, just closes his eyes and mutters “You’re gonna start a rumor.”

From behind the crate “TOO LATE!”

You both look up.

Shachi waves “Hey Captain, if you wanted us to stop walking in on this, maybe lock the door!”

“This is the deck” Law says, tone flat.

“You knew the risks!” Penguin yells.

Bepo takes another sip of tea “I warned them not to follow you around.”

You chuckle and lean into Law’s side “You didn’t stop me.”

“I’ve stopped trying” Law replies. But his voice is softer now. Quiet. You can feel the warmth radiating off him even though he pretends to be annoyed.

You rest your head on his shoulder “You love it.”

“Again, unfortunately.”

The crew watches in stunned silence as their stoic captain doesn’t push you away, doesn’t scold you, and instead just… lets you stay there.

“Holy crap,” Penguin whispers “Y/N has domesticated him.”

“He’s been bit into submission,” Shachi says, sounding half-impressed, half-disturbed.

“I think it’s cute” Bepo offers.

Law groans “I’m moving the ship without any of you on it.”

You smile “But then who’ll watch me bite you?”

His glare could kill a man. It never works on you.

You’re lying on the deck this time, sprawled across Law’s lap like you have zero sense of personal boundaries, which is fair, because you don’t.

He’s trying to act uninterested, one hand flipping through a medical journal, the other resting idly on your back like you’re a cat that wandered into his life and refused to leave. You’ve been there for twenty minutes now, quietly humming to yourself.

The sun’s warm. The waves are calm. The ship rocks gently beneath you.

You stretch like a satisfied houseplant “You know what I haven’t done today?”

Law doesn’t look up “Bitten me?”

You sit up, mock-gasping “How’d you know?”

“I live in fear.”

“You live in love” you correct.

He finally looks down at you, unamused but soft around the edges “You bite me again in front of the crew, and I’m gonna perform minor surgery in your sleep.”

You narrow your eyes playfully “You wouldn’t.”

He tilts his head “Try me.”

The tension doesn’t last. You grin, lean in and he braces for it but instead of biting, you just press a gentle kiss to his ear. No teeth. Just warm, solid affection.

Law blinks.

“…Huh.”

You pull back “What?”

“I was expecting fangs.”

“Trying something new,” you say innocently “Call it character growth.”

He stares at you, eyes narrowed. Then, finally, he chuckles under his breath. A real one, rare and genuine.

“Disappointing” he mutters.

You smirk “Yeah? So you liked being bitten…”

You lean in and give his ear one last bite.

Soft. Familiar. Yours.

Law groans “You’re impossible.”

“Yet deeply lovable.”

“Debatable.”

“Not to me” you say.

And he doesn’t say anything else, just threads his fingers through yours as the sun starts dipping low.

From somewhere behind the mast “They’re doing it again” Shachi whispers.

“I bet she’s biting him right now.”

“Bepo owes me five berries.”

Law raises his hand and flicks a middle finger toward the mast without looking.

You laugh.

And maybe that’s how it is with you and Law, chaotic, weird, full of strange little rituals and soft silences. But it works. In your own language of teeth and teasing and unspoken love, it works.

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crheativity · 10 months ago

Note

Mc/Yuu that when given genuine affection from their friends such as a small gift or just being told that they enjoy being around them, they just get really quiet and look at their friend with shock and disbelief, tearing up a little bit and just going "...oh..." in a real small voice.

Bonus points if they're not usually emotional like this.

It would be fun if it was the overblot gang since they just got some gifts themselves, or maybe ADeuce duo...idk man, I just want some wholesome friendship, I feel like there aren't enough fics like that in this fandom-

WARNINGS: Can be read as platonic or romantic, some of these might be longer/shorter than others, all of them care about you but (almost) all of them are bad with Emotions. also there are slight references to book 6 in Idia’s section if you squint

COMMENTS: AWH this is such a cute idea! And yes, there should definitely be more wholesome, platonic fics! Also, sorry these are short D:

Wait, crap, you’re tearing up? He just got you a present- are you okay?? He’s low key worried about you, unsure if this is just you being extremely excited about his (amazing) gift or if there’s something else going on. Either way, he’s quick to figure it out and reassure you as best he can. He’s torn between feeling bad about making you cry and being happy you liked his present so much. Either way, he pulls you into a hug and rubs patterns into your back until you feel better.

You’re crying?! Ohhhh crap oh crap oh crap- he doesn’t know what to do! Was his present that bad-? Once you reassure him and tell him you love it, he relaxes a little bit but is still clearly distressed. He isn’t very good at figuring out why you’re reacting this way, but his genuine care for you shines through and helps you feel a little more comfortable in his own way.

Wh-what?? Did he do something wrong-? He did a bunch of research, so he had assumed that this gift would be something you’d appreciate, not tear up over! Riddle is. Confused. And scared. He’s new to this whole “having friends” thing, and he thinks very highly of you, so the thought of messing up is pretty scary. He’s at quite a loss of what to do. When you reassure him and tell him you’re okay, he’s very relieved. He makes a note of how much you appreciated the gift and is determined to do more for you. If he has to get used to having friends, he wants you to get used to receiving the affection you deserve, too.

Awh, come on. You’re seriously tearing up over this? He ruffles your hair affectionately, giving you space to process your emotions while staying nearby. He doesn’t quite get what all the fuss is about - all he knows is he got you something and then you “exploded into tears” (you did not, he’s exaggerating). He sits with you until you feel better and tries to think of ways he could give you stuff without you “freaking out” like this. Maybe some money left in your pockets would be a good idea…

As soon as you tear up, he wants to go hide in his octo-pot. He knew it, it was a stupid idea. He should’ve gone with the other present idea, maybe then you’d be less disappointed. If you even still want to be friends with him after this. The moment you explain that you’re really happy, however, his mood does a complete 180, attempting to both comfort you and gloat a little at the same time. He would pat you a little awkwardly on the shoulder, wanting to express he appreciated your vulnerability. He’s definitely making notes on things he could spoil you with.

He freezes. Dang, he thought it was something you’d like. If not, that’s okay, he did keep the receipt. You can take it back to the store and get a refund if you’d- oh? You liked it? He’s another one that would try to comfort you and feel smug at the same time. The thought of making anyone but particularly you so happy is a little jarring to him, and your way of expressing emotions is definitely unexpected, but he’s glad he got you this. Maybe he’ll get you something better next time.

For once, Vil is speechless. For a moment he just kinda stands there in surprise, before sweeping you into his arms for a hug - completely ignoring how his clothes might crinkle. He didn’t think you would react that way, and - although he’s pretty sure you’re happy - he wants to comfort you anyway. Once you confirm you’re actually happy, he thinks your reaction is sweet and endearing and pure. He’s definitely buying you more things if this is your reaction to it,

The moment you say “oh” and start to tear up he’s internally going say sike rn. Bro was not prepared for Emotions. He can hardly handle his own feelings, why’d fate dump him with someone else’s?! Especially since they belong to someone he cares about. He’s not real good with other people, let alone taking care of them. He wishes Ortho was here - he could google Top 10 Ways To Comfort A Friend Who Randomly Starts Crying. Idia kinda just ends up patting your entire head awkwardly and saying “there there” through his tablet. He knows it’s pathetic, okay?

He’s utterly confused. He followed the Human Customs of buying a gift for someone you care about, why are you displaying a negative reaction? Was the gift not satisfactory? Lilia said this would be enough, although perhaps he should’ve gone with his original plan and bought you significantly more. Were you perhaps disappointed? Once you reassure him, he almost laughs. He thinks your reaction was very cute, he will be buying you significantly more things. Prepare yourself.

♥Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it!!♥

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mrspiastri · 5 days ago

Text

stop pretending!

wc: 1.9k words

an: i was so overcome with excitement i had to write this blurb sorry :D based on this req!

“Don’t even think about it.” Y/N almost growled at her boyfriend as he moved to sit next to her on the couch.

“What? Why?” Oscar questioned, still frozen in a sitting position in midair.

He got no response, just Y/N huffing and looking back at the TV screen.

“Darling, are you still mad at me?”

Still no response, just another exaggerated huff as she turned away from him.

Oscar almost wanted to laugh, but he knew she would positively kick him if he did. It was just really difficult for him to take his girlfriend seriously when she looked like a disgruntled puppy.

Y/N had been in a pretty bad mood ever since she woke up; her clients at work were being nuisances, her friend had cancelled on their lunch plans, and the couple’s cat Sylvia decided to throw up on the very expensive rug they had in the living room.

Not to mention, Oscar had been out the whole day, promising to come home for lunch. She decided to make up for the day’s negativity by enjoying some time with him, which she hardly ever got, only to get a text at 3:30 pm, saying he would only be home in time for dinner.

That one text was Y/N’s final straw. She decided she would do nothing about it and simply decided to ignore him.

Oscar sat down anyway, carefully, like the couch might explode under the pressure of her silence. He placed his hands on his knees and leaned forward just enough to peer at her face.

“Alright. That’s fair. But just for the record, I was going to come home for lunch. I had every intention of doing that. I even imagined the whole thing. You, me, some pizza. Maybe a nap after. Sylvia purring between us. The dream.”

She blinked slowly. Unmoved.

Oscar frowned and scooted an inch closer. “But then someone needed to run the meeting late. Someone else wanted us to check our seat fittings again. And then my phone died, which is completely your fault, because someone keeps stealing my charger.”

Still no response.

Oscar tried to look into her eyes, but she angled her face away just enough to keep him out. He could see her mouth set in a tight line. The same mouth he usually kissed good morning, goodnight, and roughly seventy-nine times in between.

She stood up. No warning, no words, just got up and walked toward the kitchen.

Oscar sprang to his feet and followed her like a puppy. “Oh. Oh we’re going to the kitchen, good thing I’m hungry.”

Y/N reached the fridge, opened it, then stared inside with what Oscar could only describe as aggressive purpose. He leaned against the counter beside her and waited.

She closed the fridge and walked to the dining table. Sat. Crossed her arms again.

Oscar followed, pulled out the chair beside her and sat sideways in it so he could face her. “You know, I read this article once that said couples who laugh together live longer. So technically, by ignoring me, you’re putting us in danger. Are you okay with that?”

Nothing. Not even a blink.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

She stood up again. Oscar groaned dramatically and stood too. “You know, most boyfriends would’ve stopped following you by now. But not me. I am persistent.”

She made her way to the bedroom. Oscar kept talking behind her like some sort of lovesick narrator. “Do you remember when you said I was the most patient person you’d ever met? I feel like this is a test. Is this a test? Am I being punk’d?”

Y/N walked into the bedroom and sat on the bed, pulling the blanket over her lap like it was a barrier between them.

Oscar leaned against the doorway, then slowly walked over and knelt in front of her. He just quietly knelt, eyes searching hers even though she was refusing to look at him.

“I know you’re upset. And you have every right to be. You had a crap day. Work was horrible. Your friend cancelled. Sylvia turned our rug into modern art. And then I went and messed it up more. I said I’d be here, and I wasn’t. And I’m sorry.”

She shifted but didn’t look at him.

He rested his chin on her lap, arms folded on top of her thighs like a sleepy golden retriever. “I missed you all day. I kept thinking about how nice it’d be to just come home and lie next to you for a bit. I didn’t want to ruin the day for you. I wanted to fix it.”

No reply.

He pouted slightly. “You’re being very stubborn, you know. Cute. But stubborn.”

Still silent.

Y/N’s phone buzzed on the nightstand. She picked it up, glanced at the screen, and answered it without a word to Oscar, who was still half-sprawled across her lap.

“Hey,” she said, voice softening just slightly for her friend on the other end.

Oscar perked up, trying to catch snippets of the conversation, tilting his head like a curious dog.

“What are you up to?” her friend asked, cheerful and unaware of the storm cloud hovering over Y/N’s head.

Y/N glanced at Oscar, who wiggled his eyebrows at her hopefully, trying to earn a smirk or a flicker of mercy. Nothing. She looked away and sighed dramatically into the phone.

“I was supposed to have lunch,” she said. “But I got bailed on.”

Oscar sat up straighter.

“Oh no,” her friend gasped. “Is Oscar not at home?”

Y/N looked him right in the eye. Cold. Unwavering. She spoke into the phone with deliberate calm. “No.”

Oscar’s mouth dropped open. “Alright, that’s it,” he said, voice all mock scandal and playful outrage.

Before she could react, he snatched the phone out of her hand. “Hi, yes, lovely to meet you. She’ll call you back later. Don’t worry; I’ll make sure of it.” He hung up with a cheeky grin and tossed the phone onto the bed.

“Hey!” Y/N reached for it, but he was already moving.

Oscar wrapped an arm around her waist and stood up, lifting her off the bed like she weighed nothing. She squeaked in protest, legs kicking gently in the air, but he just laughed and hauled her out of the room.

“Put me down!” She tried to sound angry, but her voice betrayed her with the tiniest laugh.

“No can do. You revoked my 'boyfriend's rights'. Now I’m reclaiming them by force.”

He marched them to the living room and dropped onto the couch with her in his arms, carefully manoeuvring her so she ended up sitting on his lap. She immediately tried to wriggle away, but he locked his arms around her thighs, holding her in place like a seatbelt made of affection.

“You’re trapped. Accept your fate.”

She gave him the flattest look she could manage, arms crossed again, face tilted away. But she didn’t move to actually get up. And her cheeks were just a little pink.

Oscar leaned forward and rested his chin on her shoulder, squeezing her legs gently. “I’m sorry, Y/N. Really. I know you were looking forward to lunch. I was too. I should’ve let you know sooner that I wouldn’t make it. I didn’t mean to ruin your day.”

She didn’t reply, but she wasn’t fuming anymore. Just quiet.

“And I know you don’t want to talk right now. But I’ll sit here as long as it takes. As I hold you hostage on my lap.“

She sighed, but it was just a whisper of breath.

He reached out slowly and poked her side. Just a little.

Nothing.

He poked again. “Come on. You know you want to smile. I’ll even let you yell at me after. You can scold me for being late. For working too much. For not bringing you the chocolate you like. For looking like a kicked puppy every time you glare at me.”

Y/N finally looked down at him. Not a smile. Not forgiveness. But the tiniest glint of soft amusement in her eyes.

“You’re stuck with me, you know. This is your life now. Me, following you around like a lovesick fool until you forgive me. Or until Sylvia kicks me out of the apartment. Whichever comes first.”

Y/N let out a long sigh. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Only because I love you,” he said, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “And because you’re cute when you’re mad. Even cuter when you pretend not to forgive me but secretly want to kiss me anyway.”

“I do not,” she muttered.

Oscar gasped softly. “Lies. I can feel the affection radiating off of you. It’s like a hug with no arms.”

“You’re so dumb.”

“I thought that’s what you love most about me.”

She finally cracked a smile. Small. Barely there. But it was enough for him to light up like a kid at a candy store.

He pulled her closer, arms tightening just a little around her. “There she is. My favourite person.”

Y/N shook her head but leaned back into him just slightly, letting her head rest against his chest. “This isn’t over; I’m going to hold out on you longer next time.”

“Bold of you to assume I’ll ever let there be a next time.” He glanced down at her hand, which was resting rigidly on her thigh like it had no interest in being touched or noticed. Slowly, as if she might swat him, he reached out and gently tried to lace his fingers through hers.

Her hand shifted ever so slightly away.

Oscar narrowed his eyes. “Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be.”

She didn’t say a word, but a tiny smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

He scooted forward on the couch, wrapping one arm tighter around her waist and reaching again with exaggerated patience. This time, he grabbed her hand outright. She didn’t fight it, but she didn’t help either. Her fingers stayed stiff, pointing upwards like awkward little sticks while he tried to slot his fingers in.

Oscar frowned.

Y/N raised her eyebrows innocently, lips pursed, like she had no idea what he meant.

“Oh, we’re playing hardball,” he muttered and carefully started to push her fingers down.

One by one.

She bit her lip, trying not to laugh. He could feel her shoulders shaking slightly as she fought it off.

Oscar used both hands now, fully committed. “You’re really going to make me fold your hand into mine like I’m trying to wrestle a kitten into a sweater?”

Y/N lost it a little, a quiet giggle slipping out as she turned her face away from him, but he caught the crinkle in her eyes.

“There it is. I knew you were pretending.” He finished curling her fingers around his hand and held it triumphantly, giving it a dramatic shake. “Look at that. We’re holding hands. Like a couple in love. Isn’t it beautiful?”

Y/N tried to pull away, but he held on tighter, both of them laughing now in quiet bursts, trying not to lose the silly, playful silence they had built.

“You’re ridiculous,” she said, shaking her head but not letting go.

“You say that like it’s new information,” he whispered back, squeezing her hand once more, gently this time. “Now shut up and let me cuddle you. It's my turn to be clingy.”

#f1 x reader #f1 driver x reader #op81 #oscar piastri fic #oscar piastri drabble #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri x y/n #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #f1 requests #f1 fluff #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #oscar piastri requests #requests

289 notes · View notes

wendichester · 2 months ago

Text

🐇.•*¨`*•. easter blessing,

summary. you're working a case with the brothers. it gets festive.

pairing. sam + dean winchester x reader genre. crack

wordcount. 599

notes / warnings. happy easter babies 🐰🗿

You’d like to say this is the weirdest hunt you’ve ever been on.

But it’s really not. Which might be worse.

“So let me get this straight,” you say, squinting down at the crime scene. “We’re hunting... the Easter Bunny?”

Sam, bless his over-researched soul, doesn’t even blink.

