#fuck me you provided the right inspiration for a piece for later

[procrazedfan]

On a random Tuesday while fiddling with the radio, your OC accidentally makes contact with aliens. The signal is crystal clear. They can understand the aliens and vice versa. -What do they say? What would be something they want to communicate with another life form.

So, this prompt accidentally gave me future chapter fodder and I am playing loose with the definition of aliens since they are technically aliens/gods/eldritch beings. But they communicate through multiple channels. Dreams, omens, and especially music.

---

Lucius sat on the tour bus, fiddling with a radio app on his new phone. Even if Jules, Chas and the rest of the band had showed him a few times, it didn't come innately to him like it did for them. But he couldn't ask them. Let alone look them in the eye after what he did.

"With Toki Wartooth still missing fans are wondering -" He swiped right. Of course the band was fucking up their part. They were most likely partying to forget about their responsibilities. Again.

"-Mourning Star delivered a massively brutal performance last night in Vegas that no doubt-" he swiped right again.

"Gangs of children are roaming the streets, attacking-" He swiped right again, increasingly frustrated. Why in the hell was he stuck on news channels? He just wanted to fucking relax without the pressure of everything for a goddamned minute!

He knew he fucked up. Fucked himself, and everyone over. He should have never went to the Depths of Humanity. Never wrote 'Hellions'. Never should have taken responsibility for his half siblings or opened that fucking briefcase he found under the floorboards. Now everyone was in a mess and it was his fault.

He tossed the phone in frustration to the opposite side of the bus cracking the screen, and knocking it to another channel.

The sound was faint, but he hears something from the other side of it. Music. But it was music that he had never heard before. He couldn't place the genre or the sound. But he could recognize the voices. Whispers of something that was not from this world.

He heard it in his dreams often. Especially after she died. But it was the first time he heard it here...in reality.

You were a wanderer Back when you were young I remember your eyes were clear Brighter than the sun With hands so soft Delicate and sweet You learned to fall And balance on your own two feet

I could only lead you so far I believe in who you are

It was all he could do to not break down in tears right there. Just like he did in front of his father a few years back. What Mrs Charlene told Chastity and Jules was right. He always did have a bad habit of bottling everything up until he couldn't take it anymore. Never asked for any help or told people what was wrong. And it wasn't helping anyone right now. Especially himself.

The song kept playing, but he sees an image on the screen. That fucking Doomstar that had been on the news cycle. At least, that was what the media called it.

Take the world by storm Muster all your strength Embrace the forces that surround you Bend gravity and space

But he had long past grown from any sense of alarm that came from the sight of it. Because he had seen it before.

You are a child of the stars Shout what has been unsung Open all the doors around you Use the power in your lungs

And he knew what he had to do. Forgive himself. Apologize to the band, and move forward.

I could only lead you so far I believe in who you are

Because he took responsibility. Made the choices that lead him this far. He had to see it through. For them and for himself. He walked away from the bus leaving behind the phone with the cracked screen and the image of the Doomstar changing color.

(Song Lyrics: Fish in a Birdcage Rule #9 - Child of the Stars)

[kissme-suguru]

Baby Daddy! Toji Headcannons

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖Toji Fushiguro x Fem! Reader

Warnings: SFW & NSFW, MDNI, slight smut, strangers to lovers, non curse au, modern au, fluff, Toji is still broke (lil struggle dates), unprotected sex, slight baby trapping, pregnancy, body appreciation, lactation kink, reader is Megumi's mom

A/N: First piece to introduce my blog!! Honestly this was lowkey inspired by Baby By Me by 50 Cent cause tiktok keeps it in my head with the edits. Let's pretend Toji is a present father...

BD!Toji who you bumped into outside a convivence store late one night while he was on the phone with Shiu, seconds away from cursing you out but couldn't help and notice how pretty you were.

BD!Toji who tries to act nonchalant and hide his smirk when you give him your number after talking for a bit.

BD!Toji who texts you a few days later inviting you to his small apartment for your first date and orders pizza. He feels his feelings start to grow when you show no judgement of non-luxurious lifestyle.

BD!Toji who still tries to impress you with little things despite not having stacks of cash to spoil you with. Whenever he did have extra spending cash he would get you something nice to remind you he cares, brushing off your concerns about the price. "Don't worry about it, doll. You like it right? Then that's all that matters."

BD!Toji who practically lives at your apartment since he's there all the time, keeping clothes, shoes and other essentials he was too lazy to go back to his place and get.

BD!Toji who's so charismatic he manages to hit raw on the first time you have sex, claiming you inside and out as the his name rolls off your tongue while he fucks you from behind.

BD!Toji who isn't used to commitment but only fucks you. He had grown so used to the feeling of you wrapped around him and he sure as hell wasn't planning on letting you go. The two of you ending up moving in together after you questioned what you were. "You're mine. Simple as that, doll."

BD!Toji who can't help but smirk slightly when you announce your pregnancy in a panicked state, finding your nervous emotions about his reaction endearing. His arms wrap around your small frame and pull you into his chest to show you how he felt without saying much. "Calm that pretty head of yours, babe. Don't wanna work up our baby."

BD!Toji who becomes even more protective over you in your vulnerable state. He makes you walk in front of him in public, an arms length away at all times. And if you thought he was possessive before it's more now that you're carrying his son.

BD!Toji who gets in the habit of calling you mama.

BD!Toji who takes pride in seeing your body change and grow as you get further into your pregnancy. The sight of your full breasts never failing to draw his attention, often coming up behind you to just squeeze your plump tits through your shirt. When you finally manage to give into his begging he wastes no time attaching his lips to your swollen nipples and tasting the sweet essence coming from your breasts, watching you try to keep your composure. "You like that, mama? I feel you grinding against my thigh like a needy little thing."

BD!Toji who starts taking any job he can get in order to provide for his soon to be family, making sure you two have all the necessary things for the arrival of your son.

BD!Toji who doesn't really know how to help you during the birth but tries his best to make you feel comfortable and give you encouraging praises. Once the soft cries of Megumi echo through the room all the nerves leave his body and he can't take his eyes off him, noticing how much he takes after him already.

BD!Toji who's enjoys watching you preform your motherly duties no matter how small. Looking at you nurturing and loving his son was enough to make his tough shell crack every time.

BD!Toji who you wouldn't expect to go all out when it came to being a dad but did. He would carry Megumi in his strong arms often and always checking on him.

BD!Toji who has to fight off the ladies whenever he's out alone with Megumi. Of course he was a natural flirt but never letting women get ahead of themselves telling them immediately that he has you.

BD!Toji who after dealing with him for a couple years and seeing you care for his son saves up enough money to buy you a nice ring to propose with, wanting you to be his officially for life.

BD!Toji who hates to admit it but he loves being a dad. He takes pride in his son and enjoys watching him grow, raising him better than how he was. Megumi having his father's attitude and smart whit as a child which manages to get him in tiny (jokey) arguments with his dad. that you can't help but laugh at.

"Watch your mouth, brat before I punt you across the room."

"Oh yeah? Try it old man, see if you can even lift your leg up with your stiff joints."

[look-at-the-soul]

All we’d ever need (Part 1)

Tommy Shelby x reader

🌷Massive thanks to @lyarr24 for providing this idea. I can’t say this enough, Lee-Anne your incredible idea came just as I was feeling kind of out of Tommy inspiration (maybe because the season is gone), thank you from the bottom of my heart for sharing and trusting this and other ideas… I love it!!!

🔮Summary:  You are Polly’s goddaughter, met Tommy when you moved in with your godmother. After Grace left, when he was broken, in a shell, moved by the pain… until he started noticing you. Then in a serious relationship some unexpected news will shake their worlds a little.

“Polly open the safe please.” She was looking at the window, distracted. “Polly…”

She finally woke up from dreamland and confused, looked at him.

Tommy pointed at the safe.

What was it with everyone lately? Doing everything slower, making him repeat himself.

“Have you heard from Y/N?” She opened the safe and looked at him in silence.

“She’s busy, I guess Polly.” Taking what he needed, he closed it again. “Why?”

Polly looked around, there were people taking bets. This wasn’t the time or place to tell him, she needed to talk to Y/N first.

“Oh, nothing she just told me her father got some new stones and pearls, there are two rare yellow diamonds she wanted to show me.”

Tommy narrowed his eyes at her. What the fuck?

“Pol, I need you focused on the business, we are about to take over Sabini can your fucking pearls wait for later?”

“Calm down Thomas, everything will be fine.”

Tommy arched his eyebrows. “Of course, it will, and you want to know why? Because I’m not thinking of fucking yellow diamonds.” He snapped and left the room.

He had so much going on at the same time, he didn’t have patience for this.

Marching to his office he found Lizzie coming out from it.

“The files you have been waiting arrived, I just left them on your desk.”

Finally, the information over Michael and Anna Gray.

***

“Lizzie says there was a gunshot.” Y/N entered Tommy’s office with a worried look.

He was picking up the papers scattered on the floor.

“She’s mad at me because I didn’t tell her where Michael is.”

“You found her son?! Tommy…” The smile on her face told him he did the right thing.

“I can’t tell her where he is, just look at what she did.” He pointed at the ceiling, there was the fucking hole.

“If you know she’s carrying a loaded gun, you should have known better not to make her upset.” She warned him, but then her eyes got soft and a smile started to form. Tommy pulled her hard for a kiss, their lips smashing together, immediately feeling like he started a fire inside of her. “Wait, wait, Tommy.” She asked out of breath, his hand somehow was already half way inside her panties.

“What.” He was frustrated, getting hard within seconds.

“I have something for you.” That’s why she was in his office. “Was going to wait until the races, but the reopening of The Garrison seems very fitting.” Y/N opened her purse to show him a black velvet box.

Inside, Tommy found a gold cufflink set.

“See? The little wishbone there?” Y/N took one and lifted his left wrist just to see how it would look. “I asked my father to put the flour-leaf clover and the horseshoe to wish you good fortune, also because you love your horses.” It was a tremendous piece of art. “It’s 14k.”

Tommy cupped her face between his hands, he didn’t know how she do it, in the middle of the madness, on top of his chaos, she brought calmness, peace, a smile and everything got better.

“Thank you, Y/N for this… for everything.” He adored her, would do anything to see her smile.

Pleased that Tommy liked his present, Y/N pressed her lips on his for a quick kiss. “Will you finally show me what dress you chose for me?”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

“Should I be scared of your choice?” Y/N took his flat cap from his hands and placed it on top of her head. Tommy gave it a little tug to cover half her eyes.

“I chose you, I think you should be scared.” Lifting her chin up to look at him from under the small visor of the cap, she asked: “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“You sound like me now, ey?”

“Just so you to know… I chose you, I gave you the chance, not the other way around.” He knew that, but he liked to give her a hard time.

Especially when he was in a good mood like tonight.

The Shelby brothers kept the new decoration of The Garrison a top secret until tonight.

Everything was new, there was lots and lots of gold everywhere she looked around, they wanted to show off their new status, the power… Tommy removed the arm around her waist to hug Arthur, a genuine smile on his face, lighting him up.

“There you are, come here girl!” Arthur took her in his arms and spun her around, earning a happy squeal.

“Oi! Put her down!” Tommy joked.

The kiss on her cheek tickled for the mustache. “Good to see you Y/N, good to see you.”

Tommy grabbed a drink and took her hand to guide her to a quiet place, as they were walking by the main entrance, Ada appeared with Karl in her arms. Haven’t seen her in a while.

“I’m glad you came, Ada.” Tommy wrapped his arm around her shoulders as Esme took Karl.

She opened her free arm to Y/N. “You look nice.” Excitedly she gave Ada two kisses. “Likewise… You should visit more often, next time Karl won’t even know my name.”

“When are you finally getting married?” Ada asked, making Y/N look down. She hadn’t told Tommy anything yet, he was always busy, always fixing things, solving everyone’s problems. Besides, he never showed any interest in taking their relationship to the next level.

Clearing his throat he suggested: “Why don’t you talk to Polly? She’s already pissed.”

Walking over her, Y/N tried to fix Polly’s hair, her coat was hanging from her shoulders, a drunk smirk on her face.

“If you don’t have an address, then I’m not interested.” She downed her drink as if it was water.

“Polly…” Y/N started.

“You must know it, he tells you everything.”

“I don’t have his address Pol, I would go and find him for you, you know I love you.”

“Filthy liar.” Polly pointed her finger at her. “Get me the address, or I will tell your man.”

Ada looked between them. What was she talking about?

Y/N felt stabbed. “Don’t you dare. You wouldn’t do it.” It wasn’t fair from her.

“You heard me, and you know me.” Polly’s stare could turn anyone in stone.

“What’s going on?” Ada looked between them, confused.

“Do it, and I will make sure Tommy never gives you the address.” Y/N warned. Anger running through her veins. Y/N loved her, but she would never forgive Polly if she opened her mouth.

Three days earlier…

“Tommy is driving me crazy Y/N, you need to distract him with something.”

Y/N chuckled. “You say that like you don’t actually know Tommy.” She poured some tea for both of them. Polly was her godmother, her Mum’s best friend, they were very close since she was in, well… the oven.

“You are right, he is acting like a lion in a cage, nothing will calm him until the business is settled. Not even you.”

“Last night he was talking about a new horse he wants, thinking of names out loud, I swear I was listening to him, but he was having one of those phases when he can’t stop talking… then he got angry because I fell asleep.” He was so pissed at her.

Polly chuckled. “He barely says four words with us. All he does is move his eyes, I have to guess what he wants and then he won’t shut up with you. You make him good Y/N.”

“He makes me good too.” She saw her goddaughter’s eyes glow at the thought of him. “Did you choose the pearls for your necklace?”

Her father owned a jewelry in London, they just got some precious stones from Africa and beautiful pearls from the Philippines, Polly’s birthday already passed but she wanted to gift her something special.

“My girl, you don’t have to give me anything, you know that.” She smiled at Y/N, she was like a daughter to her, the closest kind of love she would ever have.

Y/N took Polly’s hands in hers, suddenly the memories at nine years old when Polly let her play dress up with her handbags, hats and necklaces hit back. “I met Tommy thanks to you, remember? There’s no pearl, or precious stone in the world to give you back what you gave me.”

“Come here.” Polly opened her arms for her.

“Thank you Polly for everything you’ve done for me, and for them.” She added pointing at the Shelby brothers photograph. Y/N had tears in her eyes.

“Stop, you are making me cry.”

“We have to go, now.” Tommy ordered, not even saying good morning to them.

“But…” Y/N took the cup in her hands to place it in the sink.

“I said now.” His hand extended to her.

“Give me that, I will clean it.” Polly said to her and watched them leave the house.

As the front door closed and her eyes saw the remains of tea leaves her goddaughter left in her cup, Polly gasped. She had taken a second look to make sure she wasn’t wrong, but even in the light by the window she saw the same over and over.

A baby.

Y/N was pregnant.

***

If he was busy before, now that the business was legal, he was even busier.

“Where’s Y/N?” Polly asked right after taking a cigarette from his desk.

Tommy paused his reading, slowly placed the paper in front of him over his desk, next to unread paper pile.

“I don’t fucking know, Pol. I don’t carry Y/N around my hip.” The words came out in a harsh tone he didn’t mean, but he had so many things to do.

Polly noticed his bad mood so she decided it was best to leave him alone. Wandering around the betting shop, she found Lizzie on the typewriter, Esme was pouring some whiskey.

“You are going to make a hole on the floor.” Esme looked at her by the corner of her eyes.

Polly stopped on her tracks, a hand on her hip and worry in her eyes. Esme was like her, she noticed things.

“We are going to need more people helping with the bets now.” She tried to cover her nervousness with a glass of whiskey. Her guessing could be wrong, but… she was hardly wrong about those things.

“That’s why you are like that?” Esme put her book down.

Polly looked at Esme, considering her options. “If you see Y/N, tell her I need to have a word. It’s urgent.”

She spent the whole day pacing the betting shop then around the house. How didn’t she see it earlier?

The ashes of her used cigarette fell to the floor, over her shoes.

“Thank you so much Isaiah, you can leave the vegetables under the kitchen table.” Y/N held the door open for him, he was also carrying a sack of flour.

“Yes ma’am.” He was young but very strong, trying to make his way around the peaky boys.