“Technically? Probably a pagan fertility god that predates Christianity by like a few thousand years. But yeah. Bunny.”

Dean makes a face and kicks a trail of shredded pink plastic eggs off the sidewalk.

“This is a new low,” he mutters. “I didn’t survive hell to get murdered by some pastel-colored Bugs Bunny ripoff.”

You don’t point out that the corpse in front of you has literal jellybeans spilling out of its mouth. Or that the bite marks on the neck are unmistakably rodent-shaped.

The victim’s last expression is... haunted.

Sam flips through a lore book like it’s a normal Tuesday.

“Looks like Oschter Hase,” he mutters. “Old German folklore. Bringer of fertility, eggs, springtime.”

Dean snorts.

“Bringer of death now.”

You nudge a marshmallow Peep out of the gore with your boot. It's still warm.

Disgusting.

Fast forward to nightfall.

You’re in a graveyard (classic), surrounded by cracked eggshells and tufts of fur, holding a flamethrower.

Because, apparently, bunnies from hell don’t like fire.

Sam’s reading Latin out loud. Dean’s loading silver buckshot into a sawed-off. And you’re wondering if you can ever eat a Cadbury Creme Egg again without getting war flashbacks.

“I see it!” Dean shouts suddenly.

You turn.

And there it is.

Bounding toward you with bloodstained fur, beady red eyes, and an oversized wicker basket slung over its back like some kind of festive serial killer.

“That is not a bunny,” you hiss.

“Technically—” Sam starts.

“Shut up, Sam!”

The bunny shrieks. Shrieks. Like a banshee doing an exorcism. It launches straight at Dean, claws out, teeth bared, ears flapping like demonic wings.

Dean yells something that sounds like “SON OF A B—” and goes down hard under a pile of fur and rage.

“DEAN!”

You turn the flamethrower on and dive into the fray.

The bunny rears up like a fluffy demon spawn just as you pull the trigger. Fire roars. Fur ignites. Sam’s still chanting. Dean’s swearing. Somewhere in the chaos, jellybeans explode like tiny grenades.

The smell is horrific.

The thing lets out a final ungodly screech before collapsing in a pile of flaming tinsel and fur.

“I think that’s it,” Sam pants, stepping over the burning corpse like he hasn’t just witnessed seasonal trauma incarnate.

Dean rolls over and groans.

“Did anyone get the plate on that satanic thumper?”

You grin, a little breathless, a lot singed.

“Happy Easter, boys.”

An hour later, you’re at the diner down the road. Covered in soot, minorly concussed, and all staring at the very suspicious chocolate bunnies in the display case.

“So,” you say, sipping burnt coffee. “We’re never doing this holiday again, right?”

“Agreed,” Dean grunts.

Sam hums.

“Well, there’s still Beltane in a few weeks—”

“NO,” you and Dean both snap.

Dean raises his glass of whiskey like a toast.

“To never trusting rabbits again.”

“Or Sam’s German pagan crap.”

“Or candy.”

“Okay, not candy,” Dean amends quickly, grabbing a pack of mini eggs off the table. “I’m still emotionally attached to sugar.”

You lean back in the booth, bruised, exhausted, and vaguely traumatized.

But alive.

And kind of weirdly proud.

Because you, Sam, and Dean just saved a town from a deranged ancient fertility god disguised as the Easter Bunny. With Latin, fire, and questionable decision-making skills.

Just another day in paradise.

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alchemistc · 7 months ago

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You never let me in, Buck sends, two of three sheets fully winded, and when he kicks his leg over the coffee table he nearly knocks over three empties.

They do this thing, right? Buck gets upset and before the tears can fall, because he's cried too many fucking times already, he makes himself angry. Picks at something that has come up every time he's done a post-mortem on the last six months.

And then he sends that shit to Tommy. Because - because who the fuck else is he supposed to talk to about it? The guy who'd sucked him off in the hallway of a nightclub two weeks ago? The woman who'd spent an hour quietly helping Buck understand that yeah, he was very much bi, and yeah, some people did not like that shit? Maddie, or Chim, or Hen or Eddie, who still might interact with him on the job? Bobby? Fuck, not Bobby.

Bobby who'd blinked at Buck and offered platitudes and apologized to Buck like it was somehow his fault Tommy was good people but he was the kind of good people who just walked out on something that could have been something.

I should have pushed more. I know I should have. I just thought since I was trying to share everything, you were too.

My mistake.

Three months and Buck isn't over it. He's far enough into the mourning process that he thinks this one is always gonna sting, and not for the reasons Tommy thinks.

That's not fair. I'm sorry.

The texts get delivered. Tommy reads them. Buck's had read receipts on since the first time Tommy went quiet on a call and Buck freaked out a little - but back then they were still working towards something. Back then, sometimes Tommy would pull out his phone and open the thread just to give Buck sign of life.

He was always doing that. Heading shit off at the pass.

Buck had just never realized he'd be able to do it to hurt him, just as well as take care of him.

Every four weeks like clockwork Buck gets a response. He has no fucking idea why it's four weeks, what the third Thursday of the month has to do with Tommy feeling gracious enough to give Buck some clarity. He'd never known enough about Tommy, is the thing he's coming around to. He'd done everything he could to bring Tommy in, make him a part, and Tommy had let him. Tommy had distracted him with quippy words and a clever tongue and with being so fucking willing to be integrated into Buck's life that Buck just - hadn't noticed.

No one will say it, but he Bucked It Up in the worst kind of way.

He's waited until Third Thursday to send these texts. He actually hasn't sent anything at all, until this moment, and he wonders if Tommy noticed. If he cared. Tommy picks and chooses from Buck's random thoughts, parses out details like he's reading from a manual and Buck is off topic two thirds of the time. Buck doesn't actually know why he's been answering, all this time. He wonders if, in the last four weeks of silence, he thought he was finally done with Buck.

He wonders if it had hurt.

Buck sets his phone down to stand, skating across to the kitchen in his socks for the pizza rolls in the oven.

His diet is shit. His body feels like crap. He's one more drunken nights sleep on the couch away from emptying the rack in his fridge down the drain and giving sobriety a try. The last person he'd slept with had hinted that they'd prefer not to use condoms and Buck had almost let them.

Buck has worth. He knows he does. It's just sometimes when he remembers that every person he's ever loved has either walked out on him or let him walk away when he needed them, he struggles to find that worth.

His life has meaning, and all that jazz.

Buck sort of wonders if Tommy hasn't finally blocked his number, as he tosses a too-hot pizza roll in his mouth and huffs on the lava cheese burning his tongue. After the last message Buck had sent, three weeks ago, he wouldn't exactly be surprised.

(This is basically just an unhinged grief journal with an unreliable second narrator. Do you know what it's like to realize you're still in love with someone who never let you know them?)

There's been no response to that. Fair. Buck hadn't even actually said the words. No, he'd jumped right into the sharing a life part, cart before the horse as always when emotions were high.

The pizza rolls get tipped onto a plate and are immediately swimming in the heavy pour of ranch he'd prepared after he set the oven to preheat.

It cools them off a lot quicker than popping a hole in each seam and waiting.

It's been eight years since Buck has really even thought about that little trick.

When he opens his phone there's no response. No receipt. Just stark words waiting to be acknowledged.

I gave you my family, Tommy. You didn't even introduce me to your team at Harbor.

It's startling to realize after the fact. He doubts Tommy had meant it that way, but he'd basically spent six months being love bombed only to have the rug ripped right out from under his feet.

And yet. Months later and he still wants to know. Know why. Know how he could have done it, with tears in his eyes, with full awareness that it was already gonna hurt. Know Tommy - anything he'd part with, really, that wasn't something every random acquaintance also knew.

Cool, he'd been jealous of what Buck and the 118 had. (Buck had tried to give him that. Or at least he thought he had.)

Great, he didn't talk to his dad and Gerrard was a shitty captain. (Buck had spent an hour once explaining the first time he and his dad had spoken about Daniel without screaming at each other. Tommy had listened to the rants about Gerrard and offered physical comfort and a 'sounds like him' and Buck had just been so relieved to have an ally amongst the 'life is just like this sometimes' crowd that he'd never examined that.)

He was a Kinsey six who'd been engaged to the first woman Buck had ever really loved and they'd never dug deeper than that.

And Buck had apparently interpreted some of the shit he'd said that night wrong, but he still doesn't think it's fucking fair that Tommy can't trust him to know his own fucking mind well enough to know he hates sleeping around and he'd found the sort of connection he was looking for. He'd found it. Even with the lack of reciprocation. Even with the quiet behind Tommy's eyes that he'd never let Buck in on. Even with the -

His phone buzzes on the coffee table.

Can we talk?

Buck kinda hates those words in that order now. They'd been the start of something twice, but they'd always been leading to an end, if Tommy had his way.

Once every four weeks, apparently, Buck sends back and takes a vicious bite.

His phone chimes with an incoming call.

Buck stares at the name he hasn't had the stomach to remove the little heart from. Lets it ring through to voicemail and then shoves three more pizza rolls into his mouth and doesn't care if they burn off his taste buds.

His phone rings again.

"What?"

"I'm outside your building. Didn't want to make any assumptions that I'd be welcome without asking first."

Buck can feel his ribs cracking under the lurch of angry laughter. "What the hell?"

"Well the parking around here is miserable again, so I figure that's a sign."

"Are you driving right now?"

"Hands off. I'm on Bluetooth. So. Should I circle the building a fifth time or call it now and go home?"

Buck gets stuck on fifth time.

There's no way he hadn't been driving since at least before Buck sent that first text.

Buck sighs. There's absolutely no reason to be hopeful about that. For all he knows, Tommy has just decided dousing any residual flames is just another thing he has to do in person.

"My Jeep's in the shop. I'll buzz you into the garage."

Tommy's silent for a long, long moment. The quip comes anyway. "I keep telling you that thing is a money pit."

"I'm not really feeling the flirty banter, right now, Tommy, so maybe just let me know when you're at the gate."

He does. He hangs up the phone twenty seconds later with a plain "See you soon."

Buck doesn't have time to change. Fix his hair. Hide the sheet pan with half a dozen pizza rolls still laying on it, because he'd cooked way too many again.

(He could absolutely do one of these things but if Tommy's gonna throw this at him, he's getting every little slovenly habit Bucks's picked up since he walked out that door.)

The knock comes while Buck's shoving the last two rolls on his plate into his mouth.

He's still chewing with his mouth open to blow out the steam when he swings the door open, and Buck feels the first inklings of pleasure ripple through him at the sight of Tommy.

He looks like shit.

"You look like shit."

Tommy's brow ticks up. He stares pointedly at the glob of not-cheese that's going to absolutely ruin this sweatshirt.

"That tends to happen when you spend an hour in an armchair two sizes too small picking at trauma you've been hiding from your therapist for six years."

Buck opens the door wider. Holy crap. Tommy might legitimately be more fucked up than Buck.

Tommy's smile is strained. "Can I come in?"

Buck holds his gaze. His eyes are a little red. He's got a red spot along the side of his neck, like he's been rubbing at it. Buck only recognizes it as a comforting motion because he's replayed him doing it half a million times right before he ended things.

"Depends. Is this the last time you respond to my mean, rude, asshole texts for an hour after therapy rubs you raw?" Third Thursday Therapy, is apparently what does it. Buck is - god. He just wants -

"God, I hope not," Tommy says, and Buck takes a step to the side to let Tommy in.

#bucktommy fic #bucktommy #not-quite-fixit but it could be #tevan fic

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leahrintarou · 8 months ago

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✩₊˚.⋆ YOU'RE FORGIVEN ! - hawks/keigo takami / 10.10 / kinktober

CW: he's sexually frustrated ofc, oral sex (he receives), tiny argument for plot, snowballing kiss, she/her used, not anatomy specified when it comes to reader, petname used ("pretty"), thats all :)

Word Count: 2.2k

Author's Note: hi guys! i forgot what number kinktober post this is...lol. i think it's the 6th but anyways, i hope you enjoy reading! ily guys and appreciate the love <3. leave a like or reblog to show support.

hawks had been in a sour mood lately. he wasn’t the type to lash out or act cold, especially not toward y/n. usually, he was all smirks and feathered winks, always pulling her close, teasing her with that warm, cocky charm. but for the past few days, he’d been distant, barely speaking, his touch cold and detached. it felt like she was sharing space with a stranger instead of the man she loved.

being the number 2 hero weighed on him, and she knew that much. the constant pressure, the relentless expectations—it had him on edge. but still, that didn’t make it any easier for her to watch him shut her out, day after day, without so much as an explanation.

one evening, y/n had finally had enough. she found him in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, eyes focused on some distant point. she stormed over, her voice tense as she spat, “what the hell is your problem, keigo?”

his eyes narrowed, but he didn’t answer. that only made her blood boil more. “seriously, this is getting old. if you’ve got something to say, then say it. stop acting like a complete jerk.”

he finally met her gaze, his eyes hard and unrecognizable. “maybe you should just leave it alone. i’m dealing with a lot of crap that you wouldn’t understand.”

she let out a humorless laugh, shaking her head. “oh, so that’s it? you just get to walk around, treating me like crap, and i’m supposed to act like it’s fine? newsflash, kei, i’m not putting up with this. you’re not the only one who’s got things to deal with.”

they stood there, glaring at each other in silence, until he muttered something under his breath and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. the sound echoed through the empty space, leaving her standing there, fists clenched, anger and hurt simmering under her skin.

---

later that night, y/n heard the door creak open. she was still awake, curled up on the couch with her arms wrapped around her knees, staring into the dark. she didn’t look up as he walked in, but she could feel his presence fill the room, heavy with the weight of his regret.

hawks stepped closer, his movements slow and tentative, like he was afraid to get too close. when she finally glanced up, she saw his eyes, red-rimmed and glassy, like he’d been holding back tears. he hesitated, hovering a moment before sitting down beside her. he looked down, his hands fidgeting in his lap, as if he wasn’t sure he deserved to touch her. after a long silence, he let out a shaky breath, his voice barely more than a whisper. “i’m sorry,” he began, each word thick with emotion. “i shouldn’t have treated you that way. it’s just… it’s been rough. all this pressure, all these expectations, they’re eating away at me. but that doesn’t make it right. i took it out on you, and i hate that i did.”

he glanced over at her, his eyes searching hers, hoping for a sign that she could forgive him. slowly, he reached out, his hand closing gently around hers. “i don’t want you to think that’s who i am or who i want to be with you.” he moved closer, his gaze softening, filled with remorse. his other hand came up to brush a tear from her cheek, his touch so tender it nearly broke her heart. then, he leaned in, pressing his lips softly against hers.

the kiss was hesitant at first, a silent apology, his lips moving slowly, as though he feared she might pull away. but as he felt her respond, he deepened the kiss, his hands trembling as he held her close. he broke away just long enough to whisper, “i’m sorry,” the words spilling from him over and over again, a quiet mantra of regret and longing. “i’m so, so sorry…”

she felt the tension between them melt away, and her arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer. his lips found hers again, and the kiss grew more intense, a desperate attempt to bridge the distance that had come between them. his hands cradled her face, his thumbs tracing gentle circles along her skin, as if he was trying to memorize every detail, every curve.

he held her like he never wanted to let go, his touch tender but fierce, his kisses a blend of need and apology. with each soft, murmured “i’m sorry,” he poured out all the words he couldn’t seem to say, hoping she could feel how deeply he regretted the hurt he’d caused. and as they stayed there, wrapped up in each other, it felt like the pain was finally fading, leaving only the warmth of his embrace and the quiet promise that he would try to do better.

hawks pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, his breathing ragged, his gaze clouded with an intensity that was impossible to ignore. he cupped her face, his hands trembling slightly as he held her close, his voice a rough whisper laced with desperation.

“i need you, y/n,” he muttered, frustration thick in his tone. “god, you have no idea how much i missed you… your touch, your warmth. it’s been driving me crazy.” his hands slid down to grip her waist, pulling her flush against him, as if he couldn’t stand the thought of any space between them. “these past few days… i thought i could just push through it alone, but i can’t. i need you.”

his lips crashed against hers, the kiss rough and hungry, filled with the pent-up longing he’d tried so hard to ignore. his hands moved over her body, desperate to feel every inch of her, like he was trying to make up for all the time he’d lost. he kissed her with an urgency, almost frantic, his fingers pressing into her skin as if grounding himself, anchoring himself back to her.

“i’m sorry for shutting you out,” he whispered hoarsely between kisses, his voice thick with emotion. “i missed you so damn much, y/n. i don’t ever want to feel like that again, like i’m just drifting without you. you’re all i need.” his lips traveled down her neck, his touch rougher, more desperate, as if he was trying to make sure she understood just how badly he needed her.

“you have no idea what it’s like,” he said, voice strained, his words spilling out in a low, frustrated growl. “i can’t take it. i need you like this, close to me. i need you, now.” he pulled her back into another kiss, fierce and passionate, his hands exploring every curve of her body as if he was trying to imprint her into his memory. his touch was needy, almost frantic, like he was trying to make up for every second he’d spent apart from her, and he held her like he never wanted to let go again.

y/n pulled away, muttering something underneath her breath before pulling a string from his sweatpants, loosening the waistband. she pulled it down in one motion, his breifs coming down with it as well. his length was hardening with every second that passed, making him glance over to look at her. her hands gently gripped his erection and hawks let out a soft moan.

the arousal that was already leaking down his length gave her enough slip to begin slow stroking motions. "f-fuck. please don't tease, pretty. I've been waiting so long already." he muttered, his head leaning back against the couch. "i should for payback."