“Let me give you a pie I made, you can share it with the boys.”

Polly intercepted her on her way around the kitchen, her arms on her shoulders. Looking carefully at Isaiah. “I’ll get it for him, sit down.”

“Tommy asked me to-“

“Later Isaiah, close the door.”

Y/N frowned at her tone, she was always kind to their people.

“How are you feeling?” Polly asked her as her hands cupped her cheeks, making her get up carefully, then one of her hands was below her bellybutton.

“Fine? Why?” Y/N gasped as Polly placed both palms on her breasts.

“Woah!” She looked at her godmother confused.

The smile on Polly’s face grew even bigger, she was speechless for the first time. She wasn’t wrong.

“Oh! Tommy will be so happy!” She beamed.

“Polly, Polly… what’s going on?”

“I read the tea leaves you left by accident this morning and I thought I was reading it wrong, but now I know I still have the touch.” As Y/N’s gaze seemed lost, Polly clarified: “You are with a child my girl.”

Y/N blinked, she was out of words. All kind of thoughts running through her mind, her eyes looked at the table next to her, the black Madonna around Polly’s neck, the clock on the wall… no, this couldn’t be happening.

“Sit down, you look ill.” Grabbing the chair, Polly helped Y/N. “It’s too early but later I can tell you if it will be a girl or a boy… finally some good news in this family!” She poured a glass of whiskey for her and water for Y/N. “Tommy will be delighted when he hears the news.”

She had seen it by accident, didn’t mean to… but she wasn’t expecting Y/N’s reaction.

“Polly…” Y/N finally spoke. “Tommy cannot know about this.” Polly noticed she wasn’t smiling.

Her godmother was the confused one now. “Why not?”

“How the hell did this happen?” She answered with another question, panic running through her body. “Tommy always finishes outside.” Her words were barely a whisper, she could feel the beating of her heart in her ears.

“Doesn’t matter now, he’s going to be a father!” Polly pulled her for a hug.

Tommy never mentioned he wanted to get married, let alone have children. They barely had time to be together with his business expansion, he wasn’t the kind of man to settle down either, there were always women around him, he held some kind of powerful magnet… their relationship was convenient to him, he knew she wouldn’t betray him.

A shadow was always holding him back, and having a family was never part of his agenda, a crying baby and a bossy wife wasn’t made for him… he would eventually get bored of the married life.

What if Grace decided to come back?

What if he decided to leave her just like his own father abandoned them when his Mum passed away?

“Listen to me Polly, I will talk to him alright? But not now. In the meantime, you cannot share this with anyone.”

“Y/N.” Polly complained.

“Promise me Polly, please.”

Polly sighed. “Fine, but you need to eat more and don’t lift anything heavy, need to take care of this little peanut.” Her hand caressing her still inexistent baby bump.

“Mrs. Gray! Miss Y/N!” Isaiah rushed inside catching his breath. “Tommy wants you, family meeting.”

Y/N looked at her godmother. A pleading look in her eyes.

****

Part 2

Follow this series here A/N: Don’t miss the next part of this short series soon. If you liked it I would love to know your thoughts! Also let me know if the tags worked :) Tag list: @lyarr24 @stevie75 @lovemissyhoneybee @zablife @runnning-outof-time @peaky-cillian @julyzaa @l1-l4 @kissmyquill @onlydeadcells @xoxoloverb @gypsy-girl-08 @julkaamazing @datewithgianni @cloudofdisney @gretelshelby @alreadybroken-ts @babaohhhriley @milsies

[penwieldingdreamer]

Just one Kiss

The third installment of my Daniel Ricciardo drabble/one-shot series. Also thank you so much for so many likes and reblogs on the other, too. I finally found a fandom again that I enjoy writing for, thank you guys.

If you're interested in the songs that inspire this, here's the Series Playlist

Happy reading. Let me know what you think.

I kept the reader as vague as possible. While writing I imagined a plus size! female! reader but you can think up whatever you want.

You had a shitty day at work, so Daniel invites you to stay with him in Monaco. In the end something might change for you both.

previous part

Warnings: fluff, some angst

Words: 2203

Come to Monaco, take some time off. We’ll go hiking and swimming, you’ll love it.

You read and re-read his message. Daniel had sent you the plane tickets after yet another lengthy call about your crazy boss who was complaining all the time. Covid had hit every business, but just like everyone else you weren’t able to change it and you couldn’t get people inside the shop to buy enough cars to keep your boss afloat.

Each and every day, no matter how hard you worked he wasn’t happy with your performance, even though all he did was sit inside his office and drink the expensive whiskey a friend gave him. 

You had joked about looking for a millionaire boyfriend and stop working if you found yourself with such a boss each time you changed workplaces. The Aussie had laughed at that, telling you he’d be there, providing for everything. “Don’t do that, I’d be stamped as a gold digger.”

“Fuck ‘em, I’d still do it.” His voice was hard but still making you laugh. “Besides, you’d be a great WAG.”

Smiling at his omission, you thanked him but couldn’t help picturing what life would be like if you did end up with the F1 driver. The glitz and glamor wasn't something you needed, but joining him on one of his trips or at races definitely had its perks. After that you had talked about his upcoming race in Spain and the one back in Silverstone where he ended up on P14, not something he wanted. Not for the team and especially for himself. 

“You’ll get on the podium again, Danny, it will come. Stay positive.” You tried to encourage but heard the doubt in his voice.

“I know, it’s just, I don't have a good feeling with the car. It’s working great one day and the next something is wrong. I don’t know.”

A few hours later you found his message and the link to the tickets on your phone and you knew saying No was not an option. You answered him with a grinning emoji, knowing the Renault driver was already awake and waiting for your reply.

Get ready to dine and wine me, loverboy.

The next day at work you put in your vacation time and left your boss’ office before he could comment on it. You knew he wasn’t happy with you being gone for two weeks, but since you had started working for him you had about two days off from work in the last year. 

“You dare leave with such short notice when it’s the busiest time of the year? I need you here, Y/N!” he called, standing at his desk and gripping your letter before you could close the door.

"I dare to. Work is slow anyway, with the pandemic people don't want to buy cars right now."

Grumbling, he sat back down. "Just make sure you'll do a better job than before so people actually come back. With your mood swings I'd not buy a car from you, too."

Swallowing the cuss, you gave him a tight nod before leaving the office. If you didn't need that job you'd probably have given that idiot a piece of your mind but at the moment he was still paying you more than your last workplace.

Back at your own desk you shot a quick text to Daniel, wishing him luck for the race in Spain and that you couldn't wait for the weekend to be over very quickly.

Three more days, babes, and you'll enjoy the Côte d'Azur. We'll meet in Nice at the airport, I'll be waiting at your gate.

True to his words the weekend was over faster than you thought and Daniel had sent you a voice message in the morning reminding you to have all your essentials, travel documents and to bring the happiest mood now that you would spend two weeks with the Honey Badger himself. You didn't know how he always did it, he was such a happy-go-lucky guy, although sometimes having a bad day, but just picturing his smile while he sent that voice made your day brighter. 

The plane ride was uneventful, even with the pandemic. All you had to do was keep your mask on and everyone was happy. Music was something you probably shared with Danny, you needed it when you were traveling, driving, cooking or just reading a book sometimes. Music made everything better and lifted the mood a bit, so thanks to some of the songs the Aussie had recommended, the journey to Nice, France had been faster than you thought.

You felt giddy, knowing he would be waiting for you at the arrival gate, hopefully in the same mood as he had that morning, knowing the weekend hadn't gone as planned for him as he wanted to. The plane finally touched down, passengers clapping and whooping loudly before you heard the snaps and clicks of the belts being loosened. Sometimes you wondered why people couldn't wait until you reached the parking spot. The doors wouldn't be opened before then, so why bother being the first to grab your shit when you'd still have to wait patiently. Shaking your head, you turned your phone back on.

You sent a quick message to your friend and family, letting them know you got there okay and one to Danny, so he knew you were about to meet him. With him being a famous driver you didn't know how many people might recognize him, if some at all with having to wear the masks and didn't want him to be in the middle of all of that. Although he once told you he didn't mind at all, but with it being this early he was confident it was smooth riding from there on.

Can't wait to see you, babes.

You chuckled at the nickname he gave you. He started a few weeks ago and when you asked him about it, the Aussie explained that it was the nickname for baby or mini potatoes.

"So, I'm a potato now?"

“No, you’re my baby potato.” His laugh had echoed through the speaker and you couldn’t help the grin that stole itself onto your lips as you thought back to it.

Grabbing your travel bag from the overhead compartment you stood and followed the passengers out of the plane. You couldn’t wait to get out of that crowd and see Danny again. It had been too long since you had time off and spending your free time with him was such a privilege. He was literally the sun, even when he had a bad day, he wanted to make his friends and loved ones smile no matter what.

Walking out of the gate, you finally were able to lose the throng of people that had traveled with you. That’s when you found him standing there in his merch hoodie, sunglasses and a mask. 

“Babes, fuck I missed that smile.” He pulled you closer, his arms circling around your shoulders. Michael was sitting opposite the gate at a small cafe area, enjoying a light breakfast. "Did you have breakfast?"

You shook your head, food hadn’t been on your mind this early in the morning. Your flight had left at dawn and plane food was never something you enjoyed, so you nibbled on the cookies and granola bar you had bought before take off. “I hoped I could get something here, enjoy the ocean view and sun.”

The Aussie chuckled, nodding over at Michael who had finished his coffee and scrambled eggs. “We’ll get your luggage, take a car to Monaco and then enjoy an amazing breakfast with a view.”

The drive to Monaco and Daniel’s home there was about half an hour but the scenery that flew past was the most beautiful you had seen in a while. The waters were so blue and even the mountains on the other side looked beautiful. Before you knew it the car was in the garage of the apartment complex. 

After a big brunch outside on the apartment balcony, enjoying the view down to the Port de Cap-d’Ali yacht club, the Aussie took you down to the beach. 

“Did you ever make a decision you might in the end think was the wrong one?” He asked you, his hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie.

You looked over at him, your hand instinctively moving to his elbow. “What’s going on, Daniel? I’ve never seen you so down before.”

Sighing, Daniel shook his head. “I, fuck, I’m not sure. With the DNF in Austria and the car's performance I asked for a seat at McLaren. I’m still finishing my contract but I don’t know if getting that ball rolling was right. I just want to race and get back on the podium.”

“Why didn't you tell me before, huh? We're friends. Are you really sure this is what you want? Changing teams, I mean. You know I’ll have your back, no matter what you do.” He put his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his side. “What did your agent say to that? And Cyril?”

Daniel laid a kiss onto your temple. “He’s on board I think, it’s just so fucking annoying. I try to get it working, I have a few good positions and then it’s fucked up again. Most of all I miss my cheerleader at the track. And well, Cyril is…he's not happy but we're amicable and I try to get the points in, so at least it will be a split on good grounds. I thought he was never going to talk to me again.”

“I guess I can understand that. I wouldn't be happy, too, if my star driver talked with other teams after the first race. But it is your life, your decision in the end and as long as you try I think that's more than you can say about other people. Just think it through very well and take it day by day. Also, I'd be there more often, but I can’t get out of work all the time even if I wanted to. But you know I’m always watching you race and keeping you in my prayers.”

The Aussie let out a soft laugh. “You sound like my mum, she’s doing the same with every race.”

Shrugging your shoulders, you leaned your head against his shoulder. “Your mum’s not wrong to do that, it’s a risky business you’re enjoying. But it’s what you love so I guess there’s no way you’ll be quitting now.”

“Definitely not, but I’m glad you’re here now.” He stopped suddenly, his long fingers brushing a few loose strands out of your face. Daniel’s eyes locked with yours, switching down to look at your lips. Before you could react, his plush lips were on yours. His free hand moved behind your neck, pulling you closer to him.

Your own hands moved from his arms up to his shoulders, holding onto him with all your might, your knees already buckling from the sensations. The last time you had kissed him was back in Australia. That summer had haunted you for months - but in a good way if you were honest. You still felt his touch every night even when Daniel wasn’t there and for the longest time you had dreamed of getting that feeling back.

He pulled away, looking at your serene face. Your eyes were still closed and he couldn’t help the satisfied grin. “I really wanted to do that when you came to Silverstone.”

"There's still COVID, we should have been more careful. What if you"

"Fuck COVID, all I could think about was that smile and your lips. Kept me up at night every fucking day."

“Well, good things come to those who wait.” You returned his grin once you had looked back at him. Daniel had that broad grin he usually wore and you felt your insides tingle. “What’s it mean now?”

Shrugging his shoulders the F1 driver brushed his thumbs along your jaw. “I don’t know but I’d like to see where we're going. Take it day by day, ya know.”

“That’s a great idea I think.” You stood up on your tiptoes, grabbing his cheeks and pushing your lips against his for another kiss. 

Just one kiss had changed your dynamic from friends to something more and you couldn’t wait to explore where it might lead you.

The days after you spent swimming, hiking and just exploring Monaco and the area around the principality. You'd keep your relationship under wraps from the rest of the world for now, not an easy feat with him being a famous Formula 1 driver, but it didn't mean you had to sneak around. Daniel took you on a few dates and you promised to try and be at a few more races, staying at the Renault garage, rooting for your favorite Aussie. You also met his friends and saw Max again, enjoying the time out on the water with them and knew he had needed that time off from all the drama since the start of the season, not just with the pandemic but with the Renault-McLaren issue, too.

next part

[webbywatcheshorror]

Cube (1997)

Another old fave, Cube is a movie about a group of people who wake up in a strange facility full of traps. No, not Saw 2, I said Cube. This one predates Saw, actually, which makes me wonder if it played any part in the inspiration for my other favorite trapped room related movie. If I somehow ever meet James Wan or Leigh Whannell then I’ll ask. Right after I pick my jaw off the floor.

Anywho, beasties and ghouls, let’s get to it- Review (and SPOILERS) under the cut!

I have no idea how old I was when I first saw this one, but I’m reasonably sure it was sometime in my last year as a teen or in my early twenties, so right around the time I was finally able to start dipping my toes into the world of horror. I have no doubt that if I’d seen this any younger it would have been on that list of movies that altered my brain chemistry.

This one’s a lot more psychological than Saw, in my opinion, as it’s less about seeing people mutilate themselves and more about seeing people break down to their most fundamental selves in the face of terror and paranoia. It’s the kind that sticks with me for a long time afterwards, making me wonder at who I’d become if I were stuck in The Cube.

The First Kill, played by the delightful Julian Richings, in this one is super effective at showing us what the cast will be dealing with, and as others before me have noticed, there are similar scenes in later movies (the first Resident Evil, for example) that seem to be inspired by it. If the strangeness of the opening room hadn’t already hooked me, this kill would have. Dude fell apart so fast. (ha ha because he got chopped into pieces by some kind of insanely sharp wires ha ha I’m funny)

The setting is simple: you’ve got a group of strangers in a square shaped room with six doors, one on each side, and each door leads to another room that only differs in color. And if you go in the wrong one, you die. How can you tell which one’s the wrong one? Well, probably because you’re about to die, because there’s no obvious tell.

Our cast starts out with five people- Quenten, a cop who skeeves me out in like the first few minutes of his introduction; Holloway, a doctor who is also a conspiracy nut; Leaven, a college? girl who understands numbers in a way I could never dream of; Worth, a self-described ‘just some guy’; and Rennes, a French escape artist who is taken from us far too soon. Later we get Kazan, a man with an unspecified mental illness that makes him difficult to communicate with and prone to unpredictable behavior, but has the superhuman abilities that media loves to give mentally disabled people, in the form of being even better at numbers than Leaven. (Astronomical!)

Rennes is my favorite but he has the least amount of screentime, since he gets to be The Example. He’s escaped multiple prisons, and knows what to look for. He gives the crew hope that they can beat this thing, and figure a way out, tells them to stop overthinking it and just keep moving, makes a joke about being ‘Harry fuckin’ Houdini’, then he fucking DIES. Acid to the face by a sensor he couldn’t detect. Oops! Morale obliterated.

Leaven is my next favorite, because I love when girl geniuses. She starts out delighting in the attention she gets from Quenten for figuring out a way to find out which rooms are trapped, based on numbers assigned to each room; she is, however, still a kid, so I can’t really fault her for trusting him to start with. I don’t understand math well enough to know if her reasoning is sound, but honestly, I don’t care if it is. She deserved to make it out.

Holloway is an older woman, age not provided, but she’s equal parts likeable and irritating to me personally. She’s a doctor at a free clinic and the first and only one to treat Kazan with any decency. She’s also a mega conspiracy theorist and enjoys blaming Big Government for running and ruining the world. She holds the group together for quite a while, maybe because she’s not afraid to call Quenten and Worth out on their bullshit. I respect that.

Kazan is, if you don’t consider the sequel movies, the saddest character. Why in the hell would you put someone like him in a death maze. What kind of evil do you have to possess to think ‘yeah I’ll put a mentally handicapped person in a confusing trap filled prison with strangers, at least one of which is violent when pressured’. What the fuck. This is a movie from the 90s so I’m not gonna say it’s like, good rep or anything; what is accurate is how he gets treated by everyone but Holloway. He’s an obstacle, he’s a liability, he’s not even considered a person. I’m so glad they didn’t kill him. (If you do consider the sequels, however, the way you view his character is completely different, since it’s implied that his brain has been surgically altered to make him this way. it’s a whole thing.)

Worth is also one of my favorites, but doesn’t start out that way. He’s unhelpful, snarky, and seems about ready to just give up at any given moment. When he confesses that he had a hand in making this Minecraftian nightmare, it’s understandable why. Trapped in the very thing you helped create, even if you didn’t realize what it is you were actually making. Makes a good punching bag, apparently. When push comes to shove, though, he steps up and that’s when he becomes the version of himself I like. And then of course he dies, because every character I like dies.

Which just leaves Quenten. He’s... a cop. He starts out obnoxious and overly aggressive, but that could be attributed to waking up in a weird dangerous place with unknown people; when Leaven’s number system fails and he gets hurt, his attitude changes real fast, and he’s outright hostile to everyone from that point on rather than just pushy and bossy. He treats everyone like shit unless he deems them useful, and at his core is violent and controlling. He kills Holloway for daring to accuse him of hitting his kids (guess she hit a nerve), then kills Leaven and Worth just as they reached the exit. There was no reason for this other than the fact that he clearly lost it. Also, attempted to seduce Leaven, an established minor. Absolute garbage person. (I’m not really qualified to dissect it, but it rubs me the wrong way that the one black character is an aggressive, violent psycho...)

Cube touches on one of my fears: the unpredictability of other people. There is no provable way to tell what someone really feels or what they’ll do. Everyone is different, and what indicates something like, say, rising anger in one person, could only be a sign of mild irritation in another. Being in a situation where your survival is reliant on strangers, especially when the environment is designed to stress you out and break you down, is absolutely terrifying to me.

Something I really like about Cube (again, only if you don’t consider the sequels) is that it doesn’t explain SHIT. Why was this place built? Why were these people chosen? What was the point of any of it? Cube says it’s not important. In a way this movie feels a bit like watching an ant farm, observing the way people change when they’re pushed to their mental limits. Why they’re there in the first place isn’t the point.

The end is both triumphant and depressing- While our last living protags are (for some reason???) staring out the door to their freedom, which is only available for a short time, Quenten catches back up to them and murders two of them, with only Kazan escaping. The cop at least gets what he deserves- the red smear on the inside of the Cube’s shell is a nice touch. As is his leg just sticking into frame as the camera shows Worth and Leaven, being shuttled back down into the maze.

There’s two moments that are similar to one another that I enjoy- when they realize they’re back in the room where Rennes died, and it breaks them. Worth is hysterically giggling, Leaven is in despair, and Quenten slips further into his breakdown. The second is when Leaven figures out that she’d been right the whole time- they should have stayed in the first room they gathered in, as it would have eventually been the room that led to the exit.

All that pain and death and anguish, only to wind up back at square one. I wonder if they wrote it that way for the pun, or if it’s just one of those coincidences? Speaking of puns, I give this one three squared outta ten ghosts (that is in fact nine. I had to make sure before i committed to the bit. I’m serious when I say I’m terrible at numbers.) It’s not a perfect movie, as one of my pet peeves is when characters decide to celebrate before actually confirming victory. Had Leaven, Worth, and Kazan simply left the cube the minute they knew it was the exit, they would have all survived.

Though it likely would have deprived me of that satisfying blood streak. Unacceptable.

[foli-vora]

So ngl I finished reading You're Somebody Else and this day has been tough due to regular depression, period depression, anxiety, a bunch of medical issues and just waking up on the wrong side of the bed and I wanted to thank you for the cathartic cry - I've needed a bunch of them all day. BUT - I also wrote this??? I've never written fanfic before so you inspired me? There's ALSO MORE but I'm exhausted and just need to go to bed. Anyway, thank you for this. I have a whole ass story in my head now that continues on but here's fanfic of your own fanfic. Love you!

--------

Marcus keeps tabs on you after your release. A massively reduced sentence, only a year, for your “cooperation”. He grimaces. Guilt knaws at his stomach. A not too uncommon occurance nowadays. He tells his partner that the information about where you are is to make sure you stay out of trouble, but he’s sure that Bernie can see right through his pathetic excuse. A pitied look, a soft half smile. 

You had said you never wanted to see him again. It didn’t mean he couldn’t see you. 

—————

A couple months after your release, he had attempted to go to the coffee shop you liked, mainly in a poorly conceived attempt to see you “accidentally on purpose”. He’s immediately accosted from behind the counterby the owner, Shelly - a girlfriend of one of the guys you helped put away. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” 

Marcus sighs. 

“I promise I’ll leave in a minute. I just wanted to know wh-“ 

Shelly scoffs. 

“You got a lotta nerve, you know that? Like she’d even wanna see you in the first place. Didn’t she tell you that she never wanted to see you again? Yeah, that’s what I thought. You know? As someone who dated a criminal, I’ve seen some pretty shitty things, even if I didn’t know the specifics. But what you did? That’s probably the shittiest thing I’ve ever seen. So congrats, you’ve just reconfirmed by ACAB beliefs! The door is back behind you, hopefully it smashes your ass hard on the way out."

She turns and starts to enter the door behind the counter. 

“Please, Shelly. I’ll leave as soon-“

She whirls. 

“She’s. Not. Here. She hasn’t been by for over a year, since she was - you know - in prison. She doesn’t even live in D.C. anymore! Thanks for stripping away the one fucking support each of us had, you piece of shit. NOW GET THE FUCK OUT!”

Marcus nods once and leaves. He hears a sob behind him. 

———————

He finds you in a small city in Virginia 20 minutes outside of D.C. by the metro. Marcus was privy to the information provided by your parole officer to the federal government. Since Marcus was assigned your case, he had access. 

Marcus doesn’t even know what he’s doing here. You made your feelings clear…but, if he was being honest with himself, he wanted to make sure you were alright. He sees the betrayal on your face when his eyes met yours in that interrogation room when his eyes close shut. Your sobs as he left the visiting room permeate his thoughts at night. Your laughter haunts his dreams, your soft mewls you made when making love sing to his soul. He still loves you. 

—————

Marcus drives past your new shithole apartment. He remembers your old one in D.C. - a home. Your own original pieces lining the walls, books on art and life and love spread across multiple brimming bookshelves, the smell of garlic and onions wafting through the air - courtesy of your stove. This new apartment is sad, lonely, a life belonging to a felon. Marcus has to tear his eyes away. 

He reaches his destination about 15 minutes later and Marcus already sees your little crappy car parked in the lot. 

The park is nice this time of year. Everything is green and vibrant and full of life. He sees the flash of white as he steps out his car - an easel. 

And you. 

His heart pounds harder. You look as beautiful as the night he met you, sitting in that lawn chair. He smiles, sadly. 

You don’t see him yet. You’re staring at the easel. Marcus can see the way your eyes narrow at the ducks walking towards the little pond you’re facing. You’re holding a pencil - a preliminary sketch before the obligatory painting to come. 

After you seem satisfied with the ducks, your head turns slightly towards the easel. Marcus sees you lift your pencil. His breath catches - he always loved this part, whether it was an original painting or a fake, the start of a painting by you was magical.

But -

Your pencil stays glued to that one spot. It doesn’t move. For five minutes, for ten. It stays put. 

Marcus looks at your face again and he finally sees it. The wobble of your bottom lip, the realization that painting was pain, not pleasure. He’s not close enough but he senses the tears in your eyes. Your hand begins to shake. You drop your pencil.

—————

He’s going to come over to you. He’s walking and planning and thinking - “I love you - I’ll always love you - I’m sorry - Forgive me - You mean everything to me”. 

Your hands cover your face. Your frame is wracked with sobs. He���s almost there, he’ll make it better, just hold on - 

Then, he sees him. 

The man beats him to it. Marcus stops short. 

The other man tentatively puts a hand on your shoulder. You startle slightly and shakily wipe away your still falling tears. The man asks if you’re alright. You breathe out a small bitter laugh. 

“I can’t paint anymore.” Your voice cracks. 

Fuck. 

I’m sorry, what??

This is wonderful, anon. Like holy fucking hell. I’m so fucking flattered!

You took time out of your day to write this and share it with me, with us, and god damn it I’m crying. Sobbing.

The pain you made me feel at the end there—fucking ouch. Her whole life is art so to not be able to paint would ruin her, god she must be so heartbroken still! This is so fucking brilliant and I keep reading it and just loving it each and every time and I don’t think I can properly articulate what this means to me, nonnie.

I’m drowning you in love, forever and ever. I appreciate this, and you, so fucking much.

[dstarstories]

Chapter 4.2

"You're a monster."

"Then be grateful that I'm your monster."

"My monster... fuck sake," Vince growled, trying to keep the volume down. From where they stood in the hallway now, he glanced back into the dining room. The man & woman stood there, completely still & silent. He'd only ever heard rumors of the wealthiest of their kind doing something like this. Perhaps it should have crossed his mind as possible with the Hawkes but he truly hadn't believed he'd ever partake in such a feeding.

"I'm sorry that I caught you off guard," Archer began to apologize, gently touching Vince's arm. "Had I known that it would upset you..."

"Upset me?"

"Yes, though I don't understand why. They're willing participants, Vince. I feel it's safe to assume that your last meal was less than," Archer reasoned, earning him a vicious sneer from his partner.

His future husband was right of course but this still felt off to him. The people standing there now seemed to show no emotion, not even the slightest sense of fear. "So what, they're bred like cattle then brought in when you need a snack?"

"Considering how they treat the cattle, it would serve the human race right. Not only the cattle but all sorts of animals really," Archer laughed, quickly wiping the smile from his lips when Vince appeared to have a very opposing reaction. "We don't breed humans. We don't cage them or torture them in any way, I can assure you of that."

"Then why are they so stoic? They look like zombies or something." Again Vince turned to watch them, looking almost disgusted.

"They're paid very handsomely. These two have been here quite a few times previously so they're well aware of everything that goes along with a feeding. They're given a mild sedative & then are fed well themselves after to help restore some of their strength before going along with their lives."

Vince stood quietly observing them while he considered this. After a while, he shook his head. "No. I don't like it."

"You need to feed, Vince. They're here & ready for us. You won't even consider it?" Archer had meant no harm in the gesture & knowing that Vince was typically forced to hunt, he'd assumed this would be a welcomed change for the man.

"Can you excuse them or something please?" Vince whispered.

"Of course," Archer nodded. He wouldn't send them away as he himself needed to feed later but he would wait until after Vince had left. "Anything you want. You go ahead to the sitting room & I'll join you in a moment."

PREVIOUS // NEXT Note: This chapter/post was inspired by this prompt. After rereading what I had pre-written, I realized that I needed an additional chapter first & this provided the perfect missing piece!

[free-for-all-fics]

Detective Tim Rockford, The Thief, and Max Phillips Prompts! Most of these are crossover AUs! Pls tag me if you’re inspired by any of these ideas and I’d love to read it! 🕵️‍♂️🩸💎

1. The Usual Suspects AU: An unidentified Thief has been terrorizing the country with their heists for many years, always managing to escape and slip away at the last minute. Nothing is known about this individual; not their name, age, race, gender, nothing. Detective Tim Rockford has been following this ongoing investigation for at least a decade, trying to crack down on and finally apprehend him or her. But every time he thought he had a lead, it only drove him into a dead end. A group of individuals are placed in a police lineup as suspects to a recent jewelry heist that matches the Modus Operandi of the infamous and elusive Thief. They’re all brought in for questioning, suspected of either being an accomplice to or The Thief themselves. While there’s solid evidence that places each suspect at the scene of the crime and can be used against them, nobody will admit to participating in the heist that night.

There are two suspects in particular Detective Rockford focuses his attention on: You, and a school teacher named Ben Moreno. While Tim conducts his interrogation, you and Moreno spend many hours regaling the detective with your accounts of what happened that fateful night. You both describe in great detail the events that led you each to the scene of the jewel theft and all that transpired. It all started when… (What story or stories do you and Moreno tell Rockford? It’s all up to you.)

As your respective stories come to their ends, Moreno and you finally confess who had really been behind everything, but neither of you are willing to testify in court. Yours and Moreno’s bails are posted, and you’re both released. Moments after you leave, Rockford realizes you and Moreno seemingly fabricated your entire stories, improvising on the spot by piecing together details from random items in Rockford’s cluttered office so that your testimonies would match up and you’d both be cleared of suspicion. You and Moreno were using false identities, stringing him along and playing him the entire time. Tim’s information was wrong; there’s not just one thief, there’s two. Fuck! As Rockford pursues The Thieves, a fax arrives at the police station with an artist's facial composite of the culprits. The picture resembles Moreno and you. In actuality, you and The Thief are married and co-conspirators. You’ve been his right-hand woman and the love his life for over a decade. You both enter a car that’s waiting for you, provided by your mutual contact. You and your husband make your escape and leave Detective Rockford in the dust, just moments before agents arrive on the scene. Tim may know your faces, but he still doesn’t know either of your real names. Fuck.

2. A master thief sends a threatening letter to your extremely wealthy and influential parents. "I am coming to take your most valued treasure. Stop me if you can." On the promised date, your parents guard their most valuable pieces in a vault and The Thief never shows. A short time later it’s discovered that what was stolen was not in the vault. He didn’t steal any material objects such as jewelry or artwork. Instead he has kidnapped you, their adult daughter and only child. When you steal something, you spend your whole life fighting to keep it. But if The Thief marries you, he can inherit your family’s business, along with their money, assets, and everything to their name. He would have partial ownership and control over it all, and there’s nothing your parents could do about it because your marriage contract would be legal and binding.

Your parents hire Detective Tim Rockford to find you and bring you home before The Thief forces you to marry him. Time is of the essence. But what if your kidnapping isn’t a kidnapping at all? What if you and The Thief staged this and you’re both in on it? What if this marriage isn’t forced, but an eccentric elopement between lovers who were from different worlds and couldn’t be together otherwise? Maybe this was the only way you could escape from your parents and the life they set out for you since birth. You didn’t want any of it and instead wanted forge your own path, to live your life in a way your parents would never approve of. When Tim finally finds you and The Thief, what will he do?

3. The Thief is an extremely rich man who specializes in jewelry and art theft. So he met up with you, the world’s greatest art thief, to offer you a job. You've never been caught, yet you've sold countless priceless pieces in the black market, all stolen from museums. You’ve then replaced the originals with replicas. The Thief claims he would be very interested in teaming up with you for an upcoming heist, 50/50 profit split. After he proves himself and passes the initiation tests, he’s welcomed into your league of thieves. You show him around, introducing him to various hideout spots and people you love to work with. Over time, your friendship becomes romantic as you pair up for more heists and get to know each other.

Unbeknownst to The Thief, you're not actually an art thief. You're just very good at making replicas and you've been selling counterfeits instead. You’ve never actually stolen from museums, but are contracted by museum curators to paint replicas that can be periodically swapped out with the originals and put on display to minimize the risk of theft.

Unbeknownst to you, The Thief is actually Detective Tim Rockford, and he’s just been buying things or borrowing items from evidence, the vault, etc. as part of his undercover sting operation. He’s spent months training himself to put on this Thief persona and convincingly play the part in order to not blow his cover. But he got so wrapped up into his role and has been living as this character for so long that he accidentally got too close and fell in love with you. Dammit. None of this was supposed to happen. He can’t live in a lie forever. Once this investigation comes to an end and he solves the case, he’ll have to go back to his normal life as Detective Tim Rockford. So what happens next?