"i said that i was sorry."

y/n's grip around him tightened and her stroking movements sped up immediately. "don't do it again, kei." she frowned, a small pout on her lips. "i wont, pretty. i promise." his voice sounded strained. he was trying to speak properly, but y/n's hand alone was driving him insane.

it'd been well over a few weeks since he got anything close to this kind of affection with y/n, so now that he's gotten this despite it not being much, it was still enough for the time being. "can you use your mouth?" he asked, pleading eyes with dilated pupils staring directly at y/n. she held his gaze, in thought as she contemplated what to do.

"please? i wanna feel you."

"i'm still mad at you." she huffed before shifting in her seat. "i know, beautiful. I'll make it up to you i swear." hawks' voice sounded like pure vulnerability and so did his body language. he was tense in y/n's her hold, but he allowed the entirety of himself to remain on display for y/n’s eyes.

"promise?" she questioned. hawks knew that she was only trying to drag it out, but instead of calling it out, he remained 'oblivious'. "mhm." he nodded, another moan escaping from his throat.

y/n moved back just a bit before leaning down. her tongue ran a strip over the tip of his length. a shaky moan was heard from him and he bit down on his bottom lip when her lips wrapped around him completely, her hand still around the base. his breathing went in and out with sharp breaths through his nose and his hands wrapped around y/n's as he aided her to fit a pace more comfortable them both.

the sounds that filled the room was nothing short of lewd. y/n's occasional moans around his length, hawks trying to hold back, but the pleasure being overwhelming, and the quiet sounds of her gags when she'd take too much of his length in.

the saliva and arousal leaking down their hands and his painful erection. when hawks decided to take a glance at the sight after having his eyes shut tightly, he couldn't fight the shiver that ran through his body. "this is so pathetic." he groaned, feeling that familiar sensation approach.

y/n looked at him, a questioning look in her eyes. "close." was all he said with a look of embarrassment on his features. y/n was taken aback by this. her boyfriend was never the type to not be able to hold out for long periods of the time, so she could understand why he'd feel embarrassed about it now. "it's been so long that even if you stared at me long enough, i could probably get off too."

y/n attempted to hold back a laugh, but the vibration made hawks tighten his hand around y/n's, forcing her grip to be firm. "can you take more of me? just for a minute? you've done it before. " he pleaded. y/n pulled her mouth off of him, heavy pants falling from her breath. "you don't even deserve this much." she rolled her eyes, trying to ignore the small smirk on his lips.

"i'll do whatever you ask of me later, pretty."

"anything?"

"anything. i have all night."

with another wary look, she let out a huff. "okay, fine. jeez, i need to learn how to tell you no. you're so spoiled."

hawks leaned down, tilting her chin up and placing a kiss to her lips, a string of his arousal connecting them when he pulled back. "who's fault is that?" with a groan of annoyance, she leaned back down, taking him in whole. y/n shut her eyes, trying not to focus on the fact that the tip of his length met with the very back of her throat. hawks drew in a sharp breath, his breathing quickening in just seconds

"please dont stop." he moaned, hand gently cupping y/n's nape as she lifted her head before taking him in once again. the warmth of her mouth was all too familiar yet he couldn't get used to it even if he tried. y/n tightly shut her eyes when she gagged around his length and hawks felt a bit of pity for her but his selfishness didn't want her to stop. afterall, he was so close.

his climax approached when the tip of y/n's nose met his abdomen. she held that position for a few long seconds and in no time, his high rushed throughout his being. ribbons of white coated the inside of her mouth as she collected every drop of his arousal.

y/n stood up, holding the warm liquid behind her lips, watching as hawks's gaze fluttered open. "what is it?" he asked. y/n rolled her eyes since she couldn't talk. hawks squinted his eyes at her when she shifted to straddle his thighs. she pointed at his lips and then her own. "you want a kiss?" he lifted a brow.

she nodded and he was about to retaliate until y/n glared at him. he knew her all to well which is why he could almost curse himself when he remembered his words from earlier. he let out a long sigh. "anything." he muttered, rolling his eyes as he quoted himself.

"you better forgive me after this."

she rolled her eyes, a smile on her lips when she placed them against his. her lips parted and her tongue traced his. his arousal fell onto his own tongue and he wrapped her lips with his, the taste of his arousal coating his tongue. y/n let out a small laugh into his mouth before pulling back. "you're forgiven." she smiled, watching as he wiped his lips with the back of his hand.

"that was by far the most disgusting thing I've done." he muttered, reaching up to y/n to wipe away at the corner of her lips with his thumb. "guess that makes you a weirdo for enjoying it." she smiled, glancing down at his erection that was growing once again.

"fuck off."

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yallternitive · 15 days ago

Text

Kerosene

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: physical, emotional abuse from a past relationship. If this triggers you, read at your own risk.

Summary: Your work for freshman congressman Bucky Barnes as his secretary. You’ve always kept to yourself, to the degree of making Mr. Barnes suspicious.

Work had started like any old day. Grabbed your coffee at the local coffee shop just down the street from your bosses office. While there, you picked up one for him too, though he never asked for one, he always appreciated it. Today they also had a new plum blueberry pastry they were trying out, so you bought two of those. One for you, one for your him.

It was a quiet morning, but that never stopped you from looking over your shoulder, you could never be too careful.

Making your way into your office, you were early. Lights still off and window blinds still drawn shut. You flicked on all the lights and opened the blinds, it was partly cloudy with a 50% chance of rain. You almost hoped it did.

“You’re early today, (Y/N).” You nearly jump out of your definitelytootall stilettos, turning to look at the one responsible for scaring the wits out of you. So much for always looking over your shoulder.

“Mr. Barnes! You nearly made me spill my coffee!” He just smiles softly, walking up to take both cups from you and placing them on the table.

“Good thing yours was cold then.” You just roll your eyes. “And how many times do I have to tell you to call me Bucky.” You hold your hands up in surrender.

“Sorry, Bucky. Never had a superior tell me to call them their government name let alone a nickname.” You smile softly while making eye contact.

“I understand, but don’t call me your superior. Makes me feel gross….and old.” He takes a seat at his desk and takes a sip of his coffee, noticing the pastry placed neatly on his desk, something you had managed to do before he scared the crap out of you. “What’s this?” He asks, looking at it like it might be poison. You chuckle and take a bite of yours.

“I got it for you today at the coffee shop. It was something new they were trying and I thought it both looked and smelled delicious. Plum and blueberry. I hope they add it to their permanent menu.” He raises an eyebrow and takes a decent bite out of it. His eyes nearly roll into the back of his head.

“I’m not usually one for sweets, but this is delicious.” He takes another bite before a sip of his coffee. “Thank you, (Y/N). You always know how to take care of me. Truly I don’t know what I’d do without you.” He smiles and you just laugh.

“Probably starve.” He shakes his head with a smirk.

“I know how to eat when I’m hungry.”

“Right, not like you haven’t been hungry for 8 hours at that point, cranky and blood sugar plummeting, old man.” The way he looks at you has you slightly concerned you’ve gone too far. You’ve worked with Bucky for a year now and have always had sweet playful banter back and forth. Every time you think you go too far he always makes you laugh.

“Damn, doll. Sounds like you didn’t just wake up on the wrong side of the bed you plum fell off of it.” You roll your eyes and just laugh.

“I’m kidding I’m kidding. We have a big day today, quite a few meetings and hearings happening in the next few days.” He sits at his desk and sighs, very much looking like he doesn’t even know where to begin. He usually didn’t, but that’s what he has a secretary for. You always kept him on track.

***

A few days had passed.

To say you were afraid to leave the house would be an understatement.

You’d left home in Louisiana about a year and a half ago, the only place that seemed safe enough to go at that moment was DC, you had family there but unfortunately you should have known that would have been the first place he would have looked. You started looking for a place to work, hoping for a place that would be able to help you should you ever need it. A “shoot first ask questions later” type of place. Police department, fire station, anything to make him question if you were even worth it anymore.

You settled for a government building, but you could have never had guess just how lucky you’d get. To work with the one and only Winter Soldier. An Avenger in his own right. You knew you’d have to tell him someday. You just hoped it would be because many years had passed and you didn’t fear for your safety anymore. You never wanted it to be because you were in danger.

“Doll?”

You nearly jump out of your skin, after having been frantically pressing the ‘up’ on the elevator button repeatedly. You knew immediately it was Bucky, no one ever called you ‘doll’ before, it was only ever him. And it seemed to be a nickname he reserved only for you.

You adjusted your sunglasses, pressing them tight against your nose.

“Oh-Bu-Bucky. You scared me.” You chuckled nervously, looking down.

That wasn’t you. No quick retort. No sly roll of the eye. Not that adorable side smirk he lived for, secretly of course.

Bucky’s face drops. His position becomes erect. His eyes sharpen, you swear he just grew about 2 inches in height.

“What’s wrong?” He asks intensely, staring down into your soul you know you couldn’t lie to him if you tried.

“I-I’m scared.” You whimper, just as the elevator door behind you dings. Bucky reaches out and gently places his hands on your shoulders, walking you backwards and stepping into the elevator himself. He pressed the button ‘5’ without even turning look at the wall, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Tell me what happened. Who did this to you.” His breath smells like mint and tobacco, it’s a comforting element.

“Bucky I…I ran away from home. My fiancé…he, he used to abuse me. I-I couldn’t take it anymore. He was gonna kill me. I-I left and came to the only place I could think of. My-my aunt and cousins live here and I-i didn’t even think that he’d look here first and I-I’m I’m so stupid I should have kno-“

“Shhh doll. Hey. Come on now. Don’t say that. You are not stupid. You are never stupid. You did it. You got out. You found me. I will never. NEVER let anyone lay their hand on you again. I swear to you. I will protect you.” He cups your face and lets you fall into him, sobbing uncontrollably.

“It’s alright Doll, hey sweetheart you’re alright. I’m here. We’ll get you sorted out. You can come live with me until you are safe. I promise.”

You have Bucky everything he’d need to find your ex, also named James.

“Of course he is.” He rolls his eyes.

“You’re Bucky. I’ve never looked at you and saw him. Your name doesn’t scare me.” He smiles and tucks your hair behind your ear.

“I will spend my life protecting you.”

You knew this was going to be an interesting period of time, from coworkers to roommates. You knew James only had to show himself, and it wouldn’t take him long to reappear.

***

This will be a multi part series!

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #thunderbolts

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clairewritesfanfics · 25 days ago

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Villain Creation System Chapter 2

Pairing/s: Invincible x Reader x Invincible Variants

CHAPTER 1: Don't Mix Red Bull with Coffee | Series Masterlist <<read the synopsis and trigger warnings first>>

444 Alternate Universes Ago…

The instant you agreed to sell your soul, or rather, save it, you were teleported away from the site of your death and into a pure white space.

[Scanning Host’s memories…]

[Re-calibrating for comfort…]

There was a ding and the whiteness shifted into a gorgeous lobby with expensive wallpaper and a wooden floor. The place was green with all sorts of hanging and standing plants. One wall was just a giant floor-to-ceiling window pane framed by sheer curtains in your ideal color, behind the glass were trees as far as the eyes can see. In the middle of the room was a singular sofa, the one you always wanted but could never afford in life.

[To minimize damage to the Host’s mental health, the Main System instructed me to shape the Soulscape into your ideal space. I looked into your memories and recreated all the repeating trends you saved on your Pinterest board.]

“... you read my mind?”

[You sound upset. Rest assured, after you agreed to become my Host, we are now intimately intertwined. I have access to the deepest recesses of your mind.]

You did not appreciate the way it said “intimately” and you certainly did not like how casually it treated breaching your privacy.

[If you are scared about my knowing the memories that your kind deems “shameful” or “embarrassing” then do not be afraid; we systems do not care about such unimportant things.]

“Just… stop.” You walked over to the window. You could see a mountain range from this point. It looked like you were in a mountain lodge.

[Ah, I might as well tell you, but we are in a pocket dimension that’s been limited to simulate your ideal space for working and thinking. If you were to leave this area, which you can’t, you will not find trees.]

“I get it.” You put your hand on the glass. “Outside of this room there’s only that white void.”

[Ding. Host is correct. You’re not as dumb as I thought.]

You ignored its unintentional jab and took a seat on the sofa. If you were alive you might have fallen straight to sleep with its welcoming softness, but because you didn’t have a physical form you felt awake, vigorous. You’ve never felt this… lack of fatigue when you were alive.

“Let’s get this over with.”

[You’re lucky, Host, compared to other systems the demands for our contract is easy.]

A holographic display flashed before you to reveal a few animated clips of Invincible.

You knew that the show was about a superhero named “Invincible” and his dad was a piece of crap who ran his face through a train full of civilians, and you did see a couple of short clips online, but that was it. Surface level stuff. The series skyrocketed into mainstream popularity during the pandemic but you didn’t get the chance to join the bandwagon before you died.

You had a lot of questions. Not just about the show or the system, but the whole “Is there a God?” and “Do our choices even matter?” package. But you were in no mood to be insulted again so you decided to keep such questions to yourself.

[For each mission world that you enter, you have but one simple task: break that universe’s Mark Grayson to the point of villainy.]

The screen paused and zoomed in on a bloodied Invincible, his right eye was swollen and his hero suit was torn.

The system then played a clapping noise. [Easy, no? Other systems usually have their contractors move into the body of pre-existing characters so those people need to maintain their character settings within 80% or risk getting too OOC and hurting the fabric of reality.]

“Wait a minute, what are the parameters for villainy?” You threw an accusing finger at the screen, not at Mark but at the system. “The task is too vague, how will I know that he is villainous enough for me to move on to the next world? Morality is relative.”

[Host is sharp. Are you perhaps afraid that we’re tricking you?]

Your eyebrow twitched.

The screen showed what appeared to be a health bar, but instead of red or green, it was black. Above it was the word “DARKENING.”

[This bar measures what we consider the corruption of one’s soul. No tricks or whatever.]

“How do I know what counts as corruption?”

[Unfortunately, detailing what constitutes as “corruption” itself is far beyond my capabilities, but luckily for you, you don’t need to know that. Just understand that as long as the bar reaches 100% the mission will be considered successful.]

“Fine,” you capitulated. “Do I get a cheat or a skill? A lot of isekai mangas and webnovels have that.”

[This is not fiction, Host.]

It paused.

[But yes, you do have access to cheat items.]

There was a ding and the screen showed you a digital store with a search bar and a shopping cart.

[You don’t have any currency at the moment, but a successful mission will give you reward points that you can spend.]

You browsed the products: “The Little Mermaid’s Voice in a Bottle. One sip and you can make any man, woman, or sea creature do your bidding!” for 25000 points.

“White Moonlight, Untainted. Look ethereal even as you wither away from a terminal illness and become a beautiful memory that haunts his dreams with this perfume!” for 22000 points.

“It’s Alive! Imbue sentience to anything, from a churro to a stuffed toy with this ray gun! (disclaimer: the system is not responsible for any vengeful, murderous object that you cursed with thought)” for 50000.

Every product felt like one sick joke after another.

“Is the amount of reward points constant for every mission?”

[No, your reward points will be proportional to your grade, which will be proportional to the difficulty of the mission world.]

You got it. Just because they were all Mark Grayson didn’t guarantee that they were the same. Not just them, the settings could be unlike your Earth but dystopian, the “stories” may not even take place on Earth.

“Does using system cheats affect my grade? How am I graded? And how many worlds before I can get my life back?”

[To answer the Host: no, using cheats is irrelevant so long as you do your job successfully.]

[As for the grading criteria, it all depends on the Host’s performance in each world. Please direct your attention to the screen.] The light monitor displayed the criteria.

[The grades you can achieve by doing your mission are listed from lowest to highest: C, B, A and S. You must achieve a hundred S-graded missions in order to return to your original world, or the equivalent of a hundred S grades, like a thousand A’s.]

“But you just said I only have one task, to darken Mark Grayson, with zero other requirements, shouldn’t I be on a pass or fail grading system?”

[Spoken like a true nerd–]

You wondered if it was possible to physically choke this thing.

[Ahem.]

[According to the Main System, a pass or fail grading scheme is too harsh.]

“Then what is the breakdown for my grades? What is the percentage–”

[Geez. I was bred for helping lost souls but you are loquacious for someone who just died.]

“Sorry, am I annoying you?” You crossed your arms. “My life is on the line here.”

The system sighed, actually sighed. You didn’t think you would ever be on the receiving end of a sigh from a night-omniscient, maybe-divine, maybe-demonic artificial intelligence.

[Don’t sweat the small stuff, Host.]

You swallowed the lump of irritation in your throat and inquired, “Do I get access to the plots of these worlds?”

[That’s a negative. Depending on the world, we may be able to provide a brief overview, but we can’t provide you minute details or predict the future.]

“But these universes aren’t even real, right? Surely–”

[Host, with each work of fiction, there will be fanfiction and fan arts made. For every piece of fan content that is created, a branch of the universe is created, and from each branch blooms a new world. Think of a copy of a copy of a copy, ad infinitum, some so close to each other that they’re almost impossible to tell apart, others so fantastically different from the original that you can tell immediately, but even those that differ from the original are bound to have produced branches of their own. Sorting these parallel dimensions would be too troublesome.]

You massaged your temples. “Okay, I think I understand.” Basically, knowing the future is useless because you wouldn’t know that it is the future, but a future.

“But why do you want to turn these Mark Graysons into villains? Shouldn’t they be evil already?”