4. He’s a highly infamous thief, a professional, a master of his craft. He’s committed countless heists over the decades, and still nobody has ever come close to catching him. Nobody has an inkling as to what his name or age could be, or what he even looks like - except for one person. One night, he breaks into the mansion of an extremely wealthy and influential family to steal their valuables - only to find the vault empty. The current homeowner is already waiting there for him, with a self-satisfied smirk. They taunt the jewel thief; they knew he wouldn’t be able to resist the chance of pulling off a heist of this magnitude and would walk right into their trap. The valuables have been moved and hidden in an undisclosed location. They could be anywhere in the country by now and it’s up to The Thief to find them in time. Who knows, maybe someone else will find them before he does. If he succeeds, he may keep the jewels and do what he wishes with them. If not, well….

The master/mistress of the mansion says, “It’s time to play Hide and Seek. Tick Tock, murderer! Your life’s on the line.” Murder? What mur— The wealthy heir/heiress shoots themself dead before The Thief even has time to react. Jesus Christ! The Thief searches their body and finds a note in their pocket that says, "Tag, you're it." It dawns on The Thief what the heir/heiress has done and the meaning of their last words. They’ve already planted false evidence, written their last will and testament, and gone through the tedious process of creating an airtight case against him that’d frame him for murder and get him locked up, never to see the light of day. Oh god. Fuck, fuck, FUCK! He doesn’t know what else to do so he calls his identical twin brother, Tim Rockford, for help. What happens next?

5. Unbeknownst to you, The world’s greatest detective was once the world’s greatest thief, and the world’s greatest thief was once the world’s greatest detective. Tim Rockford and his identical twin brother have switched places and pretended to be each other ever since they were in school. Even now, the jewel thief and the detective aren't exactly on the best of terms, but they’ll still occasionally switch places if they feel like it’s necessary for one reason or other. This confuses the absolute hell out of you, since you’re married to one of them and have no idea the twins are doing this. Sometimes you notice very small, almost indiscernible differences in your husband’s behavior. If you hadn’t been his wife for as long as you have, you’d never notice any changes in him at all since they’re so infinitesimal. Even if you can’t pinpoint exactly what’s different about your husband, you still feel like his behavior is just a little bit off. You may not even be aware of the existence of a twin brother because your husband hasn’t told you anything about it. What happens?

6. Birthmarks not only show you who your soulmate is - They also show the wounds that caused you to die in your previous life. Tim Rockford is a detective who specializes in investigating old murders through looking at birthmarks. Thanks to his work, many cold cases have since been solved. He meets you, his soulmate, while he’s leading an ongoing investigation. You’re a suspect and he can’t show bias, so he follows procedure and has you arrested. He treats you the same as the other suspects, keeping you detained in his office as he cross-examines you.

Fortunate for him that his matching soulmate mark is hidden under his clothing and you won’t be able to see it. You’re soulmates, but his top priority is solving this case the right way. He can’t get distracted. The most he can do for you is bring you coffee or a snack from the vending machine. Maybe he can bring you a blanket or pillow since you’ll have to sleep on the couch in an empty interview room overnight for the time being. He can’t rule you out or release you from police custody unless he finds enough evidence that points to someone else as the culprit. Well, dammit. What happens next? What will Tim do if you’re guilty?

7. Considered the world’s greatest thieves, people call this unidentified pair simply, “The Thief and Their Shadow.” No one knows anything about who either of you are; not your genders, your ages, what you look like, nothing. Tim Rockford is a detective whose life goal is to catch the two of you, his mysterious and elusive arch enemies. He’s been trying to unmask you for most of his career, to no avail. Just when he thinks he has a lead, he’s too late and you’ve both slipped through the cracks again and escaped. Whenever he feels like he’s close, The Thief and Their Shadow disappear into thin air, leaving only a note for Tim to find. Always another clue, never any answers. He feels like he’s been taken on a wild goose chase for at least a decade.

He leaves his jacket on his desk while he steps away. He’s only gone for a minute or two but, when he comes back, he finds a note has been slipped into his jacket pocket. That definitely wasn’t there before. Either The Thief or Their Shadow was in his precinct office. They were right here, they got this close to him, and still nobody saw them enter or leave? Their suspicious activity went undetected? How? Yet another mystery for him to solve. For many years, Tim follows this ongoing case of jewel heists. Until his years of hard detective work pay off and the long awaited day finally comes - he’s solved the mystery! He’s uncovered the identities of The Thief and Their Shadow - only to realize it’s been his identical twin brother and you, his teenage niece, the whole time. God fucking dammit. Tim Rockford has never face palmed so hard in his life.

Once upon a time, you were a child burglar who unwittingly broke into the house of the world's greatest thief. You were no more than 7 when he adopted you as his own daughter and raised you to be his apprentice and right hand. He harnessed your potential and taught you everything there was to know about pulling off a successful robbery. As you grew up and gained more experience, he took you on larger and riskier heists only when he felt you were ready - never a moment before! When you and your father weren’t committing theft, you’d go to Uncle Tim’s for holidays, birthdays, and other family gatherings. And he was none the wiser all these years. What happens now?

8. After an infamous jewel thief is found dead in your home, a group of vampires led by Max Phillips show up at your door the next night. They ask if they can come in, and you refuse. "Vampires can't enter any house without being invited!" You exclaim, knowing your rights.

“True, but we have a way around that.” Max says as the shadowy figures of the vampires step aside to let Detective Tim Rockford come forward. He’s holding a search and arrest warrant, both signed by a judge. He looks at you apologetically.

“There’s…my hands are tied here. You’re under arrest for the murder of [The Thief’s first and last name]. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can and will be held against you in the court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney…”

Turns out The Thief was a member of Max’s vampire clan. In accordance with vampire law, you must be turned and inducted into their clan as his replacement - Unless you can find a loophole or prove your innocence. Maybe if you find the real culprit, Max and his vampire clan will leave you be. Tim is very busy and has lots of work to do, other cases demand his attention, etc. - but he still wants to help you any way he can. He bends the rules a little bit and lets you free roam around the station and shows you the evidence board. You’re free to use it, you’re just not allowed to leave the building - you’re still under arrest, after all. So you may need to use the phone to call your friends on the outside for help.

“Listen, I’m just doing my job here, but I don’t see any need to keep you locked up in a cell. If you want to prove your innocence - I’m not going to stand in your way. This is a police station, don’t let me catch you messing with anything. Get me? Don’t let me catch you. One more thing, we’ve got an evidence board in the station we track cases with. If any compelling evidence were to show up regarding your case…I would consider taking a look. This is the case board. Track your case on it. Once you got enough to pin this on someone else, push that button and give me a call.”

What happens next?

[nivalvixen]

Interlocutor

Also on AO3

Inspired by Blade Runner and Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?

...

Derek sat across from the man or android, inspecting him thoroughly and without a word. Those would come later. For now, he took in the bright caramel-coloured eyes, sharp jawline and cheekbones, plump lips and upturned nose. A smattering of moles marked his skin, and Derek thought that if the man truly was an android, then each one had been placed according to a designer's precise specifications to provide an illusion of humanity to nothing more than cogs and wires. If he wasn't an android, however, then the moles only added to make the man look ethereal in his beauty.

 He didn't know which he preferred, but Derek's personal preferences weren't the point of this interview.

Nodes connected wirelessly from Stiles to the Voight-Kampff (VK) machine, displaying his heart rate, respiratory responses, and pupillary dilation. Based on Derek's questions and Stiles' answers, his employer - Human and Linguistic Entities (HALE) - would update their androids to be as close to human as humanly possible. Derek was one of many interlocutors working for HALE in this capacity, and he prided himself on his ability to match the VK's findings every time.

 "Thanks again for doing this at my apartment. So, do you start asking questions or do I start talking? We've been here for, like, ten minutes already. Do I need to do anything else with these nodes?"

 Derek lifted an eyebrow, and Stiles shrugged in response, unremorseful and unafraid of showing it.

 "All right, dude, I'll wait."

 "Derek, not dude."

 "All right, Derek, I'll wait."

 Silence descended, another one - two - three minutes stretching out between them. Stiles didn't talk, but he did move. He tapped his fingers, his leg jittered, and he shifted on the chair. Finally, the VK beeped to indicate a baseline had been established.

 "What's your first memory?" Derek began.

 "26th of August, 311- wait; I thought you were going to ask my birthday and full name. That's usually how these things start," Stiles said with a laugh, scratching the back of his head. "It was my sixth birthday: my father baked a cake that was so awful that I swear I can taste it just by thinking hard enough. My mother tried to fix it by covering the cake in three bags of M&Ms," he said, grinning broadly with too-white teeth.

 "Do you like M&Ms?" Derek asked as he unfolded his arms and rested them loosely on the table.

 Stiles mimicked the movement as he shook his head. "I prefer Reese's pieces. Peanut butter cups are a fave, though."

 "You're in a desert, walking along when you suddenly look down and see... "

 "Which one?" Stiles asked.

 Derek paused. "What?"

 "What desert?"

 "Does it matter?"

 "Of course. Antarctica was considered a desert when it existed, but it was vastly different to the Sahara."

 Derek considered, added a note to his slate. "You're in the Sahara desert, walking along in the sand when you suddenly look down and see a turtle."

 "Is it a snapping turtle? Sorry, continue."

 "It's lying on its back, baking in the hot sun, you don't move to help it. Why?"

 "Why wouldn't I help? Can I help? How did the turtle end up in the desert? It's not its native habitat; is the turtle a mirage? Fuck it, I'm helping it."

 "In a magazine, you see a picture of a nude man."

 Stiles tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. "Is this testing whether I'm an android or gay?"

 "You show the picture to your husband. He likes it and wants the magazine. The nude man is lying on a bearskin rug."

 "I wouldn't give it to him."

 "Why not?" Derek asked.

 "'Cause real life should be better than a picture. And if he wanted a picture, he could just ask me. Though I'd protest the bearskin rug."

 Derek ignored the VK's small screen, keeping his attention on Stiles for more than one reason. "When did you first have sex?"

 "You're just asking it outright now?" Stiles muttered, a perfect flush building up his cheeks, the colour only enhancing his complexion. "I was twenty-three. I was a late bloomer."

 "Details are important, Stiles."

 Stiles groaned and raised a hand to cover his face. Derek looked at his fingers, each one long and tipped with perfectly manicured nails. If Stiles was an android, then he'd been built as a pleasure droid, he mused.

 "A woman had been flirting with me for, like, three weeks. I'm not giving names; I won't betray her privacy, even if details are important. I nutted in something like three minutes, and spent thirty minutes redeeming myself by eating her out 'til she screamed."

 "The most recent time you had sex?"

 Stiles sighed, his hand dropping. "Last month with a guy who I matched with online. I agreed to no-strings-attached sex, and he fucked me for a disappointingly short thirteen minutes. I offered to reciprocate, but despite his profile stating otherwise, he's not gay."

 Derek wondered if he was feeling hope or jealousy, and looked at his slate for the final question. "You're watching an old movie. The guests are at a party eating raw oysters."

 "Gross."

 "They have turtle soup for dinner with prune mousse and lobster ice cream for dessert."

 "Is that the same turtle from the desert? Who designed this menu?"

 Derek clasped his hands, threading his fingers and across from him, Stiles copied the motion subconsciously while still looking incredulous. "It's over now, Stiles. Thank you for your cooperation."

 "No problem! So, am I a droid?" Stiles asked, peeling off the nodes.

 "I'm not sure; I need to collate the VK's outputs," Derek said, though he felt like he knew the answer already.

 "Oh. Well, since you're not working anymore, wanna stay and have sex? I've done these tests for HALE before; there's usually less staring at the test subject, and your pupils have been dilated this whole time," Stiles said, licking his lips.

 Derek swallowed hard, then nodded, a perfect blush creeping up his cheeks.

 ...

 The end.

 Thanks for reading; I hope you liked it!

[loving-bucky-is-easier]

deadweight

leave what's heavy, what's heavy behind • one

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 12.6K (I know, I’m sorry)

Summary:

His heart dropped clear through his stomach when he saw her. Strapped to a chair in the far corner of the room that hadn’t quite been visible from his spot on the wall, head lolling to the side, a small pool of blood forming at her feet. Bloodied wrists and ankles held fast with shackles to the arms and legs of the chair. Her face so ghostly pale it was almost translucent.

Warnings: 18+, graphic descriptions of violence and torture (like seriously, very graphic stuff), whump, language, angst, sexual innuendo, playing around a bit with the mechanics of Bucky’s arm (is that worth a warning?), my limited medical knowledge, fluff

Minors--this is not for you. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Please be discerning. Do not interact.

Prompt: I chose this prompt from @wkemeup ‘s #kas9kwc 9K Celebration. Angst #1 - Character A cleans Character B’s wounds after a rough mission. [A]’s fingers linger over scarred muscle as they finish wrapping the bandage.

A/N: A little bit later than I’d hoped, but here it is! This is the first fic I’ve shared, on this platform or otherwise. Hope y’all enjoy! Feedback is welcome and appreciated. Special thanks to @wkemeup for providing the occasion, and to @wkemeup-fics / @tuiccim / @revengingbarnes / @mareli-carter / @gogolucky13 / @buckysbabygorl / @constantwriter85 (in no particular order) for inspiring me to take the leap.

Edit: This reader is white-coded in both this piece and it's sequel, in that she blushes pink or red when flustered or embarrassed. This trait is mentioned multiple times by both the reader and other characters. This was an oversight on my part when writing, and I've done my best to ensure that all fics written since have avoided traits like this.

“How much longer?”

You huffed a bit, fingers tapping intermittently over the keys of the computer in front of you. You bit back a couple of choice words as you addressed the impatient super soldier standing watch behind you.

“Buck, do you have any idea how many layers of programming I’m working through right now?”

“No,” he challenged, which was true.

“Well, grandpa. Let’s just say this amounts to Olympic levels of badassery.”

“Fuck you,” Bucky muttered, bristling at the nickname.

“Fuck me, yourself,” you whispered under your breath.

You heard the super soldier choke behind you.

Fuck. You’d forgotten about that pesky enhanced hearing. You resisted the urge to turn and see his full reaction, knowing that the flush that had painted its way across your cheeks would quickly betray how little you were joking.

.....

“I thought you were coming with me.” You grimaced at how whiny you sounded, but if Steve noticed he didn’t react.

“Look, Y/N, I’m sorry. I was. But now they need me to deal with some political garbage. PR shit. And while Buck and I can fill the same role on pretty much any combat op, public relations is not where he should be.”

You winced. If Steve was cursing, even a little bit, you knew he was stressed, and you were adding to it. He had never signed up to be the mediator between a ragtag crew of oddities in spandex and the cold, dark suits of federal government. And he was right. The Star-Spangled Man with a plan held a hell of a lot more favor than a certain rehabilitated ex-Hydra asset. Still...

“Isn’t there anyone else?”

“Sam just got back yesterday. He’s beat. Really, Y/N, Buck is the best one for this. We need to keep this small. Under the radar. In and out. You know he can do exactly that.”

You sighed. Yes, you did know that. You knew all too well how capable Bucky Barnes was. He was the perfect one for this op. This very small op, where the two of you would be alone. Together.

“And you really need me for this? I’m not the only one who can handle tech. Nat can...” You trailed off as you saw Steve getting more frustrated, his jaw clenching and his piercing blue eyes hardening. He started to say something, when Nat spoke up from the corner of the room. The redhead was perched on a desk, legs crossed and a smile tugging at her lips.

“First of all, you are the only one who can handle this tech. Yes, I can get through firewalls and encryptions, but I can’t reprogram all of that. Second--” she shrugged up her left shoulder, which was still in a sling from her last mission-- “this is a low-profile op, but there will definitely be combat. And I’m not a whole lot of use with this thing.”

You doubted that very much. Natasha could probably take down a whole squadron with both hands tied behind her back, all without smudging her lipstick. But, she did have a point.

“But--”

“Y/N,” Steve said sharply, his voice low. “What the hell is the problem? This is a simple two-person op. A once-in-a-blue-moon opportunity to corrupt a massive stock of Hydra weaponry and save ourselves a lot of trouble in the long run. It’s an easy pick. You and Buck.” He rose from his seat across from you, fingers carding through his hair, voice rising with every word. “I know Bucky has a rough past, but I never thought that you of all people would hold that against him. You never seem to have a problem with him around here!”

“I don’t, it’s just--”

“If you can trust me, take my word that you can trust him--”

“I do! I trust you both. I just can’t--”

“Can’t what? This is such an obvious choice. Why can’t you just--”

“You like him.” Your head whipped to the source of this last quip. Natasha had risen from her perch, arms crossed, a smirk splayed across her face.

“What?” you choked, pink flushing across your cheeks. “No, I--I don’t know what you’re--butt the fuck out, Nat!”

Steve’s gaze darted back and forth between the grinning redhead and you, as you sunk further into your chair. The room was silent for a moment, until he planted both hands on the table between you, his stare boring into you.

“You like Bucky?”

Arms crossed protectively in front of you, you didn’t dare look at him as you stammered out a “N--no, I don’t.”

Steve snorted, and you glanced up to see his face break into a shit-eating grin.

“Well, damn, Y/N. For a super spy, you’re a terrible liar.” Except you weren’t. Unless a certain super soldier with a metal arm was involved. Then, much like now, your mind turned to mush and your face betrayed you, unable to hide the pinks and reds painting your cheeks.

“I just don’t think we’re the right fit for this,” was all you could manage.

Nat chuckled. “On the contrary, I think this is a wonderful opportunity for you two to get comfortable working together. High stakes, but probably low engagement. You have to learn sometime, don’t you?”

You looked to Steve, pleading with him to understand, and were instead met with a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. He winked at you, and you groaned.

“Besides,” Nat continued, “we set up a brand new safe house for you two to hole up in for extraction after you’re done. You guys will get the chance to christen it properly.”

Steve cackled at this, and you considered crawling under the table, the flush on your cheeks deepening to a fire-engine red and creeping across your ears.

.....

That same reddish tint had once again taken up residence along the tops of your ears as you sat at the keyboard in the Hydra compound, thoughts far from the task at hand, instead picking apart every minute detail of that mortifying interaction.

We’re friends. Friends banter. He knows that. Does he know that? He should know that. He was just surprised. It didn’t mean anyth--

Y/N. The more responsible part of your brain cut in. You are destroying Hydra weaponry while seated precariously inside one of their bases, in a room with three different entrances that could each welcome in hostiles at any given moment. You have your life, Bucky’s life, and the lives of thousands of potential victims of Hydra quite literally clutched in your fingertips. For the love of all that is holy, get your fucking head out of your ass.

Still, you couldn’t help but shoot a glance over your shoulder at the soldier posted behind you. He had his back to you, head on a swivel between the three doors. You couldn’t see his face, but his shoulders had tensed up closer to his ears, and he fiddled absentmindedly with the plates on his metal forearm.

Shit. You had made him uncomfortable. You mentally cursed Steve and Nat for putting you here, all the while knowing it wasn’t really their fault. You weren’t ever going to make a move anyways, so you might as well seal your fate here. Scare him off entirely, and move on with your life.

Fingers flew across the keyboard again. You needed to do at least one thing right today.

.....

Bucky couldn’t help but fidget as he stood with his back to Y/N, eyeing each of the doors intermittently, tensed and waiting to rain down hell on anyone who dared threaten the pretty girl behind him.

He gritted his teeth, rubbing a hand down his face. There were too many weaknesses to his position. Three fucking doors. How was he supposed to cover three doors at once? And of course, his biggest weakness was in the room, too.

Bucky cringed. Had he actually just thought that? You’re losing it, Barnes. This is a coworker. Important, yes. But don’t you dare reduce her to a damsel in need of your protection. She wasn’t. He knew she wasn’t. Bucky had witnessed it firsthand when they sparred as she even took him down once. Granted, he had been a bit flustered by her pinning him to the ground, thighs straddling his hips, but still. She was powerful and brilliant and so, so kind to him.

And here she had to go and make that comment. Bucky guessed he hadn’t been meant to hear it, but that didn’t stop his heart from fluttering, his face from flushing, his shoulders tensing. Because, oh, how he wished she would let him. He just wouldn’t dare ask.

Bucky flinched, drawn out of his reverie, as Y/N let out a satisfied huff and the wheels of the chair skid to the side as she stood. He turned, watching with a grin he couldn’t smother as she shook her head to the side a bit, her little happy dance carrying down into her hips. She stepped backwards then, colliding into him with a yelp.

Instinctively, Bucky reached up to catch her, his hands finding her shoulders.

“Sorry!” she winced, turning to face him, head still bobbing a bit. “I just got a little caught up in the...that felt good.”

Bucky offered a soft smile. “Don’t be sorry. It was cute.”

At that, Y/N’s face flushed pink and she stilled. Her eyes bored into his as they both suddenly became aware that he was still holding her.

Idiot. He quickly dropped his hands. “Sorry, I--”

“No, it’s fine, I don't mind.” She chewed on the inside of her lip, eyes dropped for a moment, before she reached out and threaded her warm fingers through his metal ones.

Bucky’s breath hitched. Y/N had never been withholding when it came to physical contact, unlike almost everyone else in his life. He knew they didn’t mean it with malice; in fact, it was probably borne from concern. But Y/N was comfortable, casual. Shoulders brushing when they sat next to each other, fingers poking at his chest when she was too invested in some silly argument with him, elbows digging into his ribs when he threw her sarcasm right back at her.

But this was different. Intentional. Pre-meditated. Close. And very, very distracting.

Distracting enough that by the time Bucky had caught the smell of ozone lingering around him, it was too late. There was a click, and the world went black.

.....

Bucky wasn’t sure what woke him up first: the ringing in his ears, the throbbing in his skull, or the burning in his lungs. He wrenched his eyes open to see the room in shambles around him, obscured by the white spots waltzing through his vision. As he peeled himself up off the floor, he scanned the room. The explosion had ripped up into the ceiling, collapsing piles of cement around him, sparking little fires like clusters of poppies blooming around him. It had thrown him and Y/N--

Y/N. Bucky’s heart rate picked up as he scrambled through the piles of debris, her name tearing from his throat.

“Y/N! Y/N! Come on, talk to me, doll!” Bucky heard a groan from a few feet in front of him, and as his eyes caught on her, his heart dropped.

Y/N lay on the ground, blood dripping into her hair from a nasty gash on her forehead. Her tac suit was speckled with perforations, most of which were blooming red as well. But worst of all, he could only see half of her. Her left arm and leg disappeared under a pile of fallen ceiling.

Bucky sucked in a breath as he skidded to his knees next to her. His hands fluttered just above her, not sure what to do, not wanting to hurt her more than she already was. He settled for cupping a hand to her cheek, pushing a strand of blood-soaked hair out of her face.

Y/N’s eyes fluttered open at the touch, locking with his. They filled with panic, and she started to struggle against the debris holding her down.

“Y/N. Y/N! Hey! Hey. You’re okay.” He gently pressed a hand to her right shoulder. “Don’t move, doll, you’re gonna make it worse.” She stilled at that, eyes still locked on his.

“Bucky, what--” Her eyes widened as she glanced down. “Shit! Are you okay?”

Bucky followed her eyes, and he was surprised to see a piece of metal the size of his hand lodged in his left thigh. It wasn’t deep, but it was definitely there. And he hadn’t even felt it in his panic to find her.

Bucky chuckled. “Y/N, sweetheart, I appreciate the concern. Really, I do. But what the fuck?” He probed a finger around the edge of the wound, then gave a small wince as he yanked the piece out in one go. He grabbed at the end of his pant leg and tore a strip off, tying it quickly around the injury without a second thought. He could already feel the edges beginning to knit themselves together, the serum in his veins fast at work.

She gaped at him, at how quickly and casually he had acted. “Look, just because you’re a super soldier doesn’t mean I can’t worry about you.”

Bucky smiled a bit at that, but it quickly dropped when he noticed how pale she was. He pursed his lips. “Thank you. And now that I am sufficiently triaged, we need to get you out of here.” Bucky gently wrapped his hands around her free knee and shoulder and gave a brief experimental tug.

The cry that wrenched itself from her lips stopped him cold.

“Fuck! Y/N, I’m so sorry! That was stupid, I--I mean I just hoped...” Bucky closed his eyes to hide the tears involuntarily springing into his eyes. She heaved out a shaky breath, her right hand reaching up to cup his cheek. He couldn’t help but lean into her touch.

“Bucky,” she whispered.

“Hmm?” he hummed, his eyes still closed.

“You have to leave me here.”

His eyes shot open at that, recoiling away from her, from the awful notion she had just suggested.

“I can’t move,” she continued. “You can’t move me. And you’re hurt, too. I don’t care how fast that serum works. I’m a liability, and you need to go.”

Tears fell in earnest now as he stared into her pleading eyes. “There is no way,” he choked, his voice shaking, “no way, in fucking hell, that I am leaving you here.”

“Buck--”

“Drop it, Y/N. Drop it right the fuck now.”

“But--” And she would have protested more, had he not collapsed without warning onto her already damaged ribs, his vision burning white. And then his consciousness faded entirely.

.....

It was all you could do not to let out a scream of pain as Bucky collapsed on top of you. Not that you could have, really, because the super soldier’s weight quite effectively knocked all of the air out of your lungs.

As you struggled to draw in breath, you watched in horror as Bucky seized, eyes rolling back in his head, muscles contracting involuntarily. Your eyes fell on the joint of his silver arm, which was at the moment held fast by a black metal bar pulsing with energy.

You followed the awful weapon up to the man wielding it. His brown eyes bore into you, the irises so dark they almost blended with his pupils. An ugly smirk danced across his pale lips, and his black gloved hand twisted the bar more firmly into Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky arched upwards involuntarily, dropping heavily back down on you, eliciting a sharp yelp from your throat. Brown Eyes’ face split into a wicked smile, and he held the bar there for a moment longer, before finally letting it drop. Bucky continued to twitch, his nerves still reeling, soundly unconscious.

“Well my dear,” Brown Eyes cooed. “Thank you for delivering our lovely little Soldat back to us.” He gestured flippantly behind him, and two soldiers dressed in black, chests stamped with the horrid red emblem of Hydra, lurched into your field of vision. Cruel hands grappled at Bucky’s form, hauling him up between them. You fumbled weakly for a grip on his vest, desperate not to lose him to this organization that you knew haunted him, but it was a struggle you had no chance of winning.

Bucky was whisked out of the room, and Brown Eyes took a step forward, kneeling next to you, a hand gripping the side of your face. Tears sprung into your eyes as he occupied the exact same position Bucky had only moments before, but where there had been concern and gentleness before, there was now only cruelty and calculation. The man squeezed your jaw harshly, forcing your gaze up to him, and you choked down a sob.

“As for you, we need to have a little conversation. Someone has been playing with things that don’t belong to her.” He flicked his hand again, rising to his feet as two more soldiers surged forward. They gripped harshly at your right thigh and shoulder and yanked hard.

Blessed darkness descended, cutting off wretched pain, before you even realized you were screaming.

.....

The walls were cement, fluorescent lights bouncing painfully off the pale grey and doubling the pounding in Bucky’s head. He squinted, trying to shake the spots from his eyes as he surveyed. A thick metal grate running floor to ceiling divided the room cleanly in half, dark metal bars crisscrossing to leave gaps that he could maybe fit his forearm through. He could see the outline of a door in the metal, reinforced and held fast with an electronic locking mechanism.

The other side of his half the room was empty, save for a shackle hanging from a chain on the wall and a pool of blood on the floor that looked far too fresh. Bucky shook any further consideration of that from his mind before it could take root—he needed to focus on what he could actually do something about now. He needed an exit.

Bucky clambered to his feet, intent on probing the cell door for any weakness he could exploit, anything he could use to get out and find Y/N. His venture was short-lived, as he nearly collapsed into a heap.

For one, his right hand was shackled to the wall with a short chain, one that appeared to match the one on the opposite wall. The cuff was nothing spectacular, one he could have easily crushed with his—

Oh. His arm. That had been the real driving force pulling him back to the ground. Bucky had felt his metal arm go dead before, but this was different. This was more than lifeless weight. No, this felt like his arm was fighting against him, trying to both tear itself apart and rend it from the joint on his shoulder. Every movement sparked shocks from his silver fingertips up through the damaged connecting tissue and into his chest, sending his heart into a panic.

Bucky gave himself to the count of three before gritting his teeth and forcing himself back up to his feet, wrenching the resistant metal appendage up with him. He swallowed back a scream as white hot tendrils of pain coursed through his chest, probing at ribs he was sure were at least bruised in the explosion, if not broken.

He knew he needed to get out of the cuff first; the metal arm would be useless to check the walls for weaknesses, and even if it were functioning, the chain wouldn’t allow him to get close enough. He scanned quickly around the room, looking for something to disable or crush the hinge, but Hydra had been thorough. They knew who they were dealing with. Bucky knew the serum coursing through his veins was probably enough to rip the chain right out of the wall, but it wouldn’t be without cost. He was hesitant to cripple his one functioning hand at this point.

Bucky’s eyes fell once again on his arm, and he noticed that the hand was tensed into a fist so tight that it would have broken the skin if there had been any to break, or fingernails to break it. He almost laughed as an idea struck him. Wincing at the sharp pinches it sent, Bucky peeled the silver fingers back, trying to open his metal hand. Sure enough, they snapped back into a clenched fist, ever-resisting, but definitively demonstrating that he still had grip strength. If Hydra had merely deadened the arm, it would have been useless. Now, he could it make it work.

Bucky’s breath hitched as he forced his prosthetic fingers to wrap around the chain, as close to the wall as could get them. Steadying himself, he twisted sharply, vision darkening at the edges, but it had done the trick. The pin of the chain had yanked free of the wall, swinging to rattle by his side. Bucky leaned heavily against the wall for a moment, allowing his heart to settle from the most recent shock of nerves.

Across the room, there was a tiny whimper, so slight Bucky almost missed it. He strode quickly to the metal bars, the chain rattling along behind him, searching for the source.

His heart dropped clear through his stomach when he saw her. Strapped to a chair in the far corner of the room that hadn’t quite been visible from his spot on the wall, head lolling to the side, a small pool of blood forming at her feet. Bloodied wrists and ankles held fast with shackles to the arms and legs of the chair. Her face so ghostly pale it was almost translucent.

Y/N.

His stomach clenched as he surveyed her form, finding more of it marred with bruises and lacerations than not. Anger coursed through his veins as he noticed her shivering—the soldiers had removed her suit, leaving her in just the black sports bra and spandex shorts she wore underneath.

He wanted to run to her, to scoop her up in his arms and hold her, to tell her that everything would be okay, that he loved her, and—

Not helpful, he chided himself. If you actually want to help her, you need to get yourself out.

Tearing his eyes away from her, Bucky turned his attention to the door. His heart sank. Y/N would be helpful in figuring this out, but Bucky was basically useless when it came to this sort of thing. There weren’t any wires for him to cut, any buttons for him to fiddle with. Just a sleek grey metal box with some kind of scanner and a touchpad. He considered trying to repeat the stunt he’d pulled with the chain, to crush the mechanism, but his ears twitched.

Someone was approaching the door across the room, behind Y/N.

Bucky shuffled quickly back towards the wall, jamming the pin of the chain back into the hole in the wall as the locks on the door began to click. He collapsed heavily to the floor in an effort to look as broken and non-threatening as possible. It wasn’t hard--the fall had jarred his rebellious metal arm, sending another bloom of pain through his chest and stars dancing across his vision.

The door swung open, and two men walked in. The first was clearly in command of the room. His dark brown eyes surveyed Y/N hungrily, and Bucky wanted to throttle him. It was the second man, though, who brought in more concern. He wheeled in a silver cart, one of its wheels squeaking with every rotation. Bucky took one look at the assortment of tools and weapons on that damn squeaking cart and nearly retched.

The brown-eyed man left his vulture-like circling of Y/N’s unconscious form and meandered towards Bucky’s cell door.

“Hello, Soldat. We’ve missed you.”

“Fuck you,” Bucky hissed.

“Not to worry. We’ll correct your behavior later. But for now, I thought it might be nice to remind you why you’ll always come back to Hydra. Your little Avengers can’t protect you. They are...hmmm...deliciously mortal. At least this one is.”