[A lot of these Marks were created simultaneously by fans, some with care, some without thought about how they became the way that they are. These Marks had to come from somewhere. But they were created by humans, who are finite creatures, so the laws established within these realities are often arbitrary. The World Consciousness, that is, the force that keeps each alternative universe from collapsing, will compensate for the missing puzzle pieces. But its work is not without flaws. It’s a machine working on a set of preprogrammed commands, so it is bound to have missed something or encounter a situation that was not included in its original instructions, resulting in imperfect solutions. Your world does not have this problem, because it was created by an infinite, all-knowing being.]

“That… sounds like a lot of work.”

[It is.]

“So why bother?”

The system replied cheerfully: [Because it is our job.]

You groaned inwardly. Guess this was your life now.

“Okay.” You exhaled, patting your cheeks. “Okay, I can do this.”

[Does Host have any further questions?]

“Shouldn’t I at least know the main timeline’s plot?”

[Ding. Request denied.]

“What?!”

[Host, I told you, a lot of the parallel universes are eerily similar to each other, and these universes are almost exact replicas of the main one. There is a reason why humans are not given the ability to see the future. If you could then the fear of making the wrong choice can cripple you to the point of uselessness.]

“So you want me to go in blind? In a world of supers and villains that cut through normies like they’re veggies?”

[It is the will of the Main System. But I did receive authorization to provide minor details should they help.]

“...”

[...]

“Fine.”

[Does Host have any further questions?]

“None at the moment.”

[Ding. Then prepare for transmigration. Be not afraid for this system shall accompany you every step of the way.]

“Oh, goodie.”

[Communicating with World Consciousness…]

[Gestating…Creating Host’s backstory…]

[Synchronizing soul with puppet…]

[Initiating transfer ... 1%, 43% ... ]

You were lulled to unconsciousness. Your soul ebbed into the stream of time and space. For a while you felt… almost free. Weightless as you were carried by the Main System through various dimensions.

[... 98%, 99% ... Transfer complete.]

[Ding. Invincible Alternative Universe No. 1 welcomes you. World Difficulty: Tutorial Level.]

[Happy darkening, Host!]

When you came to, the feeling of weightlessness was gone, replaced by the familiar ache in your back and shoulders and heaviness under your eyes. You observed the environment. You were in a university. Even without the system providing you details, the giant, imposing buildings and wandering undead young adults were a dead give away.

You lifted your hands. They were exactly like the ones your old body–your real body–had. The fingernails cut too short, the calloused pads, the climbing veins too visible under the thin skin.

You touched your face. Same nose. Same contours.

“I’m actually here,” you muttered, still processing. It wasn’t just because you were in a new reality, it was because of the unfamiliar memories–

While you were being transferred to this body, memories of your life here poured into your mind seamlessly.

You were Mark Grayson’s next door neighbor and childhood friend, but when you turned twelve your family had to move countries. But now you were back in town and starting college.

It was scary how they fit so well into your head.

[Don’t worry, Host, in a way, you have achieved enlightenment. You are aware of the so-called fourth wall. You don’t have to fear losing yourself to these false memories.]

You stared at your hand, opening and closing it. “Let’s hope so.”

You turned your attention to your surroundings. “What now?”

[For now, may I suggest you start walking to class? You don’t want to be late.]

***

The good news was that the you of this universe was also pre-med. Even better news was that you had a philosophy elective, which wasn’t an option when you were in college.

Your professor was a stocky built middle-aged man who wore a tweed sweater and thick black spectacles.

He stood behind a podium and spoke in that unique way only intellectuals seemed to speak. For a fictional character, he was an excellent lecturer. You didn’t take notes. You couldn’t, you were too busy debating with him.

“You’re saying that you would choose to sacrifice five people for one person?” He asked.

“No, I’m saying that the choice is not that easy–”

“Of course not, that’s the entire dilemma.” The whole class laughed.

You didn’t back down. “What I mean is that we’re so intent on choosing between the needs of the many and that of the few that are presently in front of us, that we forget that the trolley problem was created to demonstrate that a utilitarian view is not applicable to mortals.”

“Explain.”

“Well, we are given the options with so little information. We are forced to make life or death decisions under the assumption that we know everything. What if the one person we decided to sacrifice was a super genius who could cure cancer? What if the five people we decided to save were terrorists or robbers or murderers? The problem shows that we cannot make a decision based purely on the outcome because as humans, we are incapable of knowing everything.”

The professor was grinning. “Excellent point.”

The bell rang.

He sighed. “Sadly, that’s it for today’s lectures. I hope the next class will have another enthusiastic debate, and not just with one person. I already uploaded the reading materials for the next session. Please do not neglect them.”

You packed your untouched notebook and unused pen.

“You still use actual paper for taking notes?”

That voice. No way–

[The target, Mark Grayson, is here.]

Your memories of him were foggy, as are most childhood memories.

He was taller than you remembered. His limbs were less lanky now, too. His shoulders were broad and his arms bulged against his quarter sleeves.

Gone was the graceless boy who used to cry when he tripped playing tag.

Standing before you now was a young man who exuded confidence.

[Ding. Affection: 5%. Darkening: 3%.]

[Ding. Affection: 5.1%. Darkening: 3%.]

You were so confused, until he chuckled and you realized that you’ve been staring, way more than what was socially acceptable.

Willing your attention back to your things, you explained, “Writing makes it easier, but I digitize my notes at home.”

[Affection: 5.2%. Darkening: 3%.]

“That so…” He purred, reaching over to play with the hamburger keychain hanging from your bag. “I’ve never seen anyone talk that passionately with Professor Harper. Did you just start attending classes?”

“Um. No?” You started the semester at the same time as everyone else.

“That’s weird, cause there’s no way I wouldn’t have noticed a pretty thing like you.”

“...are you hitting on me?”

His smile hardened, surprised, then he snorted. Then he laughed. “Wow, you’re cute.”

[Affection: 5.3%. Darkening: 3%.]

Hold on.

“Wait. You don’t remember me, do you?”

This time his grin left his face completely. “Ah, crap. Did we already–”

“Mark, it’s me.”

“...”

Total blank.

He tilted his head, thinking. Then he snapped his fingers. “Amber’s party?”

Silence.

“No? Was it at the freshman orientation? Was it prom? Jesus, that was so long ago–I mean, uh…”

[Affection: 5%. Darkening: 3%.]

You shouldn’t feel offended, after all, it’s not like he was your friend, and yet you could not stop the frustration that swarmed you.

You pressed a finger to his chest and told him your name.

For a second, you thought that jogged his memory, but no, he simply raised his palms in the air in surrender. “Sorry, I don’t usually remember a lot of my flings. Nothing personal, I swear.”

Your logic quickly overrode your petty feelings and you pulled back. “Right. Nevermind.”

[Affection: 4.9%. Darkening: 3%.]

Jerk.

[Host, an orifice he may be, he is still your ticket to a happy life.]

“You don’t have to remind me,” you huffed.

“What’s that?”

“Nothing.” You grabbed the straps of your bag and breathed. You then glanced back at him and asked, “Wanna grab an early lunch?”

Mark fell quiet. So did the system.

Through your mind, you directly communicated with the system, Did I do something wrong?

[You have the eyes of a dead fish.]

It stopped.

Then it added: [And you sounded like someone who crossed paths with an acquaintance and politely asked them how was their day even though you don’t care but you had to because they definitely saw you and it would be weird to just walk away.]

Well. Crap.

As you scrambled for a backup plan, Mark laughed again.

[Affection: 5.5%. Darkening: 3%.]

“Sure, I could eat.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously. I know a good burger place.”

“Just so you know, I’m not paying.”

He chuckled.

The restaurant was called Burger Mart, and he wasn’t joking when he said the place served good burgers–actually, that adjective undermines how amazing they are.

The bun was soft and fluffy. There was no trace of the usual cheap American cheese that felt like plastic on your tongue but actual, melt-in-your mouth cheese. The lettuce was crispy and the tomato super tangy. And the meat patty? Thick and juicy and perfectly seasoned.

Mark watched, half-horrified, half-impressed, as you chomped down your second ultra deluxe cheeseburger. He was barely done with his. He wasn’t trying to be judgmental, but the burger was comically huge. He didn’t expect you to finish half, let alone order another round.

“You sure like burgers…”

You dipped a fry in your sundae and then put it in the burger. “I always celebrate finishing an exam with lots of carbs.”

“Exams?”

Oh.

You cleared your throat. “I mean, a successful debate.”

“You were really cool back there.”

“You don’t have to make fun of me.”

“I mean it though.”

You snuck a glimpse of him from the corner of your eye. For the first time since you two interacted, he looked serious.

“Eh.” It was a basic thing to discuss in a first year philosophy class, nothing worthy of compliments. That being said, you enjoyed when the professor praised you. Who doesn’t like praise?

“You still didn’t make it clear whether you would choose one person or five people, though.”

Your jaws worked overtime as you tried to argue.

He interrupted you, “Don’t tell me that ‘that’s not the point.’”

He then leaned on his elbows. “No omniscience, no extra information. If you were put in a scenario where you have to choose between one person’s life or five other lives, I wanna know which would you choose?”

You slowed your chewing and tilted your head.

You then answered, “I would choose the option that lets me save everyone.”

He snorted. “There is no third option.”

“Then I’ll make one.”

His eyes widened, then he grinned sardonically and reclined into the vinyl cushion. “That’s optimistic.”

You wish.

“Nah. It’s more like…” You didn’t want that blood on your hands and be blamed. “I’m a coward who hates confrontation.”

He glanced at the window, then his chin dipped with a chuckle.

[Affection: 7%. Darkening: 3%.]

You didn’t know what happened. But you were eating a burger and no one has attacked you so you were going to consider this a win.

After you finished the last of your fries, Mark offered to walk you to your dorm, which was sweet, you had to admit. However, his smart watch beeped.

His face scrunched up with irritation.

You saved him the trouble of coming up with a lie. “That looks important.” You then told him you’d be fine on your own and watched as he reluctantly left you alone in front of Burger Mart.

“Now that he’s gone, mind telling me what that affection meter is all about?”

[It’s exactly what you think it is. It measures the target’s affection for you, in this case, it’s specific to romantic affection.]

“You said there were no other requirements.”

[This is not a requirement, more like a … necessity, to ensure both your survival here and to improve your ability to increase his darkness.]

You stared at the two bars. One was pink, the other was black.

[Throughout history and fiction, humans have become victims and instigators for the name of love. And Mark Grayson may be a superman who can fly and survive the vacuum of space and punch through cement, but he is just a man.]

You hate to say it, but you understand.

author's note: gee, i wonder which mark is this?

@weponxwrites

CHAPTER 3: When In Doubt, Do Your Research | Series Masterlist

MASTERLIST | request rules | ask box

#reader #y/n #invincible #imagines #mark grayson #angst #mark grayson x reader #invincible x reader #isekai #invincible x y/n #quick transmigration #world hopping #civilian reader #sort of #invincible variants #multi chapter #system #system cheats

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marvelwitchergilmore · 19 days ago

Text

Tower Chaos

Summary: Bucky Barnes x fe!Reader -> You have had feelings for Bucky for a long time. Yelena finally questions you about it.

Disclaimer: Spoilers for Thunderbolts. Kinda Tower fanfic, reader helps Bucky when he's hurt, established relation/friendships with characters, YelenaBob pairing, found family chaos, yelling in Russian, mentions of injuries and cuts, happy ending. Not Proof Read.

You sighed. They never had your favourite ice cream flavour. You’d think being a regular customer, who regularly asks for your regular favourite ice cream, they would keep it stocked.

But no. So, reaching for your second favourite, you threw it into your basket and continued shopping.

Five minutes later, you were being handed a plain plastic bag and your change.

“Have a nice night,” you called as you left the store.

Usually, you’d have your headphones in, playing whatever playlist Joaquin had mashed together from your work laptop before you could stop him. Some songs were good, others not so much.

But since they’d died before you’d stepped a foot out of your apartment, you’d left them behind.

The emergency ice cream run was too important.

However, it was as you were walking back to your apartment you started to hear noises. Grunting, mostly. And it was one you seemed to recognise.

Down the alleyway, Bucky tried to catch his breath. All he’d tried to do was help, but instead he’d gotten the crap beat out of him. Just because he was a super soldier didn’t mean he didn’t bleed.

Yet, as his body slumped to the floor, he saw a shadow cast over him. And just for a moment, he accepted what might come next. A death? A kidnapping? A ransom note? More beatings?

That was when he got a shock to his chest.

“Come on,” you sighed, hoisting him up. “Suppose you’re coming with me.”

“Y/n?”

Bucky had to be dreaming. Was he already dead?

“Well done. I see the old-man eyesight hasn’t kicked in yet.”

Bucky just grunted and tried his best to walk on his own, inevitably leaning on you for support.

Once you’d gotten him through the door to your apartment, you helped him onto the sofa.

“Don’t go anywhere.”

As Bucky held his side, trying to make himself a little more comfortable in his seat, you walked behind him and towards the kitchen.

Pulling the freezer door open, you placed the plastic bag from the store inside and shut it in. you moved across the kitchen and grabbed your first aid kit from under the sink and eventually found yourself kneeling on the floor besides Bucky’s legs.

“How did you find me?” Bucky asked you as you ripped some packaging open and shook the ice pack.

You pressed it into his side. “I was getting supplies.”

“Medical?”

“Ice cream,” you told him. He held onto the pack as you moved back to the kit to grab something else. “So, do you wanna tell me what happened? Or am I gonna have to guess?”

“I didn’t plan on it.”

“Nobody plans on getting hurt, Bucky.”

He looked at you, but you didn’t look at him. Your focus remained on the cut on his arm as you cleaned it.

“Why didn’t you just come to me?” You asked him, eventually. He’d gotten hurt a few hours before, but thought he could walk it off.

Bucky’s voice was quiet when he spoke. “Didn’t think you’d want to see me.”

For a moment, your eyes flicked to his face before going back to the second cut you were gluing shut. “We had a fight, Bucky. Doesn’t mean I want to see you get hurt.”

Bucky sighed a little before he looked around your apartment. There seemed to be more stuff on your shelves than usual. Books and pictures that were usually kept in your office at the Compound.

“Why aren’t you staying with Sam and the others?”

You were avoiding his gaze; he knew that much. “We’re, uh, we’re not really talking right now.”

The small bottle rattled against the other items in your kit as you threw it inside. Bucky leaned forward as you sat back on your heels.

He just looked worried and concerned. “Why?”

You gave a short sigh. “Because I stuck up for you, and now he thinks I’ve chosen a side. There are no sides to this, Buck. You, Yelena, and the others. You saved people that day. That deserves to be recognised. But none of you even had a choice.”

It felt like the battle had been going on forever. When the woman you’d come to know as ‘Val’ had introduced the world to ‘The New Avengers’, you’d taken one look at their faces on the screen.

They hadn’t been expecting it.

And your thoughts were confirmed as much when you called Bucky a few hours later to check in on him and the others.

However, Sam hadn’t been as composed. He’d been asked by the President himself to start up a new team of Avengers. And, somehow, six people the country had seen as enemies of the State were suddenly being introduced to the world as the very people who should be trusted with civilian lives.

The rift had started immediately.

And you’d been stuck in between ever since.

“Again,” Bucky added, solemnly.

Even before you’d met Bucky, you already knew enough of his past to know not much of who he was in the modern world had been consensual.

You reached out and squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry Sam doesn’t see that. But he will.”

Bucky nodded for a moment, squeezing back. “I know. Do you…want to come and stay with us for a while? I know Yelena misses you.”

You smiled, if a little sadly, for a moment. Yelena had been your best friend – once she stopped trying to kill Clint.

And for a moment, you nodded your head. Only to then shake it. “It’s probably best that I don’t. But I wouldn’t mind coming to dinner once in a while.”

Bucky smiled a soft smile. He missed you, too. “We’d like that.”

Three days later, you arrived inside the Tower.

It was mostly open plan, with grey, black and gold. Every once in a while, there was a hint of red.

Surprisingly, you’d been let through immediately.

Apparently, your name was on the security list.

And so began the steady elevator climb to the top penthouse.

Once the doors pinged open, you stepped out. And for a while, no one was there. You knew you were early, but an hour before, something in your gut told you they needed your help.

“Hi,” a soft voice said somewhere beside you.

Eight feet from where you were standing was Bob; dressed in a purple sweater and a pair of jeans.

“Hi. I-I know I’m early but-”

That was when swear words erupted from the direction of the kitchen. Three pan crashes and two seconds later, Bucky emerged from the kitchen. John was following behind him as Alexei yelled something in Russian.

Bucky visibly relaxed. “Hey, you’re here.”

Before you could say anything, someone called your name from behind you.

Yelena was across the room, her Guinea Pig in her hands. For a moment, she’d stopped. Then she was rushing. Carefully placing him in his pen, Yelena dusted off her hands and ran towards you before hugging you, tightly.

You smiled and hugged her back.

Then she moved back, keeping her hands on you. “You’re early,” she said, a little surprised.

You looked around at the others. “I know-”

“Some might say it’s rude to be early.”

You gave a subtle glare to John. “But something told me you might need my help.”

You looked at Bucky and despite his smile and his nod, he seemed…tired. If a little scared.

“You couldn’t be more right.”

From having both hands on his hips, he reached out and took yours. Once you were standing beside him in the kitchen, you realised why.

“Oh.”

Two pots were overflowing with some kind of chilli…soup…mix. One pan had been burnt with, what you assumed was meant to be mashed potato and the rest…

“Oh my god,” Yelena practically threw her words up. “Dad!”