The second man had returned, bringing with him this time a silver bucket. At the first man’s instruction, he heaved it towards Y/N, showering her in ice and water.

.....

You woke with a start to ice water splashing over your face and running quickly down your body, wincing as pebbles of ice assaulted your skin. You blinked against the glaring fluorescent light, searching for any sense that could orient you to a feeling that wasn’t one of pain. White spots danced in your vision, the light assaulting your pounding head. Without even looking up, you knew it was Brown Eyes chuckling next to you, and the sound grated in your ears like nails on a chalkboard. The coppery smell and taste of blood filled your nose and mouth. And what you were feeling...oh, God.

Finally, you willed yourself to open your eyes, if only to assess your physical state.

Red. So much red. You squeezed your eyes shut again, willing your stomach not to heave up its contents.

Okay, Y/N. You’re here. You’re conscious. One thing at a time. He’s watching you. Don’t give him the satisfaction. You gripped the armrests in an effort to ground yourself, fingernails carving little crescents into the soft wood. Taking a deep breath, you opened your eyes again.

You were barefoot, and your cheeks burned a bit as you realized you were in quite a bit less clothing than you had been before you passed out. You were still covered, but you longed for the protection of your tac suit, both from bodily harm and roaming eyes. And the warmth. Damn, you were cold.

Okay. What are we dealing with here? Start small. Small. Your body housed a mess of small cuts and bruises littered from your neck down to your toes. You could feel some damage to your ribs as you drew in each breath, mostly on the left side. Probably bruised, maybe fractured. You could feel a larger gash across your face, tracing from the middle of your forehead, down through your right eyebrow, and trailing towards your ear.

The real problems, though, were your left leg and arm. The tissues were a mess of lacerations and bruising, clearly haven taken a beating by being buried under a pile of cement. And there was something very disconcerting about how they aligned with the rest of your body. An extra dip, a disconnection. You winced as your realized they were probably dislocated. Most likely when you had been wrenched from under the debris.

You took a steadying breath, before finally daring to look up. You gasped a sigh of relief as your eyes locked with steel blue ones, the rest of the figure hidden behind a thick metal grate. But the comfort was short-lived, as Brown Eyes sidled into your line of sight, blocking out Bucky.

“Well, sweetheart. Nice of you to join us,” he sneered. He began to pace around you, shoes clicking across the cement floor. Your eyes fell to the drain a few feet in front of you, and your body tensed further. “I get the feeling this generous offer is going to be ignored, but I figured I should still give you the chance. Tell me how to reprogram the weapons you corrupted, and we’ll kill you quickly.”

He paused his pacing directly in front of you. You refused to look up into his eyes, instead fixing your gaze on the ugly red emblem on his chest. You allowed yourself to be filled with the only emotion that Hydra was deserving of, the only emotion you knew would protect you from caving: unbridled rage. Rage for the thousands of lives lost, corrupted, or mutilated. Rage for the haunted looks in your friends’ eyes following every engagement with this scourge upon humanity. And rage for the kind man with the blue eyes chained across the room.

Brown Eyes leaned down to lock eyes with you, and you heaved a glob of bloody spit onto his face. “Fuck. You.”

You registered your head snapping harshly to the side before you registered the slap to your cheek, heat beginning to bloom where you were sure a red handprint would take up a residence. Worth it.

“Fine, you bitch,” he hissed, as he wiped his face. “Let’s have a little fun then. I think you need to be reminded of who you belong to now.” With a vengeance, he pressed a silver cylinder in between your right collar bone and shoulder, and you writhed at the sudden burning. A fucking branding iron. “You belong to Hydra now. Your little Soldat over there? He is Hydra’s. The weapons you’ve ruined? You, Hydra’s newest tool, will restore them to Hydra!” With every word, he pressed the iron harder, and you couldn’t hold back your screams any longer. Blood-curdling, choking cries, as the smell of burning flesh filled your nostrils, and you retched.

You didn’t even realize the iron had been removed until Brown Eyes took a step back, the memory of it blurring into reality. You glanced down, and were almost relieved to not see the Hydra emblem, but a mess of red and blackened tissue in the shape of a circle. Brown Eyes had dug in too deep, and for too long. Better that than the fucking octopus.

He was back in your face again. “You will tell me how to fix them,” he growled.

You met his eye. “Make me, asshole.” Wrong answer, this time met with a solid hit to your kidneys.

This went on for some time. A demand from him. An expletive from you. A hit to your face or torso. Repeat. Brown Eyes hadn’t touched the cart of tools since the branding iron. And as you bore through round after round, meeting his eyes with every insult, you started to notice the fear lingering behind the malice.

Ah. There it is.

Another hit to your stomach, and you doubled over, coughing blood onto your bare legs, but unable to stop the smile tugging at your cracked lips.

Brown Eyes wasn’t a skilled interrogator. You knew Hydra had plenty of those at their disposal, so why was this too easy? Granted, you were in plenty of pain. But he had yet to target a blow to where it was most effective. A seasoned torturer would pick out the breaks in your ribs, the mess of your shoulder and hip, know exactly how to exploit those to maximize pain. Someone who knew what they were doing wouldn’t neglect the wide array of tools at their disposal. Brown Eyes wasn’t creative, throwing the same punch over and over again. And he landed it quite a bit harder when your rejection was paired with an insult. Emotional. Fearful. And definitely improvising.

Brown Eyes was being tested, or maybe punished. He was terrified, and if you could push him enough, he might knock you out, which would mean he would leave you alone, if only for a moment. He might even throw you in the cell with Bucky, and you two could begin to develop a plan for escape.

You sat up. “Is that really the best you can do? No wonder Hydra doesn’t trust you. You lost them their weapons, and you can’t even throw a decent punch to get them back.” Brown Eyes blanched for a moment, then immediately restored his cold glare, so fast you almost missed it. But there it was; you were right.

“You know, I prefer the sounds of your screams to your mindless rambling. Maybe we should stamp a few more brands on you.” You twisted your right wrist around in the metal cuff of the chair, properly flipping him off.

That was a mistake.

His mind had already drifted towards the tools on the tray, and now you had offered him something to use them on.

He was on you in a second, gripping your right hand harshly, dragging the skin against the metal cuff until it tore, pulling your arm as far out as he could against the constraints. “I wonder how many of these pretty little fingers you need intact to type your little codes,” he teased, plucking up a pair of needle-nosed pliers and edging them under the tip of your middle fingernail. He clamped the pliers down and yanked the entire nail straight from its bed, eliciting a pinched scream from your throat.

Okay. Maybe he was a little bit creative.

You lost two more fingernails that way--your thumb and then your index finger--before your finally lost consciousness. It wasn’t that this last bout of torment had hurt significantly worse than the rest, but your body simply couldn’t handle anymore. It had fought too much for too long. The darkness was a gift.

.....

Bucky had thrown up three times watching Y/N from through the grate. The first came when the iron burned into her skin, and her screams had pierced his heart like a knife, twisting and writhing as her flesh melted. The second was near the end of the exchange. He had seen Y/N flip her tormentor off, and the interaction after that had been shielded by the man’s body. He could see her feet twitching, fighting to carry her away from whatever he was doing. He could hear her screams again, tearing at his very soul. Until finally, she went still.

The final expelling of his stomach came after the second man returned to the room. At the torturer’s instruction, he entered a code in a panel across the room, and the shackles on the chair disengaged. Y/N slumped to the floor in a bloody heap. The second man crossed the room, dragging her with him towards the cell door. He placed a thumb on the touchpad, lowered his eyes to the scanner, and held for a moment. With a click, the lock disengaged, and the door swung open.

Bucky considered rushing the men then and there, but he quickly thought better of it. He had one arm. There was no way he could fight off oncoming attacks and protect Y/N in this state.

The man finished securing her to the opposite wall with the shackle, fastening it around her wrist, leaving her crumpled on the floor. When he stepped out of the way, Bucky got his first unobstructed view of the woman he loved, and he emptied his stomach for the third time.

Both men sneered at him. “You’ve gone soft, haven’t you, Soldat?” the brown-eyed man asked. “Not to worry. We’ll soon have you back to your bloodthirsty self.

The second that both men were out of the room and the locks on the door clicked, Bucky threw himself across the room, protests from the metal arm be damned.

Once again, his hand fluttered just above her, not wanting to make anything worse. There was so much blood. He knew he couldn’t wrap anything. She didn’t have any fabric to offer, and anything torn from his clothes would clue the soldiers in that one of them had escaped their position.

He settled for pulling her head gently into his lap, trying to situate her as comfortably as she could be, given the circumstances. His fingers carded absentmindedly through her hair and he scanned down her form, tears welling into his eyes. He wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that, until sleep claimed him.

.....

Bucky couldn’t seem to help how often his eyes flicked up from his book to fall on the beautiful girl perched on the bench of the bay window. She was leaning against the glass, knees pulled up to her chest. The light behind her illuminated the rebellious flyaways that had escaped the bun on top of her head. A book sat open on the distressed denim on her lap, but her attention seemed to be more on the music coming through her...AirPhones? EarPhones? Pods. AirPods.

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips as her head bobbed side to side, the motion carrying down into her shoulders and torso, finishing with a shift in her hips. Bucky had had a soft spot for Y/N since her first day on the team, when she offered him a hair tie during training, then helped him tie his hair up since his metal arm wasn’t cooperating. That soft spot had grown into a Y/N-shaped hole in his heart the more he got to know her. And as she didn’t run from him the more she got to know him.

“Bucky? You good?” Shit. He had been staring. He cleared his throat.

“Yeah, I...sorry. Just zoned out. What are you listening to?” She blushed a bit, probably realizing he had seen her little happy dance. If only she knew just how damn endearing it was.

“Umm, right at this very moment, ‘Heavy,’ by Birdtalker. Have you heard it?” When he shook his head, she beckoned over to him, tapping the bench beside her. He fought the urge to leap across the room to her, instead taking measured steps before plopping down on her left.

She handed him one of the AirPods. He must have looked a bit lost, because she took it back a moment later, gentle fingers tucking his hair back behind his ear, before inserting the plastic piece, and he was met with a swell of voices. His skin tingled where her fingers had touched, wishing for more. Clenching his jaw, he sidled a bit closer to her, until their shoulders brushed. If she noticed, she didn’t say anything, still humming along with the song.

“We need to improve your music education. Do you have Spotify?” Breath still faster than he would like it to be, Bucky pulled out his own phone and handed it to her. She clicked around, apparently setting up an account for him, giggling a bit as she billed it to Tony. He bit his lip at the sound, trying to stop his smile from breaking full across his face. Then she turned back to her own phone, very patiently explaining to him how a playlist worked as she added songs. Some that he would recognize, but mostly her favorites.

“Essentials,” she said simply. Through all of this, the music didn’t stop, and neither did her little dance. Her shoulder jostled his, but he couldn’t have minded less. He wondered if he was gaping at her.

When she was satisfied, she sent the playlist to him and added it to his favorites. “Because it will be,” she teased, and Bucky believed her.

.....

“Bucky.” A ragged whisper of his name pulled him from his sleep. He looked down, and his eyes met hers. Tears welled up again as he saw the pain tensed across her face.

“Hey, doll,” he managed. “You did so good. I’m so proud of you.”

“Bucky, I--it hurts,” she gasped. “I want to go home.” Sobs racked her body, and Bucky’s own tears fell onto her face as he leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead. White hot anger coursed in his brain, tensing through his chest, at the organization who had already taken so much from him, and had now stripped Y/N down to such a vulnerable state.

“I know, sweetheart. We’re gonna get you out of here. It’s gonna be okay.” He held her as she cried, curling in towards his stomach, right arm curving to wrap around his waist. She shifted again, and her elbow brushed against his metal arm. She yelped, drawing her arm back towards her, and yelped again as the sudden movement jostled her aching body.

Bucky panicked. “What? What’s wrong?” He grimaced. What wasn’t wrong?

“What happened to your arm? It’s...burning up.” Bucky bit back a groan. Of course, his fucking arm was the problem. It was always the problem.

“I don’t know. They hit it with something when they knocked me out earlier. It’s not dead. It’s like it’s...fighting me.”

Y/N nodded. He winced as he realized he must have fallen on top of her when they knocked him out. He was about to apologize when she spoke instead.

“Have you tried resetting it?”

Bucky’s jaw dropped. “What?”

“Resetting it. It’s not overheating or disabled, it’s corrupted. They had some kind of an energy weapon they used. It probably just needs a...” She trailed off at the dumbfounded look on his face.

“How the fuck do you know that? Why do you know that and I don’t know that?” Y/N shrugged, wincing at the movement in her shoulders. She tried to sit up, and Bucky helped ease her up gently. “I like tech, and I like yo--” She cleared her throat. “Learning about you. Stark showed me.” Bucky thought he saw a trace of a blush on her cheeks, but he dismissed it as the exertion of sitting upright.

Gritting her teeth, she positioned herself next to his arm. “Can I...?”

“Whatever you need.”

“I actually need to get to the underside of the arm, so if you could--” She hadn’t even finished before Bucky had raised the metal appendage up, bending at the elbow to rest the hand behind his head. He hissed through his teeth as his arm fought him, needling at this chest again with shocks of pain.

“Should I even bother trying to understand what they did to it? Or what you’re doing to fix it?”

“Umm...you could, but Stark could explain it a hell of a lot better.” She probed at the base of the arm in his armpit, her hand shaking. Bucky spotted the pools of blood where three fingernails had been, and he almost made her stop. He was asking too much of her. But she pressed on, her cold fingers gentle against the metal, and Bucky reminded himself that without his arm, there was no way to get her out.

“I don’t really understand the whole energy bit. That’s a Hydra weapon, and I honestly didn’t want to know much about it. But it’s basically acting like a virus in your arm... I guess technically closer to an autoimmune disease, since it’s making it fight against itself. But that metaphor doesn’t translate well into how I’m fixing it. This is the equivalent of turning it off and turning it back on again.”

Okay. That much he could follow. But his arm could be reset? “Stark didn’t want to tell me about this?” He watched as she counted four plates up from the edge. She tried to grip at it with her battered fingers, stifling a groan, before switching to pry it up with her pinky fingernail.

“I think he meant to. At first it was put in as a security measure. In case...” She didn’t have to finish that. In case he became a threat.

She cleared her throat. “But now that you’re...fine...he meant to tell you. It must have slipped his mind.” Bucky grumbled at that, but he was soon distracted. The plate Y/N had pried up revealed a minuscule panel of dials.

“You’re gonna want to hold the arm up, or it’ll come crashing down on your head.” Bucky obliged as she flicked a series of dials, a complicated combination to prevent abuse of this hidden feature.

Sure enough, the metal arm collapsed into his right hand. Bucky sighed in relief. The arm was heavy, but the limp weight was familiar, and it didn’t send tendrils of pain screaming through his body.

Y/N twisted in another combination, flicking the cover back into place, and suddenly the arm whirred back to life. Plates tensed, rolling up and then down like a deck of cards, before settling into the comfortable rhythm Bucky was accustomed to.

“You are fucking incredible,” Bucky grinned. She smiled at that, the first real smile he had seen since her little happy dance at the computer. That felt like months ago.

She shifted towards him, and the smile turned to a grimace, pulling Bucky out of his reverie. Blood was still pooling around her, expelling from more open wounds than he could count. She had put a brave face back on, but he could see her eyes glazing over. She was going to bleed out unless he did something.

“Fuck it,” he muttered, tearing at the hem of his shirt. Her eyes went wide.

“What are you doing?”

“I need to stop some of this bleeding. Get you stable enough so we can--”

“Bucky, if your shirt is wrapped around me, it’s gonna take them about two seconds to realize you’re not chained up anymore.”

“Well what does that matter if I kill them the next time they come in? We need to get you out, Y/N. You’re losing too much blood. You won’t make it through another round of--”

“No, you need to get out. I told you earlier, Buck. I’m a liability. I can’t walk. I can’t fight. Look at this pool of blood. There is no way I’m making it out of here. Let me go knowing you made it out of--”

“Y/N!” he yelled. “There is not a chance in hell I am leaving the woman I love to die here alone!”

Y/N squeaked out a gasp. Her mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out.