Ava appeared beside you. “We all drew straws for who got to cook tonight. Alexei won and nearly burnt our home down. Is that wine?”

You wondered what she meant until you realised you were still holding the bottle you brought. “Oh, yeah. Thought we could drink it with dinner.”

Your other hand was still in Bucky’s.

“We don’t usually let him cook because of, well, this.” Bucky breathed.

As Yelena moved across the kitchen, yelling at her dad and almost chasing him out of the kitchen whilst yelling in Russian, John leaned in.

“Can any of this be salvaged?”

“Should it be salvaged?” Bob asked, standing on the other side of you.

You remained quiet for a few minutes. Both because you were still registering the mess of the kitchen, but also because a plan was being drawn up in your head.

“Where’s your storage cupboard?”

Bucky nodded to the otherside of the kitchen. “Through there.”

“Come with me.”

Pulling him with you, you both managed to avoid slipping on whatever red-oil monstrosity was spilling onto the floor. On the way past, Bucky turned the heat down before the entire thing blew up.

“What are we looking for?”

You quickly gave Bucky a list as you reached and grabbed things. As he helped you, you popped your head back out into the kitchen.

“How quickly do you think you two can clean this up?”

John pointed at himself. “Us?”

“Yes, you. And Bob.”

“But- this is not a two man job.”

“Then ask Yelena and Ava for help.”

John groaned as you disappeared back into the storage space with Bucky.

Twenty minutes later, Alexei was apologising to you for not correctly making his…whatever he called it, dish properly.

“You’re forgiven, Alexei.”

“Thank you.”

What followed was an evening of…fun. For the first time in a long time, you saw each of them smile. Bucky, Yelena…hell, even John.

Yelena gave a small gasp. “You should stay for a movie. You can stay right?”

You hadn’t answered before she’d answered for you. “You’re staying. I’ll go and get Bob. It’s his turn to pick the movie.”

You chuckled softly as you watched Yelena run away and down the hall. You’d all long since finished your dinner. Bob had offered to wash up, but when Yelena had cut in and said Bucky had already volunteered, he’d walked away.

“She’s right, though.” Bucky said to you, a short moment after she left. “You could stay.”

You nodded, but once again, shook your head. As much as your heart wanted to stay, your head wouldn’t let you.

“I know. But I don’t…I don’t want the others thinking…”

For a moment, Bucky met your gaze. Then he lowered his head before he transferred the freshly clean plate onto the drying rack. “Yeah. You’re probably right.”

Two hours later, you were deadly asleep as you rested against Bucky.

Within twenty minutes of the movie coming on, the familiar soundtrack and feeling of Bucky beside you comforted you more than you knew you needed. You didn’t even try to fight it. You closed your eyes and leaned against him.

The next time you woke up, it was feeling his arms slip away from underneath your body.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m gonna stay on the sofa,” Bucky whispered in a low voice. From the way his scent was enveloping your senses, you could only assume you’d been placed in his bed.

You pouted a little, your eyebrows furrowing at the thought. “No, that’s…stupid. This is big enough for both of us. Come to bed.”

“Y/n-”

“Just come to bed. It’s not like we haven’t slept in the same bed before.”

It didn’t take much more convincing before Bucky was laying in bed beside you. Almost immediately, you moved closer to him under the covers until you’d placed his arm around you.

Bucky chuckled quietly. “Thought you said it was big enough for the both of us.”

“Shut up.”

Chuckling once more, Bucky fixed the bedding over both of you before leaning closer to you. There was no denying he got a better night’s sleep when he was lying beside you.

It was somewhere in semi darkness your phone started to ring, loudly.

With a groan, you turned over to search for your phone. Somewhere in the darkness, Bucky slurred the direction where he’d put your phone.

Reaching across to one of the night stands, you finally found your phone and answered before looking at the caller ID.

“Hello?”

“Are you okay? Joauqin said he tried texting but you didn’t answer.” Sam started. “I’ve found an old box in the storage room. Finally started clearing this place out-”

From just above you, Bucky mumbled, “Everything okay?”

You nodded, still tired. “It’s just-”

“Are you with Bucky?”

The air felt heavy as he asked. “Sam-”

The shift in his tone was instantaneous. “No, I see how it is. Look, I’ll let Joaquin know you’re busy.” And then, “Maybe it’s best you don’t come back to the Compound for a while.”

You tried to cut in but by the sounds of it, his mind was already made up. And if, without letting you explain, or knowing that you weren’t taking sides, he’d become certain in his decision…

All you said was, “Okay.”

As Sam hung up, you locked your phone; the click echoed around the room.

“Do you need to go?” Bucky asked, quietly. His arm was still around you.

“No,” you laid back down with Bucky. “No.”

Three weeks later, you decided to head to the Compound. As much as you’d ‘moved’ out, some of your stuff was still there. As you packed the last box into your car, you turned back and looked at the outhouse down the road.

Sam was still there. You knew he was; boxes were still being shuffled in and out.

Tearing open another dusty box filled with crap, Sam looked up to see you walking in his direction.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

You stopped just short of the door. “Came to see you.”

The cold was starting to settle in across New York and you’d dressed for it. Boots, jeans, hoodie under your jacket.

“Thought you’d be with the rest of your team.”

“They are my team,” you agreed before hearing Sam give a humming laugh as if to say, “I knew it. You did pick a side.”. “But so are you, Sam.”

You sighed, continuing to talk. “You’re all my family. They’re yours, too, Sam. Or are you gonna shut them out, as well?”

Sam looked up. “I’m not shutting them out.”

“You’re shutting everyone out,” you argued. “They didn’t have a choice, Sam.”

Pulling something from the box to move it towards the mini trash skip, he said, “They stayed. That was their choice.”

Again, you sighed. You averted your eyes from him for a moment to look around the outhouse. He was almost done. It was just the final unit of boxes.

Sam moved back over to the box. “Look, I appreciate you coming here. But I meant it when I said it’s best you don’t come round here.”

“Sam.” you looked at him.

“I get we’re all family, and nothing can truly change that. But…” Sam sighed. “As much as you love us all, you made your decision.”

You felt fire in your belly. “Hey, do not put this on me. That is not fair.”

“Do you love him?”

The fire got hotter.

“That’s got nothing to do with this-”

“Do you love him?” Sam repeated, practically spelling out each word.

“Yes,” you answered before you could think. “But that doesn’t change-”

“It does. You’re too emotionally involved-”

“Emotionally involved!? I get you can be a pain in my ass some days, Samuel. But being an actual ass has never been in your true nature. Deep down you know Bucky didn’t have a choice. Neither did Yelena, or Ava or the rest of their team. And once you’ve finally pulled your head from your ass, maybe you’ll just be able to admit that. This is not on them, and it most certainly is not on me.”

Sam could see the fury in your eyes. He could see the fire in your chest and the hurt in your heart. And he wished he could take it all back.

He’d been there to see you and Bucky grow feelings for each other. He’d been there to witness you both actively avoiding feelings because you both thought it was dangerous.

It was in that garage he realised, this time, he’d been the one in the wrong.

Of course you loved Bucky. But one thing you’d never done is go with your emotions when it came to something on this level.

But that still didn’t change the rift between him and Bucky. He doubted that it would.

“Y/n- I didn’t mean-”

“Yes, you did.” Your gaze was fixed on Sam. “And one day I’ll forgive you for being an ass, but right now…”

Part of you caved and you looked away. You rarely cried, but when you were angry and frustrated…your body betrayed you.

You managed to hold it in as you looked back at him. “Maybe you were right about me coming here. I’m gonna go.”

“Y/n-”

“Bye, Sam.”

Bucky didn’t see you until two days later. And you were still angry from your talk with Sam.

As he walked into the Tower, Bob lifted his head from his milkshake and book. “Y/n’s in the kitchen.”

He dropped his bag by the sofa. “She’s here?”

Bob nodded. “She brought food.”

He held up his milkshake before pointing towards the cup holders on the table. “She got you one, too.”

Picking his cup up on the way, he walked towards the kitchen, already having an idea of the image that was about to greet him. He could smell the lemon blondies from the living room.

The kitchen was mostly clean, which was his first sign. Whenever you did bake, the kitchen tended to be a wonderfully organised yet flour-sprinkled chaos.

When you were pissed, it was almost as neat as a pin.

His second sign was that it was quiet.

Whenever you were baking, there tended to be music or a show in the background. That was if you weren’t already on the phone to someone – specifically, Yelena.

His third sign was the amount of baking you’d done. Lemon blondies, blueberry muffins, chocolate cupcakes, frosting, flapjacks, cornflake cakes, raspberry and vanilla cakes, confetti cakes, protein muffins and many others. They were all stacked and piled in tupperware cases on one of the side counters, if they weren’t still in their pans cooling down.

His fourth sign was that you didn’t move, didn’t even look up, when he walked inside. You were fully focused on what you were doing.

He approached you slowly in the deep silence. “Not good?”

You shook your head, your focus on the batter pouring from the stand mixer into the rectangular cake tin. “Not good.”

As you put it down, Bucky stepped behind you and opened up the oven door. Slotting it inside, he closed the door as you set the timer.

Bucky watched you for a few moments as you took the cake battered bowl to the sink, brought over another one filled with icing and started dishing them out into different food colouring segments.

As he leaned against the counter you were working on, Bucky’s gaze flickered over your face.

He’d known you for so long, he’d easily seen every emotion come across your face. Anger, love, fear, joy, anxiety, embarrassment, confusion, rage, numbness, laughter, and many more.

A lot of them, he’d seen through your eyes.

“Have you been crying?” Bucky asked the question, but he already knew the answer.

He was certain of the answer, even more so, when you didn’t look at him or answer him. So, with a gentle finger under your chin, he tilted your head to look at him. “Hey.”

His voice was soft. Soft enough to break the dam you’d been holding in place.

You didn’t have to say anything. You rarely had to say anything to Bucky. Without hesitating, Bucky took you by the shoulder before holding you into him. Immediately, your arms wrapped around him. It was hard to breathe evenly when you were trying to keep your tears at bay.

“I might take you up on that offer,” you mumbled into his blue henley. “If it’s not too late.”

Bucky smiled, briefly. His hand stroked down the back of your hair before cupping your head. “There were no limitations.”

A bubble of slight laughter rose up your throat. But you just held onto him tighter.

“This is gonna be so cool,” Yelena said as she helped you carry your stuff towards your room. “We finally won’t be outnumbered. We can watch movies- Oh, I’ve already added you to the rota. Your choice is after John’s. A lot of his are military movies which are boring-”

Yelena continued to tell you all about her plans as she helped you move into your room. About her and Ava’s ‘girl’ days. Their on going prank on John, changing a lot of his dark coloured items to bright neon pink; for example, his dark navy towel to a bright neon pink. Same with his face clothes and gym shower bottles.

Both she and Ava warned you about Alexei’s hoarding room; it was mostly filled with memorabilia of the Thunderbolts and ‘New Avengers’. Apparently someone on Etsy had gotten wind of their original title and made t-shirts.

“Oh, the room next door to that one is filled with everything on Yelena.”

You gasped. “Please tell me there’s baby pictures.”

“Pictures?” Ava asked. “Please, there are projector wheels full.”

You looked at Yelena. “Oh, I have to see them.”

“No, you don’t.”

Ava leaned into you. “I’ll get them for you.”

“You know, sometimes I hate the fact you can walk through walls.”

Ava just smiled.

It didn’t take long to get used to living with them. Often Bob joined ‘girls night’ which eventually developed into ‘team’ night when Alexei and John got bored. Games night was every Friday. Bob stayed home most of the day, keeping an eye on reports coming in.

On your days off, you’d help him. A lot of the time, you’d both just talk away until the others came home. You’d even taught him how to bake, which had eventually turned into a baking lesson for a lot of the team considering they’d never really had those moments to learn out of simple enjoyment.

Meanwhile, you and Bucky…were you and Bucky.

And it didn’t take any of their specialist training to notice.

To notice the way Bucky always stood close to you, or how your eyes flicked to each other when the other wasn’t looking. More so if they were. Or how you both seemed to have an unspoken language between each other, already knowing what the other needs.

It didn’t take any of their specialist training to notice the way you looked at each other, or how you interacted. How Bucky’s hand always ghosted over your hip or led you by your lower back. You were also the only one Bucky wasn’t afraid to…touch. To hold hands, or to hug. He’d never been like that with anyone.

Yelena knew, especially. She’d heard stories from her sister.

“Do you think we should do something?”

“What was that film? The one with the single twin? Lainey…Linda…no, that’s not it.”

Yelena sat up straight and sighed. “We watched it last night. The Parent Trap. And it’s Lindsey Lohan.”

“Yes. That one. Why don’t we…just do that?”

Ava sat up. “You really think tricking them onto a boat is going to work?”

Alexei shrugged. “It doesn’t have to be a boat. It could be a closet, or a training room or-”

“We’re not locking them in anywhere.” Yelena told them all. “They’re grown adults.”

“Do you think they’ve always been like that?”

“They were when I first met them,” John said as he transferred food from the stove onto each plate. “He would have died protecting her. And she would have killed him for doing so. They hadn’t even known each other very long from what I knew.”

“So it can’t be that long before something happens, right?” Ava asked. “I mean, she slept in his bed that night she came here for dinner.”

“But that could have been a fluke,” Bob pointed out. “The guest rooms, and her room, weren't finished yet.”

Yelena thought for a moment. “Okay. We need an agreement. If things don’t start naturally, we give them a little push. Nothing big, just…maybe show them the right direction.”

They all agreed.

But six months later, they were sick of the subtle differences they’d all been making. Name dropping, schedule changes, lighting changes, stories. Ava was the first to make the big leap from subtle to not-so-much when she arranged a blind date for you.

The annoyance from Bucky had been clear from the moment she phased through the front door.

However, despite being the one to draw up the agreement, Yelena was the one to truly break it.

“Do you like Bucky?”

She’s marched into your room, dressed in her pajamas, holding onto her guinea pig. Although the question had been a surprise, Yelena bursting into your room at nine at night only to flop down on your bed in front of you was not.

“I’m sorry?”

“Do you like him?” Yelena paused to reframe the question. “Okay, do you have romantic feelings for him?”

You stuttered, “For Bucky?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

She didn’t give you time to answer before explaining. “Because I think you do and since you’re my best friend, I think, legally, I should know.”

“Yelena-”

“I can keep a secret, I promise,” she sat up and talked to her pet. “You know I can. Well, I tell you my secrets but we live with Ava. She knows everybody’s secrets.”

Yelena finally looked back at you. “So?”

So?

So…the answer was yes. You had done for a while. Probably since you met him, if you were being completely honest; though you didn’t recognise them to be romantic then. Just feelings.

Mainly the feeling that you wanted him to be safe, and to be free.

A man willing to lay his life down for his country, only to lose something worse than that to a different cause; one he never chose, one he never consented to. Only to be brought back and be blamed for the act forced on him despite fighting against deadly torture for over twenty years.

That was a man that needed someone in his corner.

“Yelena.” Just from the tone of your voice told her everything she needed to know.

“I knew it. I knew it.” She smiled to herself before repeating herself to her pet. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You shrugged, putting down your legal pad. “What was there to tell?”

Yelena pretended to think, “Uh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that I’m your best friend and I should know who my brother in law is going to be. Or that he’s the reason every date I’ve sent you on has never worked out. Or-”

You reached out for her. “Okay, okay. That’s enough.”

“Y/n, why don’t you tell him?”

You looked away for a split second. “We…have an agreement. Kinda. We’ve never spoken about it but, we know.”

“Know what?”

“That it’s too dangerous.”

Her brows furrowed. “Dangerous? Because…it’s so electric you might blow a spark?”

You ran your tongue over your lips. “No, it’s…how do I put this? When he worked together…there was a chance of things going wrong because we wouldn’t be thinking. Neither of us were willing to risk putting people in danger because neither of us could focus properly.”

“Well, that’s…”

“Yeah.”

“Stupid.” Yelena finished. “That’s really stupid. I suppose you two being in love, I have to give you some slack. And the sentiment. That is very sweet. But also incredibly stupid.”

You just looked at her, dumbfounded.

“You like each other. If someone is going to get hurt, then they get hurt. It’s a part of the job. Just because you work together doesn’t mean people will get hurt because of it. The only people who you’re hurting are yourselves. And us, but that’s for another time. You should tell him.”

“Lena-”

“No. You should tell him. And he should tell you. I’m sick of seeing you two act like lovestick cowards.”

You both kept her frustrated for another two months.

You’d been sitting with Bob for most of the day. Around mid-day, you’d both left the Tower to go and get some food. But it was when you were standing in the kitchen, Bob telling you about his ideas for Yelena’s birthday, that a warning flashed around the room.

“What’s going on?”

“I don’t know.”

Then you heard the noises.

Both you and Bob took one look at each other before heading out back into the living space. “Guys?!”

Through the elevator doors, Yelena hobbled through with Bucky by her side. They all looked like hell.

“What the hell happened?”

Ava and Alexei took the semi-conscious Bucky from Yelena and rushed him down the hallway. Yelena tried her best to keep your focus on her. “Hey, it’s okay. He’s gonna be okay.”

“What the hell happened, Yelena?”

Beside you, Bob’s focus remained on the blonde Russian. “Are you okay?”

She nodded, knowingly taking Bob’s hand in her other one. “We ran into a few hurdles.”

“I thought this was meant to be a search and rescue.”

“It was,” she nodded. “But apparently Sam and the others also got wind of it. They’ve taken some bruises home, too.” Yelena was quick to add her next sentence. “Not from us. Well, mostly not from us. The search and rescue was tied to a hostage situation.”

“So,” your head kept turning to the hallway Bucky had been taken down. “So what-”

“A kinetic energy blast.”

Yelena saw the fire in your eyes. “Sam- Sam did this?”

Yelena shook her head, then nodded. “No. Well, kinda. But it was- Bucky was helping him. Sam thought he was clear of the blast. So did we.”

“I need to see him.”

Yelena let you go and Bob stepped into your place. “Yelena,” his finger traced over her brow. “You’re hurt.”

“I’m okay, Bob. I’m okay.” Yelena took his other hand in hers before resting her head against his. Then she hugged him.

Meanwhile, you ran down the hall and into the medical wing where Ava and Alexei had Bucky. He seemed a little more awake.

“I’m okay-”

You hugged him immediately. Somewhere behind you, Alexei made a soft noise and Ava hit his gut.

“Wilson said he’d be sending a medical officer over.”

“I don’t need one-”

“Yes you do,” you cut in before looking at Ava. “Yes, he does. Where are the medical supplies?”

“Doll, if you can fix me-”

“I still want someone checking you over.”

As Bucky agreed and the others left, John brought you the medical kits and left you and Bucky to it.

“He didn’t mean it, Y/n.”

You swallowed. “I know. Yelena said.”

“Look at me?”

You eventually stopped cleaning one of his cuts to look at him. He smiled for a moment. “I’m okay. We both know I’ve been through worse.”

You tilted your head. Too soon.

“They were helping us, and we were helping them. It’s not much but it’s a start. Maybe I can call him. He might actually pick-”

Bucky’s talking was cut off by your lips crashing into his. The only thought going around in your head as he was talking was that you could have lost him. Sam and the others might not have been there, Bucky and the others could have been outnumbered, and you might never have seen him again.

Yelena was right. The only people you were hurting were yourselves.

Once Bucky had come out of his trance, he looked at you, his fingers absentmindedly running through the ends of your hair. “What was that for?”

“I don’t want to ignore us anymore.”

“What made you change-”

“I could have lost you,” you spat the truth out. “And I don’t want to lose you and not have you with me in the first place. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Bucky admitted. Then a glint came across his eyes. “I should get hurt more often.”

“Absolutely not.”

Bucky chuckled before cupping his hand against your head. “So…we’re not ignoring it anymore?”

You shook your head. “Nope.”

“Good.”

Pulling you closer to him, he kissed you like he’d been dying to for years.

211 notes · View notes

octaneink · 26 days ago

Text

Easy Love

Will Lenney x Reader

Summary: The Reader tries a new scent, Will definitely notices. Warnings: None! Notes: Not an ask, just a random idea I thought would be cute ☺️☺️☺️

You'd been meaning to reorganise the junk drawer all week.

It was a task that nags at you every time you fish for a pen and come up with nothing but dried-out pens and a handful of foreign coins. Today, the mess had reached critical mass when you'd been searching for the spare key to your place and instead unearthed three dead AA batteries and what might have been a receipt from 2019.

So at 2 PM on Sunday, with golden afternoon light pooling across the kitchen tiles, you'd upended the entire drawer onto the counter. The contents formed a sad little monument to domestic chaos: twisted phone chargers, a single cufflink, half a dozen IKEA Allen wrenches, and at least three pens that definitely didn't work.

Will had watched this from his throne in the living room armchair, one eyebrow arched over the top of his novel. "Spring cleaning?" he'd asked, already knowing the answer.

"It's making me itchy just looking at it," you'd grumbled, aggressively untangling a knot of cables. "How do we even accumulate this much crap?”

That was an hour ago.

Now you're kneeling on the kitchen floor, elbow-deep under the sink, fingers brushing against the cold pipe as you search for the trash bags you could have sworn you bought last week. The cabinet smells faintly of lemon cleaner and something metallic, and you're fairly certain your jumper is collecting dust bunnies the size of tumbleweeds.

"Will," you call, voice slightly muffled by the cabinet, "did you move the—"

The only response is the soft whisper of a page turning. You twist to see him through the doorway, still curled in the armchair with his book propped against his knees. Afternoon light gilds the curve of his shoulders, catching in his hair where it's fallen across his forehead. His thumb moves absently along the edge of the page, but his eyes never leave the text.

"Will?" You try again, louder this time, knocking your knuckles against the cabinet door for emphasis.

"Hm?" It's the kind of distracted noise people make when they're only physically present, their mind still wrapped around a plot twist or character's fate.

You give up with a huff, the cabinet door swinging shut with a hollow thud as you rock back on your heels. The floor had left angry red impressions on your knees, and your shoulders ached from being hunched in that cramped space for so long. When you finally straighten up, your spine cracks in three distinct places—the kind of satisfying pops that make you feel both ancient and temporarily relieved. The clock above the stove reads 3:07—if you leave now, you can make it before everything closes at 4.

"I'm running to the shop before it closes," you announce, brushing dust from your clothes. "Need to grab milk anyway. I'll pick you up a snack for work tomorrow—want anything specific? Those protein bars you like, or should I see if they have more of those weird spicy nuts?"

Will makes a noncommittal noise, but you’re already heading for the hallway, stripping off your dust-streaked jumper as you go.

In the bedroom, you tug on a fresh top and pause, eyeing the little glass bottle on your dresser. The perfume was a gift from a friend last month—“It’s so you,” they’d insisted—but you’d barely used it. Today feels as good a time to use it for the first time. You spritz it on, the scent blooming: vanilla, bright and sweet at first, then something deeper, spicier, like amber melting into skin.

You give your wrist an absentminded sniff. Nice. Maybe your friend was right, it does suit you. Leaving your bedroom, you walk to the door and grab your tote from the hook, digging through its depths for your keys. They jangle somewhere near the bottom, buried under crumpled receipts and a pack of gum.

That’s when you notice it.

The silence.

No rustling pages. No absent tap of Will’s fingers against the armrest. Just the weight of someone’s gaze, like a touch between your shoulder blades.

You turn.

Will hasn’t moved from his chair, but his book lies forgotten in his lap, spine bent at an unnatural angle. His eyes lock onto yours, then drop—slow, deliberate—to the curve of your neck. His throat bobs as he swallows.

“Going out?” Will asks again, his voice gravel-dipped. It’s not really a question. There’s an edge to it, a tension that makes your pulse skip. You finally fish out your keys with a triumphant jingle. "Yes, Sherlock," you say, shooting him an amused look over your shoulder. "Like I said five minutes ago when you were too busy with your book to listen."

His abandoned novel lies splayed on the armrest like a wounded bird, pages crumpled under his restless fingers. The sight gives you pause, Will never treats books this way. “Want anything else?”

His answer comes in movement rather than words. He rises with sudden purpose, the book tumbling to the rug as he crosses the space between you in three long strides. Before you can react, he's shrugging into his coat with uncharacteristic haste, the wool collar sitting askew, his hair mussed from where he'd raked an impatient hand through it.

"I'm coming with you," he says, his voice low and rough around the edges.

You blink. "Since when do you volunteer for grocery runs?" The tease in your voice falters as he steps closer, shrinking the hallway with his presence. The heat of him radiates through the scant space between you, his hand brushing the small of your back as he reaches past you for the door. His touch lingers just a beat too long, sending an unexpected shiver up your spine.

The intensity in his storm-grey eyes betrays his usual calm—something restless simmers beneath the surface. You notice the faint tremor in his fingers as he holds the door open, the taut line of his forearm muscles as he gestures you through.

Outside, the evening is crisp, the streetlamps casting honeyed pools of light on the pavement. Will walks closer than usual, his shoulder bumping yours whenever you round a corner. You catch him staring again, his gaze snagging on your throat, your wrists, and the pulse point behind your ear. When the wind tosses your hair, he inhales sharply, as if stealing a secret.

“You’re quiet today,” you say, half-turning to face him.

He stops short, his eyes darkening. For a heartbeat, you think he might say something—do something—his breath warm against your cheek. But then he steps back, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Just thinking,” he says, the words rough, like they’ve been dragged through gravel.

What’s got into him?

The shop's sign buzzes louder as you approach, flickering in the gathering dusk. Will lingers by the door just long enough to hold it open for you, his arm brushing yours as you pass through. The warmth of his body lingers where he touched you, even as he falls into step beside you.

You grab a plastic basket from the stack near the entrance, its handle creaking in your grip. Will reaches for the same one too, his fingers briefly overlapping yours before you both pull away. There's a charged moment where neither of you move—just stand there in the harsh light, baskets in hand, breathing the same air.

You tug one free, its grip creaking under your fingers. Behind you, Will shifts closer than necessary—his chest nearly grazing your shoulder—as if drawn by some magnetic pull. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch his hand twitch forward, fingertips skimming the air just above yours before curling into a fist.

For a heartbeat, neither of you move. The fluorescent lights hum overhead, bleaching the linoleum into a sterile white. You can feel the heat of him against your back, smell the faint cedar of his shampoo mixed with something sharper, almost feral.

“Right,” you say, clearing your throat, pivoting toward the dairy aisle, "Milk first."

The aisles are narrow enough that Will has to walk behind you, his presence a constant warmth at your back. When you stop to examine expiration dates on the milk cartons, he crowds closer than necessary, reaching past you to grab one. His chest brushes against your shoulder, solid and warm.

"Got it," he murmurs, his breath stirring the hair at your temple. The milk carton drops into your basket with a dull thud, but neither of you move away immediately.

At the coffee display, the rich, roasted scent wraps around you both as you survey the options. You reach for your usual blend at the same moment Will does, his hand covering yours completely. His skin is warm, his fingers slightly rough against yours. Instead of pulling away, his thumb strokes once—slow, deliberate—across your inner wrist where your pulse jumps.

"Sorry," he says, though his voice is anything but apologetic. His eyes drop to your mouth for a heartbeat too long before he finally steps back, leaving your skin tingling where he touched you.

You swallow hard, focusing on the coffee labels with sudden intensity. "S'alright," you manage, dropping a bag into your basket with slightly unsteady hands. When you glance up, Will's watching you with that same dark intensity, his fingers flexing at his sides like he's resisting the urge to reach for you again.

The moment stretches, thick with something unspoken, until Will clears his throat and reaches past you for the sugar. His arm brushes against yours, his chest nearly pressing into your shoulder as he leans in. His breath ghosts warm over the shell of your ear, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine.

"Forgot we were out of this," he says, voice pitched low just for you. The words vibrate through you, and you're suddenly hyperaware of every point of contact between you.

At the checkout, the cashier—an old woman with a knowing smirk—watches with undisguised interest as Will crowds into your space while you unload the basket. His fingers keep brushing yours as you both reach for items, each accidental (or not-so-accidental) touch sending little electric jolts up your arms.

When your hand trembles slightly while handing over cash, Will's fingers cover yours again, ostensibly to help but really just another excuse to touch. "I've got it." he says, his deep voice resonating in your chest as he stands close enough that you can smell the faint remnants of his cologne mixed with something uniquely Will.

The cashier arches an eyebrow as she hands back your change, her eyes flicking between you two with amusement. You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks, your pulse hammering in your throat, as Will's hand finds the small of your back to guide you toward the exit.

Outside, the cool evening air does little to calm your racing heart, especially when Will's fingers slide down to tangle briefly with yours before he seems to think better of it and shoves his hands in his pockets instead. The charged silence between you is louder than any words could be.

The walk home stretches taut between you, the grocery bag’s handles digging into Will’s palm as he walks just a half-step too close. His sleeve brushes your arm with every other stride—cotton whispering against cotton—and each incidental contact lingers like a brand. The city sounds fade into background static: a distant ambulance siren, the click-clack of a dog’s nails on pavement, the hum of a faulty neon sign above a shuttered laundromat. All of it feels muffled, drowned out by the rhythm of Will’s restless energy.

When you pass beneath a flickering streetlamp, its sickly yellow light catches the sheen of sweat at his temples. His gaze flicks to your neck again, lingering on the damp tendril of hair clinging to your skin. You watch his throat work as he swallows, the sharp line of his jaw flexing like he’s biting back words.

“You’re being weirdly intense today,” you say, nudging him with your elbow. The gesture aims for lightness, but your voice betrays you—it comes out breathier than intended, almost a challenge.

Will’s laugh is a rough scrape of sound. “Am I?” He shifts the grocery bag to his other hand, plastic crinkling like cellophane fire. His free arm swings briefly toward yours, fingers grazing your knuckles before he shoves both hands into his coat pockets. The fleeting touch leaves your skin buzzing.

You slow your pace, studying him. Moonlight bleeds through the clouds, silvering the tension in his shoulders, the way his collar sits crooked against his throat. There’s something feral in his profile—the dilated pupils, the slight flare of his nostrils as the wind shifts—that makes your stomach swoop. For a heartbeat, you think he might press you against the graffiti-tagged brick wall to your left, his body caging yours in the shadows.

But he keeps walking.

Three more steps, then he stops dead. You nearly collide with him, catching yourself on his forearm. The muscle beneath his sleeve jumps at your touch.

“Will—?”

He doesn’t turn. Just stands there, head bowed, breathing audibly through his nose. The grocery bag hangs forgotten at his side, a litre of milk threatening to slip free. When he finally speaks, his voice is ground glass. “You should’ve worn a jacket.”

You blink. “It’s not that cold.”

A beat. Then his coat hits your shoulders before you can protest, his hands linger at your collarbones, adjusting the lapels with unnecessary focus. His thumbs brush the hollow of your throat, once, twice, before he steps back.

“Better,” he mutters, already striding ahead like he can outpace whatever’s clawing at his ribs.

You hurry to catch up, the coat sleeves swallowing your hands whole. Up close, you notice what you missed before—the tremor in his left hand, the way his pulse thunders visibly at his neck. When he catches you staring, he angles his body away, jaw clenched tight enough to crack walnuts.

The remaining blocks pass in a fever dream. Every rustle of fabric, every shared glance, every time his shoulder bumps yours feels amplified. By the time your building comes into view, you’re both breathing like you’ve run a marathon, though neither of you will admit it.

At the front door, Will fumbles the keys twice before managing the lock. His hand covers yours on the doorknob, pressing down hard enough to feel the ridges bite into your palm.

“After you,” he says, but doesn’t move aside—just crowds you through the doorway, his chest grazing your back, his breath hot on your nape.

You tell yourself it’s relief that makes your knees weak when he finally retreats to the kitchen, the grocery bag abandoned on the counter. But as you hang up his coat, you press your shoulder to hide the wide grin on your face.

Dinner unfolds in a series of fractured moments. Will stands at the counter, chopping carrots, each thwack echoing off the tiled walls. You sit at the kitchen table, sorting through the junk drawer’s survivors: paperclips glinting like insect legs and rubber bands coiled tight as nerves.

The air smells of ginger and soy sauce. Every time you glance up, his eyes snap back to the cutting board, shoulders rigid. He’s wearing that grey Henley with the stretched collar, the one that exposes the hollow of his throat when he leans forward. You notice sweat dampening the fabric between his shoulder blades.

“You’re hovering,” you say, louder than intended.

He doesn’t answer. Just sets down the knife with exaggerated care and reaches for the kettle. You track his movements—the flex of his forearms as he fills it, the way his thumb rubs compulsively over the handle’s curve. Steam rises as he pours boiling water into two mugs.

The tea appears at your elbow without warning, Earl Grey swirling amber in your favourite mug he’d bought for you last winter. His pinky grazes yours as he withdraws, a spark of contact that lingers.

“Movie tonight?” he asks, leaning back against the sink. His arms cross over his chest, biceps straining the sleeves. Will leans back against the sink, the edge of the counter biting into his hip, but he doesn’t seem to notice. The sleeves of his Henley strain against his biceps, fabric pulling taut where his muscles flex unconsciously. A droplet of water slides down his wrist, tracing the ropy veins of his forearm before disappearing under his rolled cuff. You track its path, hypnotised by the way it catches the flickering kitchen light, until his throat bobs with a hard swallow.

He clears his throat. The sound is sandpaper-rough, startlingly loud in the cramped kitchen. You drag your gaze upward, past the smudge of flour on his collarbone and the damp hair curling at his nape, to find him watching you through his lashes. The fluorescent light overhead buzzes, casting sickly shadows under his eyes. For a heartbeat, he looks almost feral—jaw clenched, nostrils flared, the pulse at his temple throbbing visibly. Then he blinks, and the illusion shatters.

“Sure. Your pick.”

He nods but makes no move to leave the kitchen. His gaze burns a hole through the back of your head as you resume sorting. Rubber bands snap into a jar. Paperclips clink like loose change. The silence stretches, taut and humming, until—

“Casablanca”, he says abruptly.

You blink. “Since when do you like old movies?”

“Since never.” He pushes off the counter, mug abandoned. “But you do.”

The admission hangs between you, fragile as the steam still curling from your tea.

The couch has never felt this small.

Will’s usual sprawl—all loose limbs and careless angles—has been replaced by a coiled tension that makes the cushions dip dangerously toward him. His left arm rests along the back of the sofa, not quite touching your shoulders, but the heat of him bleeds through your thin jumper anyway. On screen, a spaceship disintegrates in silence. Neither of you registered the title when he queued it up, too busy pretending not to track each other’s movements.

His fingers find your hair first.