You asshole. She’s already in so much pain and now you’ve put that burden on her, too.

“Please,” he begged, his voice breaking. “Let me get you out.”

A click at the door echoed through the room, the first of many locks being undone. Bucky leapt up, sprinting across the room and jamming the pin back into the wall. He cursed. He hadn’t even wrapped Y/N’s wounds or broken the shackle on her wrist, let alone sorted out any draft of a plan. But one glance at the ever-growing pool of blood on the floor confirmed his suspicions. They wouldn’t get another chance.

He locked eyes with her across the room, a silent war waged between them as the clicking from the door echoed. Y/N’s stare was hard, protesting, but he could see a flicker of something else behind her eyes as tears brimmed. Finally, finally, she nodded slowly, collapsing against the wall.

Bucky let out a shaky breath of relief. He tensed, waiting, as the door swung open and the brown-eyed man strode in.

“Up and at ‘em, princess,” he growled, clearing the room in three strides, planting his thumb on the pad and dropping his eye-line to meet the scanner. Bucky couldn’t help but notice the bruise under his eye. Clearly, someone hadn’t been happy that he hadn’t succeeded yet.

The tormentor sauntered into the cell towards Y/N, who cowered against the wall.

“Hmmm...” He feigned consideration. “Definitely a closed casket for you.”

“Better than looking at your ugly mug any longer,” she spat. She flinched back as he raised his hand to strike her, eyes squeezing closed.

The blow never connected.

Bucky leapt on him from across the room, slamming his arm down to his side before wrapping both hands around the sides of his head and snapping his neck in a single jerk. It was over so fast, Y/N still had her eyes closed waiting for a hit that wouldn’t come.

Bucky kneeled and reached a hand towards her, heart crumpling as she jerked away from him. “Hey,” he pleaded. “It’s me. It’s over.” It wasn’t, not yet, but he could give her this moment.

He reached slowly towards the chain at her wrist, snapping it easily and leaving her with just the cuff still wrapped around her like a bracelet. He didn’t want to risk hurting her by breaking that part off too.

“Sorry, we can get that—” His words died in his throat as she threw herself into his arms, right arm coming to wrap around his neck, left arm dangling limply at her side. Bucky’s breath hitched as she nuzzled her face into his neck, and he sat there stunned for a moment.

But the moment passed, and Bucky allowed himself to hold her, his right arm wrapping around her waist, and his metal hand resting on the back of her head, silver fingers fiddling with her hair. He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, and the warm breath of her sigh fanned over his neck.

Bucky could have stayed like that forever, holding her in his arms, but he was all too aware of the blood that was seeping into the front of his suit. Blood that definitely wasn’t his.

He moved his hands to her shoulders and gently pushed her back. “Okay, doll. It’s time to go.” She nodded, and he rose to his feet.

“Can you walk?” He already knew the answer to that, but he also knew she was too stubborn to admit it. He extended both of his hands to her. She braced both of hers against his forearms, and he gripped her elbows. He lifted her slowly to her feet, and she stifled a groan. Not letting go of her, he eased her forward a step. The moment she put weight on her left leg, she buckled into him.

“I’m sorry! I can do it. I just need a--” she panted, “--a second.”

“Y/N, doll, all due respect, but no, you cannot. Your internal organs have probably been rearranged a bit by that beating. Your shoulder and hip are probably dislocated, and you probably have some breaks in there too. You are dripping blood from more cuts than I can count. And you don’t have any fucking shoes.” He tried for a grin on that last bit, but it was marred by the tears in his eyes as he recounted the damage to her body.

“I can carry you. That’s fine. And normally I would just scoop you up, but I don’t really know what we’re dealing with out there. I, uh, I kinda need an arm free.”

She shrugged weakly. “I still think you should leave me here. You do whatever you gotta do.”

He shot her a glare at that, then bent down to brace his right shoulder at her waist. He heaved her up into a fireman’s carry, wrapping his right arm around the back of her legs. He felt her anchor her right hand against his back. Her left arm dangled at his side.

“You good?” he called. She hummed in response.

“Okay. We got this. I need you to watch my six, okay?” He didn’t actually want her to bear that responsibility, but he was concerned that if she didn’t have something to focus on, she would fade out of consciousness, and that she might not come back. Bucky’s shoulder was already damp with the blood seeping out of her.

He tensed his metal arm, then strode quickly out of the open cell door, past the awful bloody wooden chair, and out the door into the hall.

.....

The next several minutes passed in a blur. You tried to do as Bucky asked and watch his back, but your eyelids fought against you, and your blinks were getting longer every time you gave in. The two of you were met with surprisingly little resistance, or maybe you just missed it all. You felt Bucky engage with two, maybe three soldiers as he made his way down the hall. He handled them each with his one free hand. Bones cracked, and he moved on. You winced at how useless you were, draped over his shoulder, weighing down his escape.

It wasn’t long before the harsh fluorescent lights were replaced with fading rays of sunlight. As Bucky swiveled to check the door he had just brought you out of, you caught a glimpse of the sun setting over the mountains, painting the sky with golds and pinks.

You sighed in relief at the sight, even as Bucky turned back around and the view was replaced with the Hydra compound. But wait. It had been dawn when the two of you had breached Hydra defenses in the first place. Had it really only been one day? Or worse, had it been two?

As if voicing the thoughts in your head, the super soldier muttered, “God, how long were we in there?” He moved quickly into the coverage of the surrounding forest.

When you didn’t respond, he cleared his throat. “Doll? You with me?”

“Hmm? Yeah.”

“The safe house isn’t far from here. We can get you cleaned up and call for evac.”

“Why didn’t—” You hacked a cough, wincing as you heaved blood down the back of Bucky’s vest. “Why didn’t they come and get us?” Even if it had only been one day, which you strongly doubted, that was far too long for them to not know that something was wrong.

“Steve didn’t tell you? He waived the check-ins. Gave us a two-day infiltration window plus a two-day cool-down at the safe house. Figured we could handle it, and the less communication the better for staying under the radar.”

Right. You did remember Steve saying something about less communication, but you had been a bit distracted, working up the nerve to ask for a different partner. The longer debrief period was new information, though. Your cheeks burned as you wondered if that had anything to do with your mortifying confession.

“So...no one’s coming?”

“Not until we check in. My emergency beacon is gone. I’m assuming yours is too.”

“Well I just have so many pockets to check right now, so...” Bucky chuckled at that.

A breeze tickled through the trees and teased the few pieces of your hair that weren’t matted down with blood, raising goosebumps on your exposed skin. You shivered.

“Ummm...Bucky?”

“Yeah, doll?”

“Do you think you could...I mean, do you think we’re far enough that...I’m sorry, I’m just so...cold.” You felt his shoulder tense beneath you and he cursed.

“Shit, doll, of course. I’m sorry, I was just so focused on getting us out.” He eased you down off his shoulder, then lifted you again, this time with one arm tucked around your back and the other under your knees. You eased your left arm into your lap, then snaked your right arm around his neck.

You looked up at him, finding so much concern in his stormy blue eyes. And something else, too, but you weren’t quite sure what it was. “Thank you,” you whispered, sidling into his chest, sighing into his warmth.

“Of course,” he said softly. “Stay with me, okay?”

You nodded, but your eyes were fighting you again. The warmth felt much better than the cold, but it didn’t help your alertness. You could hear Bucky’s concern as he begged for you to stay awake, but it felt like his voice was miles away, and perhaps underwater too. You settled against him, the rhythm of his gait lulling you into darkness again.

.....

Bucky was going to kill Steve. Nat, too. Maybe the whole team. In short, anyone who had given the go-ahead for an op with so few contingencies. He knew they hadn’t expected for the pair to meet so much resistance, but still. Here he was, barreling through the door of the safe house--a safe house that was so fucking far away--with Y/N long passed out in his arms, still raining blood on the ground.

She had tried so hard to stay awake. He knew she had been trying. But her body had sustained too much. He had stopped twice, shedding his own layers to wrap around her, trying to warm her up, to staunch any of the bleeding, to prevent her blood from leaving a trail to be tracked along the forest floor. He was reticently glad for the snow that started to fall, freezing the pair further, but covering their tracks.

Kicking the door shut behind him and hearing the mechanized lock whir into place, Bucky flew across the room, depositing Y/N gently on the couch. She was still out, but her teeth chattered uncontrollably, and her whole body shook.

He stepped back and surveyed the room. A brand new safe house--simple, but well-prepared. He knew there wouldn’t be a heating system: too much energy, too easily picked up. But the fireplace was well-stocked, and he had a blaze going in minutes. His eyes probed the walls as he lifted Y/N gently from the couch and placed her in a pile of blankets close to the fire, his gaze finally coming to rest on a painting of a falcon. He rolled his eyes--Sam was less than subtle.

He took a little bit too much pleasure in tearing it down, revealing a metal panel with a touch pad. He jammed his thumb onto the scanner, and the panel swung open after a moment. He emptied the safe of its contents: an extensive med-kit, an emergency beacon, and a secure satellite phone. He dropped it all in a heap next to Y/N, punching in a number and clicking on speaker as he unzipped the first aid kit and activated the emergency beacon.

The phone rang three times before Steve picked up with a chuckle. “Hey Buck, how’s the safe house?” Bucky almost screamed.

“Steve. I’m going to wring your damn neck when I get back. But right now, I need you to get your star-spangled ass on the jet and come get us.”

“Hey, hey! What’s going on? We got the confirmation that Y/N did her thing about 36 hours ago. We just figured the two of you were enjoying the safe house--”

“What the fuck would we be doing for 36 hours?”

Steve cleared his throat. Bucky could almost hear the blush on his face. “I mean, she likes you, and you like her, so--”

“You idiot. We just got here. They knocked us out, tried to torture Y/N into fixing the weapons, and she’s not--” His voice broke as he glanced down at her. This conversation was taking too long. Her breaths were getting shallower with every inhale. “Fuck, Steve. I don’t know that she’s gonna make it.” A sob heaved up from his chest.

“We’re on our way, Buck. Just hold on.” Steve’s voice was solemn now. “Triage her the best you can. We’ll have the cradle and Helen ready. It’s gonna be okay.”

Bucky hung up. He needed his full attention on her, needed her to hold on long enough for the help to be worth anything.

Triage. Biggest problems first. Blood loss. Infection. Dehydration. Discomfort. Bucky wished he had let Sam teach him more about this shit. He made a mental note to ask him to show him everything he could the second Y/N was safe.

He at least knew how to set up a blood transfusion, and he did so quickly, threading the needle into the crease of her right elbow, thanking Nat silently for having the foresight to include a list of everyone’s blood types in the kit.

He gently peeled back the blankets to assess the sources of blood flow. He knew she was bleeding internally from the beating and from the ceiling collapse, but he couldn’t do anything about that now. That would have to wait until the cradle arrived. Every time his gaze fell on a new bruise or laceration, tears threatened to spill over onto his cheeks. He forced his mind to remain blank other than sorting: stitches, gauze, or bandaid.

His fingers flew of their own volition, over and over again. Numbing agent injected. Cleaning agent applied. Antibacterial administered. Stitches threaded. A bandage fastened over. On her left hip. On her forehead. Six places on her left leg. Four on her arm.

Then, the gauze. Cleaning again. More antibacterials. Wrapping to keep pressure. On the rest of her left arm and leg. On the messy burn on her collar bone. On her right wrist, where the brown-eyed man had shredded it against the cuff. The metal shackle still dangled there.

Finally, bandaids. Bucky knew they weren’t really necessary, but he couldn’t stop himself from moving. Gentle wiping of blood, and three little bandaids wrapped around the empty nail beds on her right hand. He found himself reluctant to let go of her hand, fingers ghosting over knuckles before gently pressing a kiss to them.

Bucky sat back on his heels, groaning a bit at the throbbing in his knees and the tension in his back and shoulders. How long had he been sitting there? He surveyed her form, now a hodgepodge of gauze, swirling purple and blue bruises, and a few rare patches of unmarred but very pale skin. There were still remnants of blood, speckles and drips. He grabbed a rag and walked to the sink, running the water until it grew warm, and he soaked the edge of the fabric.

When he returned to her side, he stopped in his tracks, eyes locking with hers.

“Y/N!” He fell to his knees next to her, cupping a hand to her face. “Oh, doll, I wasn't sure you--”

“I’m okay, Buck.”

Bucky’s eyes widened. “Have you seen yourself lately?”

Her lip curled into half a smile. “Have you? You look like hell.”

“Yeah, well, most of that is from you bleeding all over me.”

Her smile dropped. “Sorry, I--”

“Are you actually trying to apologize to me for bleeding?”

Silence. Bucky smiled softly. “I’m gonna finish getting you cleaned up, and then we can deal with me, okay?” He spent a few minutes wiping the rest of the dried blood from her body as gently as her could, revealing even more nicks and cuts from the explosion.

He felt her gaze on him as he worked, and he was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was not wearing a shirt, having shed it and his tac vest long ago to wrap around her on their trudge to the safe house.

His ears burned as he considered how that must look to her, and they burned even more as he realized she was seeing the tissue above his left arm for the first time.

“I’m, uh--I’m sorry. I needed to wrap you in something so there wouldn't be a trail...I’m gonna go look for some other clothes for us.” He cleared his throat awkwardly and made to get up, but she caught his wrist.

“Buck. It’s okay. Can I...?” She raised her right hand slowly towards the mass of scar tissue. He watched her eyes for any sign of disgust or discomfort, but found none. An impossibly long moment later, he felt her fingers come to rest in the divots of the scars, and his eyes fluttered closed. She ran her fingers along the skin gently for a moment, and when her touch disappeared he missed it instantaneously. It was only gone for a second, before he felt her lips press to his shoulder instead, and his eyes flew open. She had pushed herself up into a sitting position, her right hand now resting on his metal bicep, and her soft lips kissing over the frayed nerves. Bucky sighed at the contrast of her heavenly touch with the coursing pain he had been feeling there only a few hours ago.

She pulled back, eyes locking with his, asking a question they both knew the answer to.

That answer came as he cupped the back of her head and pressed his lips gently against hers, capturing her bottom lip between his own. There was no urgency, just sweet warmth and intensity. She tasted like copper and salt, and something sweeter, something entirely her own.

Bucky leaned into her, and she yelped. “Shit!” He pulled back instantly. “Sorry, I don’t want to push you into anyth--”

“No, it’s not that at all,” she grimaced. “I leaned back onto my shoulder. I think it’s dislocated.”

Fuck. Bucky had been so focused on stopping her from bleeding out, he hadn’t addressed anything deeper.

“Right. Ummm...I can check? I should probably check for breaks, too, since you had a mountain of concrete on top of you. If you’re okay with that,” he finished hurriedly. She nodded in encouragement, laying back down.

He probed gently at the joint of her shoulder, cursing under his breath as she grit her teeth. Sure enough, it was dislocated. He ran his hand slowly down her arm, dodging sutures and patches of gauze, halting as she hissed through her teeth. There it was, about four inches above her wrist, a break in one of the bones of her forearm. Luckily, it didn’t seem to have deviated from position. He could splint that.

Bucky repeated the process with her left leg, finding a similar dislocation in her hip, but no clear breaks. There was probably some fracturing, given the volume of her reaction, but at least nothing to set. A quick run over her right limbs found no additional causes of concern--they hadn’t been buried under a pile of ceiling.

“Okay. So two dislocations and a break. We can keep you comfortable here, and then when the team arrives they can--”

“Buck. I need to have these set before they put me in the cradle, or they’ll heal wrong. You should set them now.”

“Yeah, it’s just...I already used all of the numbing agent, and I don’t think I can administer any pain meds on top of that. Especially since your circulatory system is all over the place with the transfusion. We should wait.”

“Look. You did a wonderful job piecing me back together. You saved my life. Hear me say that.” She gently cupped his jaw, pulling his gaze down to hers. “You saved my life. But we both know I’m a mess inside and the sooner they get me in the cradle the better. We should be as ready as we can be.”

He hesitated. “It’s gonna hurt like hell. And I’ve seen just about all I can stand of you in pain.” The second the words left his mouth, he wished he could take them back. How selfish was that? She had been through hell and back, and he wasn’t going to treat her because he didn’t want to see her cry anymore?

She wasn’t fazed, though. She looked at him softly. “I know, Buck. But please. Give me my best shot, okay?” He turned his face, pressing a kiss to her palm.