It starts as a graze—the rough pad of his thumb brushing the nape of your neck as he tucks a stray strand behind your ear. You stiffen, but he doesn’t retreat. Instead, he twirls the lock around his index finger, the motion hypnotically slow. His breathing hitches, audible even over the movie’s sudden explosion of gunfire.

“Will?” you whisper, turning your head just enough to see his profile.

He freezes. Moonlight from the half-open blinds stripes his face, sharpening the hunger in his expression before he can school it into something neutral. His thumb presses harder against your neck, a silent plea for you to stay still.

Then he sniffs.

A slow, deliberate inhale, his nose dragging along your temple. His breath fans hot over your skin, uneven and shallow, as if he’s been running. You feel the flutter of his eyelashes against your cheekbone when he blinks.

“You smell different,” he rasps, lips grazing the shell of your ear. The words vibrate through you, low and frayed at the edges.

Your heart stutters. “I—what?”

He doesn’t answer. Just buries his face in your hair, nuzzling the sensitive spot behind your ear with a low groan that makes your thighs clench. His free hand grips the couch cushion, fabric tearing under his fingernails.

“Your perfume,” he mutters, voice thick. “It’s… new.”

You try to laugh, but it comes out as a gasp. “Since when do you notice my perfume?”

His teeth graze your earlobe—a split-second scrape that might’ve been accidental. “Since it’s this one.” The hand in your hair tightens, tugging just enough to tilt your head back. His other palm lands heavy on your knee, fingers digging into the denim. “What’s in it?”

“I don’t—vanilla? Amber?” You’re babbling, hyperaware of his thumb tracing circles on your inner thigh. “Why?”

Will huffs a laugh against your skin, his arms tightening around you. “Been driving me fucking mental all day.” His voice rumbles through your chest where you’re pressed together, warm and honey-thick with confession.

Heat floods your cheeks. “You—” You twist to face him, but he catches your chin, calloused fingers tilting your head up. His eyes are heavy-lidded and gleaming, the blue-grey irises gone stormy at the edges.

“Yeah,” he admits, unashamed. “Full stalker mode. Followed you around the shop like a starving dog.” His thumb swipes over your bottom lip, daring you to scold him. “Pathetic, really. Nearly growled at that old lady for smirking at us.”

You laugh, swatting his chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Guilty.” He nuzzles your jaw, scruff catching on delicate skin as his earlier intensity melts into something softer, sweeter. “Should’ve warned me. That perfume’s a biological weapon.” His nose trails down your neck, inhaling deeply with an exaggerated sniff that sends you into giggles.

“Oh, please,” you snort, tangling your fingers in his hair. “You’re just dramatic.”

“Dramatic?” Will nips your earlobe, gentle this time. “You leaned over the milk cartons. Practically waved your neck under my nose.” His hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing the underside of your ribs. “Sabotage.”

“I was checking expiration dates!”

“Cruel.” He kisses the offended pout off your lips, slow and lingering. He groans, flopping back against the cushions and dragging you with him in a tangle of limbs. “Going to have words with your friend,” he grumbles, even as his hands settle possessively at your waist. “Gifting chemical warfare disguised as perfume. Criminal negligence.”

“Hey!” You pinch his side, laughing as he jerks away with a yelp. “She has excellent taste!”

“Taste?” Will rolls his eyes, but the smile tugging at his lips betrays him. “That stuff’s lethal. Bet she’s cackling in her evil lair right now.” He tugs your wrist to his nose, breathing deep with a mock-agonised sigh. “Probably spiked it with pheromones.”

You prop yourself up on his chest, smirking down at his ridiculous pout. “Jealous she found my signature scent first?”

“Devastated.” His hands slide up to frame your face, thumbs brushing your cheekbones. For once, there’s no humour in his stormy gaze—just raw, disarming honesty. “Should’ve been me.”

The kiss starts soft, a barely-there press of lips that quickly deepens when your fingers find his hair. Somewhere in the apartment, the forgotten movie’s credits music swells dramatically. Will breaks away first, forehead resting against yours as you both catch your breath.

“For the record,” he murmurs, nose bumping yours, “you’re banned from wearing that to Ikea. Or libraries. Or—”

The protest dies in his throat as you kiss him—really kiss him—your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt to pull him closer. His lips part instinctively, a low hum of satisfaction vibrating between you as he tilts his head to deepen the angle. There’s nothing tentative about it now: his hands slide up your back, anchoring you against him with a possessiveness that steals your breath.

He tastes like Earl Grey and the dark chocolate bar he’d pocketed at the shop—bitter-sweet, addictive. His stubble scrapes your cheek as he breathes you in, but neither of you care enough to pull away. When your teeth graze his bottom lip, he lets out a ragged groan, fingers tightening in your hair.

��Christ,” he mutters against your mouth, the word more prayer than curse. His thumb brushes the hinge of your jaw, coaxing you to open for him again, and you do—gladly—melding together in a rhythm that feels older than either of you. The couch creaks as he shifts, pressing you into the cushions until there’s no space left between hips, between heartbeats.

Before you can protest, his arms lock around your waist like steel bands, dragging you sideways into his lap. His legs loop over yours, pinning you to the couch in a tangle of limbs. A shudder runs through him as he buries his face in the junction of your neck, nose pressed to your pulse point.

“Will—?”

He doesn’t answer. Just holds you tighter, his breath hot and unsteady against your skin. Slowly, you relax into the vice of his embrace. Your fingers card through his hair, nails scraping gently at his scalp. He lets out a sound, half groan, half sigh, and nuzzles deeper into your neck. The tension bleeds from his shoulders incrementally, his death grip on your waist softening to something almost reverent.

“You’re clingy tonight,” you murmur, smoothing the rumpled hair at his temple.

“M’not,” he mumbles into your collarbone, though his legs immediately tangle with yours, pinning you to the couch. His nose nudges the hollow of your throat, inhaling deeply, as if memorising the scent. “S’your fault. Drugged me.”

You snort, fingertips tracing idle patterns down his spine. “Dramatic to the end.”

He hums, noncommittal, his lips brushing your pulse point. The credits still roll, bathing the room in shifting blue light, but Will’s breathing already slows—deep, even pulls of air that stir the neckline of your shirt. His grip loosens incrementally, heavy limbs going lax as sleep claims him.

You don’t dare move. Not when his lashes flutter against your skin, not when his fingers twitch against your hip in some dream. The weight of him is solid and warm, his heartbeat a steady drum beneath your palm.

“Will?” you whisper.

A soft snore answers, his exhale warming the hollow of your throat. You stretch carefully, fingertips grazing the crumpled throw blanket at the foot of the couch. The fabric whispers as you drag it upward, dust motes swirling gold in the TV’s dying light.

He stirs when the blanket settles—a grumpy murmur vibrating against your collarbone. His arms tighten reflexively, legs cinching around yours like living rope. “Nuh,” he slurs, half-asleep, protest muffled in your skin.

“Octopus”, you accuse under your breath, laughter softening the word.

His only reply is to nuzzle deeper, lips brushing your pulse in unconscious affection. You let your hand drift back to his hair, carding through the messy strands. His sigh is a quiet surrender, breath evening out as he sinks deeper into dreams.

The credits fade to black. In the sudden dark, his heartbeat becomes your compass—steady thuds beneath your palm, syncing with yours until you can’t tell where he ends and you begin. His legs stay stubbornly tangled with yours, a human anchor keeping you grounded.

Sleep comes slowly, tethered to the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek. His breaths paint the silence—a soft whistle in his nose, the faint tick of a swallowed snore. You press a kiss to the damp hair at his temple, lingering just long enough to memorise the warmth of his skin. Your eyelids grow heavy, the last thing you feel is the weight of his arm across your waist, anchoring you to this moment—to him—as the world dissolves into the slow, heavy pull of sleep.

#willne x fem!reader #will lenney x fem!reader #will lenney x reader #willne oneshot

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lou-struck · 1 month ago

Text

A Miya Mix-up

Osamu Miya x reader

~ After months of watching you pine over the cute delivery guy, your coworker decided to put an end to it by slipping him your number.

W.C: 3.4k

a/n: my best friend actually works with a set of identical twins and after a little miscommunication, inspired this fic. Although she will never read this, I would like you guys to know that she told me to write this.

Multitasking is hard.

How are you supposed to get any work done while also watching the door?

All right, maybe you don’t need to be watching the front door of your Workplace. But it’s not like it’s hurting anyone, you’re just waiting for a delivery.

“What are you doing?”

“ Working,” you drone, turning in your swivel chair to face your friend and coworker.

They smile knowingly as their gaze zeroes in on something behind you. “Oh yeah? So is that why your finger has been on the spacebar for what looks like three pages?”

You snort in disbelief, “Nice try, but I’m not falling for that one. Again.”

When their gaze remains firm as they gesture to your screen, and just to appease them, you decide to prove that they are… Absolutely right

“Ugh crap.” You mutter in embarrassment, frantically using your trackpad to highlight all the unwanted spaces from the official document you were supposed to be working on. The screen returns to normal as you flash a guilty smile up at them. “Thanks for catching that, I guess I was a bit distracted.”

“Let me guess, you ordered Onigiri for lunch again?” They laugh. Your cheeks warm as you avert your gaze from the confident woman in front of you.

“I-it's a local business,” you sputter defensively. “ it’s close, it’s affordable, and~”

“And the owner is super hot,” they finish, calling you out like the lovestruck fool you are.

The sigh that leaves your lips is heavy with defeat. “That too, you know me too well.”

Ever since Onigiri Miya opened up down the street, you haven't been able to get him out of your mind. There is just something about Osamu Miya, the owner and head chef that has you crushing like a highschooler all over again.

“You know he might not be the one doing the delivery today. After all, he’s the one cooking all the food.” Although their intention isn’t to crush your hopes and dreams, it certainly feels like it.

“I was being optimistic.” you say with a smile “Either way the food is great and it’s not super pricey.”

Their attention is grabbed by something on your face as their brow furrows. “Were you eating a granola bar or something earlier today?”

“Yeah, just a while ago, why?”

They tap at their front tooth with an acrylic nail. “You got a little something right there.”

“Thanks for that,” you say wiping your teeth with a clean handkerchief. Something about finding a friend who won’t hesitate to tell you about food in your teeth or toilet paper stuck to the bottom of your shoe is heartwarming. You flash your teeth again and look at them expectantly. “Did I get it?”

They shake their head. “No, actually I think you made it worse. I would go take care of that before Hottie McRiceball comes with your special delivery.” Their tone is softened by good-natured teasing, but you still find yourself on the verge of laughter.

Playfully, you roll your eyes as you quickly stand from your desk. “We never agreed on that name and you know it.”

“Worth a shot,” they shrug as you scurry away to rinse your mouth out with some water.

“I didn't know ya still went out on deliveries Samu,” Atsumu Miya says as his brother takes a completed ticket off the countertop and boxes it up to go himself. “Don’t ya have people for that?”

“This is a special occasion.” The grey-haired twin replies. There is an uncharacteristically soft smile on his face as he packages the food with Michelin-level care.

Immediately interested, the setter reaches for the ticket on the countertop, but it is snatched away quickly. “Oh come on Samu, I’m just trying to see who it’s for.” He says innocently.

“You don’t need to see.” His brother glares, “It’s just going to one of the offices down the street. I’ll run it down there real quick and be back in 10.” Just as the words leave his mouth, a loud crash can be heard from the dining room, both men’s heads turned on a dime as they rushed towards the sound.

For arms push open the swinging double doors as they stumble across a heartbreaking site. Rice and fillings are scattered like rails over the ground as a frantic server tries to pick up what is left of the serving plate plates. The tipped-over stool sprawled out next to them tells Osamu everything he needs to know.

And now, he has to remake this order on the fly.

Atsumu watches his brother frown as a deep, tortured sigh flies from his lungs .“I gotta go take care of this.” He casts one last wistful look at the completed mystery order before turning his attention to the mess in front of him.

With his brother distracted, Atsumu, ever the helper, decides to help his brother out and take care of the special delivery.

After all, he has done more than his fair share of deliveries before when his brother was just starting out so just down the street would be a piece of cake. Eagerly, he takes the paper bag of food off the stainless steel countertop and walks back into the dining room.

Passing his brother as he walks back inside. When he sees the bag, his eyes widen and he holds out an arm. “What are ya doing with that?”

“Helpin' ya out,” he grins, “There is no way you’ll be able to deliver this food before it gets cold. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

With that, he turns and strides away before his brother can object. Pushing open the front doors, he steps out into the moist spring air and takes a deep breath.

Looking down at the bag he spots the delivery ticket taped to the side. Gently, he lifts the ticket, reading the name and address.

Now that he has started down this path, he’s not gonna stop until he figures out who exactly y/n is, and his brother wanted to see them so badly.

After checking your teeth in the bathroom mirror for the tenth time, you find yourself back at your desk twiddling your thumbs as you wait for your lunch delivery. The clip-on desk fan above your monitor hums on full blast to hide the sound of your growling stomach.

A familiar figure clad in a black t-shirt enters through the sliding doors and your heart skips a beat. But instead of heading to your office space like he usually does, Osamu goes to the front desk to talk to the receptionist.

“Hey there, I have a delivery for a y/n.” you hear him say, despite walking right to your desk the last time you placed an order.

You struggle to hide your pout as he is pointed over to your direction. But as he gets closer, you begin to see that something is different about him.

The man walking toward you does not have the same a different physique. He is pointed in your direction and as he gets closer you realize that something is off.

Osamu is definitely a fit man, but this guy looks like he lives in the gym, the black Onigiri Miya t-shirt he is wearing seems to be struggling to contain his large arms and toned pecs. It isn't until you see the tuft of blonde hair poking out from under his cap that you realize that this must be his brother he mentioned in passing, the professional volleyball player.

“His brown eyes light up when he sees you as if he is putting the pieces of a puzzle together, “y/n?”

“That’s me,” you smile, eyeing the food in the setter's hand. “You must be the brother?”

“What? Brother? Nah I just met the guy this mornin’,” he jokes, pulling an easy laugh from you. And you decide right then and there that although he isn't the man you have feelings for, Atsumu Miya is pretty cool.

But he isn't Osamu

“I didn’t know you worked at the restaurant too,” you ask, hoping to pry some more information from the athlete before he has to leave.

He sets the take-out bag on your desk, “I help him out sometimes when things get busy. Samu had his hands full today.”

“Oh,” you say simply, trying your best to hide your disappointment, but judging by the way this man is practically looking through you, you are doing a very poor job of it.

A pinging on your screen saves you from the awkward silence. Two sets of eyes flicker to the monitor to see a desperate plea from your coworker on the second floor asking for clarification on an email you sent him earlier.

“Duty calls?” he asks knowingly.

“It looks like it,” you answer, casting a longing glance at the lunch you won't get to eat until later. “It was nice meeting you though, maybe I’ll see you around.

He smiles like a jackal. Thoughtful humor aglow in his gaze as he nods. “You’ll definitely be seein me an Samu soon.”

As Atsumu turns and walks away, the little nickname for Osamu he used sends a happy shiver down your spine as your mind drifts to the happy daydream of one day being close enough with the man to use it.

So lost in the moment, you fail to notice a friendly face intercepting the volleyball-playing delivery boy with a small piece of paper.

For the first time in an hour, Osamu is able to take a calm breath. The spice-fragrant air is warm from the grill and tingles his nose but he is thankful for the peace. Between the influx of to-go orders and the dropped tray in the dining room, he hadn't had a moment to think about anything other than the mountain of tickets he had to climb.

Until his brother comes through the back door, his presence reminding the Chef what he missed out on today.

Seeing You.

The joy of getting to make that special delivery is easily the highlight of his week, a highlight that his brother experienced instead of him. But instead of the triumphant grin he was expecting to see on his face, he finds guilt.

“What’s with yer face?” he asks nonchalantly.

“What? Nothin’ Atsumu says flashing a wobbly grin, he has always had a shitty poker face and slides his right hand behind his back.

“Then what are you hiding?” He steps closer.

“Nothin,” Atsumu says again, taking a defensive step back.

Not fallin' for that,” He says, lunging for his brother's arm. Both men begin to wrestle childishly. It’s back and forth until Osamu manages to pry a small piece of paper from his twin's sweaty palm.

“Wait, Samu. Don’t” Atsumu says, but it’s too late. The black ink is smudged, but he can clearly make out the lettering.

It’s your name and phone number.

“H-how did ya get this?” Osamu blinks, looking over at his brother as he imagines your earlier interaction with his twin. His brother, the professional volleyball player with thousands of fans cheering him on every game, has managed to do in ten minutes what he has been trying to work up the courage to do for months.

Charm you.

Atsumu at least has the decency to look ashamed as he casts his eyes to the floor. “Their coworker gave it to me.”

“Why would they do that?”

“They…uhh.” he pauses and shoves his hands into his pockets. “They said that we have a connection and they don’t like the slow-burn romantic subplots.”

“Romantic what-plots?” Osamu blinks, still trying to figure out what the hell is happening to him. “Nevermind that, do you like them?

“Do you?”

“I-i,’ he crosses his arms. “I asked you first.”

“I don’t know,” Atsumu admits, ‘y/n is nice and all but I talked to them for like a second. But you~”

This torturous conversation is thankfully interrupted by a rapid influx of tickets for to-go orders. His heart feels as if it is being ripped from his chest, but he walks away. "We'll talk about this later, I have to get back to work.”

“But Samu, I~”

“I don’t have time for this right now,” he says, raising his voice. He reaches into his bowl of peeled and prepped garlic only to find it empty. Turning on a dime he storms into the walk-in and lets the door shut behind him.

Now alone with the produce, he takes a moment to close his eyes, allowing the fan to cool his overheated face as he imagines his brother making you laugh with one of his stupid jokes.

If he was the one to do the delivery would things be different?

Three Days Later…

Your stomach roars as you take your lunch box from the breakroom fridge and place it on the nearest table. A late client delayed your lunch break and has you on the verge of hangriness. You are just about to unzip and dig in when your work friend practically skips inside, with a pleased smile on your face. In a flash, they snatch your uneaten lunchbox from the table and place it back in the fridge.

“Hey, I was gonna eat that,” you whine.

“Not now,” they smile. “I took the liberty of ordering us lunch from your future boyfriend's restaurant.”

“Wait, really?” you say surprised by the gesture. “You ordered me lunch?”

“Yes, But I used your name to place the order so we would get the best food.” they laugh, but there is something in their tone that tells you they are hiding something.

“I’m sure that it would taste the same if you ordered,” you chuckle. “When will it get here?”

“Any minute now. Buttt while we wait, how about we have a little chat?”

“About what?”

They flutter their lashes and smile. “Have you gotten any important calls lately?”

“Lately?” you ask, thinking of the dozens of phone calls you have had to make today. “I’ve been on the phone all morning.”

“No, I’m talking about the cute chef guy. You know, Hottie McRiceball.”

“I never agreed to that nickname~” You start to protest but cut yourself off. “Why would he call me?”

“Because I gave him your number.”

Your mouth goes dry. “Why would you do that?

“I did it because I knew you wouldn't,” they grin, “Look you guys clearly like each other and I’m just helping you guys along. So when you get married I can give a speech at the wedding.”

“There probably won't be a wedding,” you frown. “He hasn't called me.”

Their eyes widen in disbelief. “He hasn't? But I gave it to him three days ago when he came here.”

You stop in your tracks, “wait… what? You gave it to him three days ago? When I ordered lunch from there?”

“Yeah, I slipped him your number on the way out.” They point to the doors and look so proud. Completely unaware of their mistake. When they notice the panic on your face, their brow furrows. “What’s wrong?”

Your stomach does backflips as you nervously pace through the hallway. If Osamu thinks that you like his brother, you will have no chance with him going forward. “That wasn’t him.”

“Wait, what do you mean that wasn't him?” they call, following you through the office to the lobby.

“It was his~” Your words die as you see a familiar head of grey hair standing at the front desk. Dark eyes meet yours and you are rendered immobile from the weight of the sorrow within them. Your stomach thrashes around, and you find yourself no longer hungry.

He knows.

He blinks, shaking off your gaze as he turns on a dime and starts to walk towards the door, away from you without so much as a hello. Your body moves on its own while your brain is still held captive by your feelings.

The chilly afternoon wind sends a cascade of goosebumps down your arms as you briefly regret leaving your coat draped over the back of your chair. He retreats quickly despite your less-than-quiet movements behind him.

“Wait,” you call. “Just stop for a second.”

“We’re short-staffed today,” he says faintly, still moving away from you. “I have to get back.”

“Please, just for a minute.”

To your surprise, the tall man comes to a halt. His shoulders rigid as he turns to face you, his feet still facing his restaurant as if he would rather be anywhere else at the moment. Although you managed to stop him, you have no idea how long you have to explain the situation without making a complete fool of yourself.

Balling your fists for courage, you take a deep breath. “I just wanted to tell you that what happened the other day was a complete~”

“M’ happy for you,” he says, his tone stiff as he gives you a thin smile. Almost as if he is trying to force himself to believe the words coming out of his mouth. “ I really am, but I was just surprised, I didn’t think you and Tsumu would hit it off like ya did.”

“He was nice,” you say carefully. “But I really only talked to him for a second.”

“That long? Must be pretty serious then.” he chuckles. Sending you a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. “Anyways, I should get back to work.”

Your hand moves on his own accord and grabs his shoulder. Just a little touch is all it takes to send a jolt through your skin and the two of you are frozen in place. “It was a mistake,” you say quickly. “My friend thought she was giving my number to you, not your brother.”

“What?”

“I-it was a mistake,” you with balled fists. The discomfort of your nails pressing into your palm gives you the courage to confess. “She knew that I was too nervous to make a move on my own so she thought maybe she could help.”

He stares at you for a moment, lips slightly parted as he processes your words. Meanwhile, a sickening concoction of fear and apprehension mash together in your throat. Never in your most hyper-realistic nightmares did you imagine frantically confessing to your crush like this.

Frankly, you feel like shit.

Even more so when the man you just confessed to lets out a laugh.

Your cheeks burn with rejection as you cross your arms. “You know, A simple no would have worked,” you mutter.

“No. God. Sorry. It’s not that.” he says quickly, realizing what you are thinking. “Definitely into ya. I was just actin' like a jerk because I’ve been tryin' to ask you out myself for weeks. I thought that in the ten minutes he spent with ya, Tsumu beat me to it.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you feel as if you have just won the lottery “Wait, really? You like me too?

His cheeks darken and he rubs the back of his flushed neck. Well yeah, I don’t really make any other deliveries. I was worried I was being too obvious about it.”

“Not at all. I thought you were just being neighborly,” you murmur, suddenly feeling as if there are dozens of eyes staring at the back of your head. Glancing back you see the not-so-subtle faces of your coworkers pressed up against the glass window, watching this entire exchange.

Apparently, the only one unaware of the chef’s feelings for you in your office was you.

He laughs, for real this time showing his teeth. The familiar sound makes your heart feel as mushy as playdough. “Honestly, I realized that you could’ve ordered from the other side of the city and I still would’ve came up with some excuse to bring it to ya.”

“And I would’ve thought you had excellent customer service.” you chuckle, internally cursing your own obliviousness. “So in a way, this little mix-up saved us some time.”

His eyes sparkle with amusement as he takes your hand. His warm, calloused fingers just fit with yours and you have never felt more alive. “I like that there is an ‘us’ now.”

“Me too,” you admit. And although the two of you now have to navigate this new relationship of yours, you know you have a hell of a lot of people to thank for setting things in motion.

Tagging: @pixelcafe-network @sleepyyshroom, @isaacdaknight @qardasngan

#haikyuu x reader #osamu x reader #miya osamu x reader #miya osamu #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu!!#osamu miya #haikyuu #Osamu Miya x reader #x reader #hq x reader

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traveler-at-heart · 11 months ago

Text

Live, Love, Natalie Rushman

Summary: Based on a request by @lynattyx - Natasha and R meet when she's working undercover at Stark Industries.

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!R

Live Love Legal

The sign was meant to be a graduation joke, but you still placed it on a shelf in your very serious, very corporate office.

Even now, as you were promoted to Senior Associate -the youngest at Stark Industries- and you had a bigger space, with a breathtaking view of Central Park and Midtown Manhattan.

It was your first day, and you were determined to make things right. Top of the list, onboarding Miss Potts’ new paralegal assistant. Your secretary (holy crap, you had a secretary!) had called to informed you she was waiting at the front desk.

“Natalie?” you called, imagining the woman with red hair and black slacks was the new assistant.

Though, you were not prepared for the sight that greeted you when she turned around, striking green eyes and a perfect smile in place.

“You must be Y/N”

The way her raspy voice caressed every syllable of your name almost made you weak in the knees.

But this was work, and you couldn’t lose your shit over the most beautiful woman you’d ever seen.

“Yes. Come with me, I’ll show you around”

Pleased with the firmness of your voice, you gave Natalie a tour of the office, pointing at different areas where most meetings took place. You also showed her where to find the information of everyone she might need to contact, and then you went up to Pepper’s office. The short elevator ride was littered with small talk, and you considered a success how your cheeks flushed only once.

“Come in” Pepper said and you opened the door, Natalie right behind you. “Y/N, happy first day as an associate. And you must be Natalie Rushman”

After a brief introduction, you were ready to leave both women to work.

“If you need anything, just let me know” you said to Natalie before going back to your office.

“Anything?” she said with a small smile. Perhaps it was all in your head, or the woman had really managed to make the question sound… loaded.

“Of course” you said, heat going to your cheeks.

Once the elevator doors were shut, you leaned against the wall, wondering if you’d imagined Natalie’s parfume still lingering in the air.

Maybe that sign at your office should read Live Love Lesbian instead.

—

It had been a week - a busy, insane week- but Natalie hadn’t needed your help with anything. While you wanted to feel relief, because you had enough on your plate, you were actually disappointed. Those green eyes and that beautiful voice would not leave your thoughts.

To your displeasure, you weren’t the only one.

“Tony” you said, feeling a headache as you entered your office first thing in the morning and saw him behind your desk, feet up.

“Y/N. How’s the new job going?”

“It would be better if you gave the government some information about those suits. But I will say I love my new parking space”

“Right! New is good” he agreed, not moving from your chair. “Like that new girl. Natalie Rushmore…”

“Rushman” the headache intensified.

“Right, whatever. Isn’t she good?”

“Ask Pepper”

“I mean I did, and she told me to stop before I did anything that might get me sued for harrassment”

“Pepper’s right. You can’t go around sleeping with your employees”

“I was only flirting” he spun around and you had enough, finally kicking him so he’d stand up. “I was never inappropriate to you, right?”

“That’s because I’m gay, Tony”

“And do you think Natalie might be…?” you glared at the man and he was quick to explain. “I hear there’s a sixth sense involved in the whole experience”

“Leave before I throw you out the window, Stark”

“You’re no fun” he complained, winking as he shut the door to your office.

—

The next time you saw Natalie was as you prepared a meeting with new VC investors and the board.

“I need you to place the NDAs in the binder that we’re sending to legal…” Pepper said and Natalie stopped walking. The sudden halt made you turn your attention. It wasn’t hard to understand what that look meant. She had forgotten. Pepper insisted. “You did send the NDAs, right?”

The hardness of her tone made you flinch, and you spoke before thinking about what could happen.

“Actually… I asked Natalie to hold off on that. I wanted to double check the IP section but completely forgot about it. I’m sorry, Pepper”

“Ok, it’s fine” the woman said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Just make sure it’s ready before the presentation”

You nodded, and turned to walk down the hall to find the documents. Natalie followed right behind you, and you almost didn’t hear the quiet thank you she whispered your way.

“Don’t mention it”

Truly, you had forgotten all about it by the next day, until you found a latte waiting at your desk.

It was exactly how you took it, and you were very particular about your coffee.

“How…?” you wondered out loud.

“I notice things” Natalie said from the doorway. You flinched, amazed at how stealth she could be.

“And you’re silent. Like a ninja. Or a spy” you drank again, chuckling at the ridiculous comparison. “You didn’t have to, I didn’t do anything”

“This job is very important so it does mean something to me, Y/N”

The way she said your name had you blushing, so you nodded and thanked her.

“Have you noticed the bar around the subway station?” you asked as she turned to leave. “Great food, pool table. It’s fun, if you ever want to stop by”

“Oh, you don’t want to play pool against me” she warned and you chuckled.

And yet, the next week you were both there, eating and drinking past midnight. Natalie wasn’t kidding when she said her aim was impeccable and when you lost the third game in a row, you admitted defeat and offered to buy her coffee and a scone of her choice the day after that.

That’s how it became a bit of a habit, to buy coffee for two on certain mornings. If you knew Natalie had an early morning, you’d be the one to drop off a steaming cup of espresso with a danish scone.

Sometimes, you’d find a cup from the cafe around the corner, your name and a smile srcibbled across it.

You were working overtime to convince yourself that you did not have feelings for her. That the nights at the bar, the coffee or lunch time you spent together was nothing more than a friendship.

Until one night, when you were both working late. Your desk was a mess of scattered paperwork, all thanks to Tony’s idiotic actions. Pepper was the new CEO of Stark Industries while he made mess after mess.

“God, I hate him” you read a complaint filed by the police against Tony, who had gotten drunk and worn his suit during his birthday party.

There was also another thing that bothered you about that night. The memory of Natalie, all laughs and flirty eyes as Tony showed her how the suit worked.

You hadn’t realised how hard you were biting the pen until Natalie called your name.

“You have ink all over your lip” she said with a smile and you brought a hand to your mouth, the liquid leaving a bitter taste.

“Oh my God, is the ink toxic? Am I gonna die?” you panicked, looking around for a napkin. Natalie giggled, approaching with a hankerchief.

“It’s fine. Here” the redhead leaned forward, and you blushed as her soft hands cleaned your lower lip. Natalie held your chin between her thumb and index finger, satisfied with the result.

“Thanks” you said, unable to keep your eyes from going to her lips. The action wasn’t lost on Natalie, and before you could apologize, she leaned forward, capturing your lips in a searing kiss.

“Now you have ink too” you said, laughing at the small stain on her lip. She smiled against your mouth, but the happinness was short lived as an explosion made you look outside. “Wow. What the hell was that?" you said, turning around.

It looked like drones were chasing after an Iron Man suit. Natalie grumbled and stood up.

"I have to go"

"Nat?" you followed her down the hallway.

The woman was gone, an apologetic look on her eyes as the elevator doors shut.

—

No calls, no messages, nothing. Not even an email.

You asked IT to keep her account active, just in case.

It had been a whole year; and maybe time to give up hope.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. Natalie had disappeared right after Vanko had tried to kill Tony. Maybe she’d gotten hurt and someone was covering it up?

Whatever it was, the few times you asked Tony about it, he seemed irritated and quickly changed the subject.

And yet, here you were, still looking for answers, resisting the urge to give up on someone who had, for all intents and purposes, ghosted you.

You sighed, turning to look out the window of your office.

Imagine your shock when you saw a fleet of alien ships flying around New York City.

—

Natasha’s eyes were trained on Stark Tower. Were you there? Had you been able to get somewhere safe?

“Romanoff” Rogers called and she looked around.

“Need a lift” she said, creating a plan. All she had to do was take a small detour to your office and then she’d kick Loki’s stupid ass.

However, as she threw the alien off his own ship, she looked around and realised there was no easy way to land.

“Oh, God!” you shouted as a ship crashed through your window. To your surprise, instead of a weird looking creature, it was being flown by…

“Natalie?” you practically screamed, sure that you were having a fever dream.

“Come on, there’s no time. Let’s take you somewhere safe…”

“The whole city is under attack, that’s kind of impossible right now” you yelled, following her closely. “And what the hell is going on with you? Where have you been? And why are you dressed like that?”

It was hard not to notice the tight unitard that adjusted perfectly to every curve in her body.

“Watch out!” the woman said, pushing you aside. She rounded the corner, preparing her guns and shooting against the aliens. Turning casually to you, she spoke in a calm demeanor, as if discussing what movie to watch. “Would you like the short or long story, detka?”

“I don’t think we have time for long stories, Natalie. Is your real name even Natalie?”

“Well, it’s Natasha Romanoff so… close enough?” she said with a weak smile and you glared.

An arrow flew by and Natasha cursed under her breath. You understood why a second later when an explosion shook the building.

“Clint! I’m at Stark Tower, do not engage!” Natasha held a hand to her ear, speaking through comms. She then turned to you and smiled, leading you by the hand to the emergency stairs. “Where were we?”

“Natasha Romanoff. I guess you’re not a paralegal either… oh my God!” you yelled as you spotted a giant green creature coming up the stairs.

“Hulk, Rogers needs back up” Natasha said, completely unfazed by the monster. “Come here” she asked, taking you to a hallway.

“Nat, a bunch of crazy shit is happening and you’re not losing your mind”

“Well, there’s your next answer. I’m a former assassin, born and raised in Russia. Now a SHIELD agent” once the coast was clear, she made you stand up and follow her to the conference room. “I was working undercover to get some info about Tony’s stupid ass. And then I met you. I was about to ask you out on a date because I like you, but the mission was over and I was instructed not to engage again”

“You like me?” you repeated, ignoring the explosions around the city.

“Out of all the things I just said, that’s the one you’re sticking with?”

“Well, duh. Because I like you too” you smiled, pulling her closer for a kiss.

“Now’s not the time” a metallic voice said. You turned to find Tony floating outside the window and you glared. “I was called for an extraction”

“What?”

“Come on, it’s not safe here. Tony will get you out and I’ll meet you once this is over, ok?”

“You better not disappear on me again, Natasha Romanoff”

“Wouldn’t dream of it” she promised.

Once Tony carried you to a safe part of the city, you waited for him to put you down and remove his helmet to slap the back of his head.

“Why?”

“I asked you about her a million times, Tony. You could have told me why she left so suddenly”

“Now you know. I’ll get you a nice restaurant reservation to make up for it. Gotta go!”

As he flew away, you couldn’t help but smile.

Natasha liked you back.

—

Dust settled and emergency services began to approach the city, aiding with evacuation. Your eyes searched Natasha’s as you walked around.

“Detka”

“Are you ok?” running up to her, you brought your hands to her face. She had a small cut in her forehead and seemed tired, but she was alive.

“Yeah. It was fun”

“Fun? I hope our date doesn’t include this type of fun.”

The woman laughed and pulled you close to her.

"Alien invasions are a six month anniversary kind of thing" she joked. You laughed, but kept your eyes on her cut, looking concerned. “I’m ok, really. Nothing a shower won’t fix”

“How about a kiss?” you offered and she smiled, leaning forward to meet your lips; it was short and sweet. A promise of more to come.

“Let’s go back to my place” you said and Natasha’s eyes widened. “For you to shower. Clean that cut, get some sleep. And then, we’ll talk about that date”

“You have yourself a deal”

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x y/n

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