“Okay, doll,” he conceded. “Ummm, let’s see. We should splint the break first. Immobilize it. I’ll need to manipulate your whole arm to get the shoulder back in, and I don’t want to aggravate it more.” He pulled a brace and more gauze from the kit, laying the wood against her forearm, pressed against her wrist, and began to wrap slowly. He watched her face as he worked, and was relieved to see it wasn’t contorting in pain, just mild discomfort betrayed by a stiffness in her jaw and a twitching of her upper lip.

“Okay,” he warned, as he fastened the end of the gauze down. “That was the easy one. Relocating these...are you sure?”

She breathed deeply, coughing a bit on the exhale and painting the edges of her lips with red. “Yes.”

“All right. Here we go.” Bucky laid her left arm straight out, perpendicular to her body. He sat parallel to it, boots braced against her torso, hands clamped around her wrist and elbow. “Count to three for me.”

She looked over, eyeing him suspiciously. She knew this tactic, but it wasn’t going to stop him from using it. “One...tw--”

Bucky pulled hard, and tears sprang into his eyes as something between a cry and a strangled scream ripped itself from Y/N’s throat. He could go his whole life never hearing that sound again. But he still had one more joint to reset.

He ran a hand soothingly down her side as she held her splinted arm across her chest defensively, like an animal guarding its wounds. Tears streamed down her face, and a sheen of sweat had broken out on her forehead.

“Shit!”

“Doll, I--”

“Just do it,” she whispered through gritted teeth. “Please just...just do it.”

The sound was worse the second time as her hip was clicked back into place, a scream choked by a sob, and the tears that had been threatening finally spilled over onto Bucky’s face. He laid down on her right side, pulling her gently into his chest, wiping at the tears on her face.

“You did so good, doll. I got you. Just rest now.” She folded into him, and his right arm wrapped gently around her waist. He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, and felt with relief as her breathing fell into a soft rhythm.

.....

You shivered as consciousness flooded back—you were noticeably colder now than you remembered being last. Not having a super soldier wrapped around you would do that. The significant reduction in pain was definitely an improvement, but you missed the feeling of him against you, now absent, except...

Your eyes fluttered open to rest on your right hand, only to find it disappearing between two much larger ones, one calloused flesh and the other smooth metal. You blinked quickly, trying to shake the dancing spots from your vision, a headache already building from the fluorescent lights and the soft rhythmic beeping of the monitors next to you.

You tensed your hand, squeezing Bucky’s, and he startled up, his blue eyes wide and searching yours.

“Hey! You’re awake! Hold on, I can grab—“ He moved to get up, starting to let go of your hand, but you caught him.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine for just a minute longer. Just...sit here for a second?” He fell easily back into the chair, wrapping his hands around yours again.

You looked him over, not expecting to find many injuries. He hadn’t had a lot to begin with, and the serum was better treatment than most. Instead, your gaze fixated on the dark circles under his eyes, the tension in his shoulders, the deep-set wrinkles in his clothes. You pursed your lips.

“How long was I out?”

“Two days.”

“And how long have you been here?” It wasn’t really a question, and he didn’t answer.

You sighed. “Bucky, did you really do the idiot-guy-refusing-to-take-care-of-himself-because-he-must-wait-at-the-fallen-girl’s-bedside thing?”

“Hey!” he pouted. “I had to be there for all of the passing outs—and there were a fucking lot of them, by the way. I figured I should get to be there for the waking up, too.”

You pulled your hand from his and shoved halfheartedly at his shoulder, earning a chuckle that made your heart dance. “Well, now that I am awake, you’re off the hook. You should sleep. Or eat. Or shower. Probably all three. Where’s Steve?”

“He’s dead. I killed him.” Bucky may have had the Winter Soldier thousand-mile-stare down cold, but he couldn’t hide the twinkle in his eyes from you. You shoved him again, quite a bit harder this time.

“Hey! Hey! Okay, he’s fine. Definitely feeling a bit guilty, though. He took one look at you when I brought you up the ramp to the jet and burst into tears. I believe his exact words were, ‘Y/N, I’m so fucking sorry.’”

Your jaw dropped. “Steve said ‘fuck’? Damn, do I really look that bad?”

“You could never,” Bucky smiled, more serious this time. “A bit battered, yes, but still just as beautiful.”

A familiar pink crept over your cheeks and tickled the tops of your ears. Bucky cleared his throat and continued.

“Anyway, Steve should be back later tonight. The second you were stable, he took...well, pretty much everybody with him to go clear out the Hydra base. Everyone except Nat, since she still isn’t cleared for combat. She raised hell over that, but I think they convinced her she could be useful restocking the safe house, since we used so many supplies. Although I wouldn’t be surprised if she ended up in the fray anyway. Everyone took it pretty personally.”

You gaped. “Everyone went? I didn’t realize I had that kind of pull.”

Bucky smiled. “How could you not?”

“They could have just sent flowers,” you teased. “They didn’t have to...” You trailed off, seeing Bucky’s face tense. His eyes fell to fixate on the gauze wrapped around your wrist.

“Bucky?” Your hand found his again, and you squeezed gently, trying to draw his gaze back to you. “Bucky? Hey. It wasn’t their fault.”

He swallowed hard. “No, I know that. It’s just...Y/N, I don’t know what I would have done if I’d lost you.”

“But you didn’t,” you pressed gently, running your thumb in small circles on the back of his hand. “Bucky, you saved my life. You know that, don’t you? Hey. Look at me.” Finally, his eyes found yours, storming and glassy. “You, James Buchanan Barnes, saved my life.” You teased a smile at him. “Hell, I bet Helen told you that already, and you’re just too damn stubborn to believe it.”

He was silent for a moment, searching your gaze with tear-filled eyes, before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

“Hey, Buck?” you whispered, heat rising to your cheeks once again. You wondered if you kept this up, if it would become a permanent feature.

“Yeah, doll?”

“When we were arguing...in the cell...you said something, and I—”

“Fuck, doll. I’m so sorry.” A matching shade of pink painted across his face. “I shouldn’t have put that on y—”

“I love you, Bucky.”

His eyes widened. “You—you do?” he asked, his voice a bit strangled.

You nodded, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “And you know...we didn’t really get to finish our first kiss.” You scooted over to the far side of the bed, tugging his hand with you.

He grinned. “Well, I suppose...we should do something about that.” He climbed gingerly up next to you, and you turned on your side to face him. Your skin tingled as he brought his hand up to cup the side of your face, thumb running along your cheekbone, fingers flicking into your hair. His forehead rested against yours for a moment, and then his lips melded with yours, and the world fell away.

The world had fallen out from under you five times in the last four days. Explosion. Dislocation. Torture. Blood loss. Healing. Each fading had welcomed nothing but darkness, empty and cold.

Now, as the fluorescent lights, the beeping monitors, and the hum of hospital machinery melted into nothingness, they were replaced by pure light and warmth. Full of color and the promise of something more. Bucky.

You broke away after what felt like a blessed eternity, breathless. Your grin brushed against his. “Definitely a shower,” you jabbed, feigning a scrunch of your nose.

“Only if you join me, doll,” he chuckled.

You shrugged up your casted arm in protest. “I think we may need to hold off on that one for a bit.” You winked at him. “Raincheck?”

Somehow, his smile became wider. “Deal,” he mumbled against the corner of your mouth as you kissed away the tears that had dared to fall. You could feel your own tracing down your cheeks, and knew that, like his, they were those of pure unadulterated joy. His fingers carded through your hair, and he locked his stormy blue eyes on yours.

“I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you, too.”

A/N: So...there it is! If you stuck all the way through it, I am very thankful for you. If you feel so inclined to leave a like or comment, you have my heart. Feedback is appreciated, although I do ask that you remember that I am a person with feelings, so please consider sharing criticisms with kindness. I’m still learning the ins and outs of all of this, so if you have requests or suggestions, send them my way. Much love to you all!

Update: This fic is now a two-shot! Read the sequel to deadweight, entitled deliverance, here.

[shuckinbeanz]

Gangster!BNHA au p.3

warnings/notes: nsfw, minors dni or imma 👏 virtual 👏 smacc 👏 u 👏, fucking (literally) gangsters, mentions of kleptomania, mirror kink, mentions of a little feederism, making and use of drugs, sex while high, semi-public sex, cockwarming, slight mention of brat taming, spanking, Service and Daddy Doms, overstimulation, cervix kissing/fucking, size kink, a lil bit of praise kink, as well as dumbification mentions, sugar daddy, & begging if you squint, plus maybe something tiny about an unhealthy relationship? 🤔 but its not toxic. depends how you look at it, whatever floats your boat, ig. i absolutely ruin our poor sweet tama-tan but trust me you'll love the gangster him. 🥴 some are longer than others(not sorry) and I used a translation service for Sero's Spanish, so i know it's potentially gibberish in the actual language, so I'll mark what I actually want him to say. If it needs correcting don't be afraid to hmu 👀 pls

Underage characters are Aged Up!

MINORS 👏 DNI! 👏 AGE 👏 IN 👏 BIO 👏 OR 👏 DNI! 👏 Head on over to @candybowbeansies please for my SFW pieces, or be blocked if you interact here! 😇

First | Second | Third

we know(or at least some of us know) ab @miggiisdumb and her LOVELY gangster!bakugo 🥵 which inspired these! Featuring present mic(who gave me trouble), inasa, sero, fatgum, and suneater(who gave me even more trouble).

shameless tag: @pixiikitty cuz i kno we bof wike tama-tan... 🥺👉👈

gangster!hizashi is another calculating man who puts on a himbo facade. very, very charismatic, so he's often Might Gang's negotiator. his boundless energy is contagious, and your wrong if you think he hasn't been around. like, around, around. man is a favorite where he works, teaching pole dancing-and he's literally their posterchild. he's the one that rakes in clients. yes, you heard me right. he teaches pole-dancing. and he does choreography.

he's literally eros and apollo by studio killers. srsly. listen to the song.

he follows the work hard-play hard style of life. man is a hardcore party animal.

as such, man is a FREAK in the sheets. he's so fucking kinky mf might as well be a fucking porn star. and he is Very open about it. sex is a natural thing to do, and he's legit a natural at it

he's a hardcore top, SOMETIMES he MIGHT let you 'top' him, but remember; he's the one in charge. big sadist this mf is, and an even bigger tease.

with him, it'd be any position viable in front of a mirror. loves to make you watch as his jacob's ladder pops wetly in your cunny 🥴

gangster!inasa is yet another himbo who's all brawn, can never sit still, and has zero brain cells. like gangster!kirishima mans ass is thicc. just grab it, okay? mans will reward punish you later (you can tell from that one look he gives you. ya'know, that one look that makes your panties drop? yes that one 🥵)

as a brawler mans will fite for your honor. there's literally no stopping him. (he's got chronic spontaneity, but we'll do more on that in a bit.) and oh boy, does he pack a mean punch. the kind of punch that will turn someone's face into a bowl if he's pissed off enough. Only those brave enough to degrade you when he's around(trust me, man is an intimidating wall of muscle at a whopping 6'3, and his natural sharp eyes sigh 😩), or those who see you temporarily left alone and decide to degrade/harass you while he's off doing something for a minute or two, get a knuckle sandwhich. "The fuck you think you are, comin' up on my lambchop like I ain't around?!" keheheh look they're flying~

he's spontaneous with the majority of his actions, and he almost always goes along with whatever you want 99% of the time.

and if you're super kinky, man is all for it. wanna use panty vibes? Inasa is a ruthless tease. man will edge you allll fucking day. public restroom sex? boi will take you to one of those unisex restrooms for a ride 🥴

he is a Service Dom, a Daddy Dom, and he's a brat tamer. if you wanna be a brat, he will tame provide to you what you're begging for by being one. you know what you're getting into when you decide to be a brat, you heathens. expect soft discipline(spanking, soft biting, hair tugging/pulling) as he has your bratty cunt warm his exquisite cock balls deep, scolding you for being a brat, til you're literally sobbing for him to rail you already 😩 its phat and veiny and has an angry red weeping mushroom head 😩 its gotta be his enthusiasm its gotta be 😩

"Now, now, little lamb...you knew what you were getting into." Spank. "Riling Daddy up like that." Spank. "You never learn, do you, sweetheart? Now you gotta learn your place, again...no moving."

gangster!sero is very easygoing, approachable, and just overall just take a joint and chillax type of guy. but don't let this fool you. he's another calculating type, but not much can set him off. he knows his limits, and he likely knows yours too. he is extremely observant, and like gangster!deku he expertly plays out his schemes.

he is very sneaky, light-footed(that is to be expected in his line of work), and he has almost zero presence. so expect a lot of scare pranks from him to get a rise out of you 😂 (don't worry you can get back at him later)

to put it bluntly, he's a thief. he can, will, and won't hesitate to klepto whatever catches his eye(especially if it reminds him of you).

BUT JUST BECAUSE HE'S A THIEF dont mean he can't kill someone. srsly. there's a couple dozen skeletons he's made dotted about. literally. but i'll leave that to your imagination. onto the bedroom!

TIE HIM UP, OR LET HIM TIE YOU UP

he's into BDSM. he's a complete brat in the sack. bratty sub, bratty dom. he is a power bottom, and a bit of a masochist for you.

"Oh dios, que me jodan...you're so pretty for me like this, lovebug."

(says "Oh God, fuck me...")

he's ab average in size, he has a nice bulge under his cock and he tilts to th side a lil and down just right😩 when he tops he'll fold you in positions (yes, plural; mans will find them) where he hits your g-spot 🥴 it'll take a couple times, but when he's got you figured out, he'll make you go dumb from then on "Remember the safeword, mi amor." 🥵

gangster!taishiro is Might Gang's drug dealer. man literally has not one, but two kitchens, one for cooking drugs and the other because man is a foodie, as you'd be able to tell from his physique. he is an intimidating gentle giant at a whopping 6'5, and man is dummy thicc. like he loves his abnormally large hoodies that make you look like you're wearing a fucking ballgown cuz he's xtra hawt n xtra large 🥵 but when its off and his form can't be easily mistaken for pure chubalub, man is also stacked and strong. he is very good at cooking drugs, and has a vast array of anonymous clientele. he's a fucking genius.

he's a very playful, sweet, and carefree dude-highly extroverted. you can find him easily, as he frequents literally every (shady) club in town. man has a switch, and it when it flips when he's doin' business he does a complete 180.

like gangster!toshinori, he loves to spoil his honeypie ROTTEN and he is 100% a Daddy Dom. dont be too much of a brat. it won't get you anywhere with him. if you want something, say it, and Daddy will provide. so don't beat around the fucking bush.

"You want somethin', sweetheart? Let Daddy get it for his sweet li'l tootsieroll~"

he loves LOVES waking up to the smell of his baby girl's home cooking. and if you don't know how to cook, he'll teach you if you're willing to learn. Feed him a couple bites or let him feed you once in awhile bc your cheeks are adorable to him 🥺

man is PACKING between his legs, right up there with gangster!toshinori in size. he's a big guy, has a big dick, and as such there ain't many positions that can be used, but he'll always make you feel small and safe and oh my god 🙏 pray for your coochie because Daddy will go up, over, and beyond to make sure she is thoroughly satisfied and will make her go dumb unless you tell him to stop 🥵

"Fuuuuck, babygirl. So tight...you make Daddy feel so good. It's only right that Daddy does the same for you, yeah?"

gangster!tamaki is a hot mess. he's socially awkward, its very likely he suffers from PTSD, he also suffers from depression and has v bad anxiety that leads to his defensive mechanism-lashing out. this defense mechanism also extends to you-and not in the way you're thinking, you masochists. he's loyal to a fault, and when he sees you being harassed, degraded, etc., he will explode. you'll need to calm him down before he permanently cancels some life subscriptions, and you're the only thing closest to gangster!mirio and drugs that can without getting hurt. he's tall, 6'1 but he tends to hunch, and he's lanky, but don't let this fool you. He is very agile and quite strong, so he can take a group at once.

he is very dependent on drugs, and dependent on you. don't get me wrong, he's a grown man, he don't rely on you so much where the relationship would be downright toxic. you are not his therapist, and he knows that, but he still has issues, and you both know that.

cockwarming and cuddles are two huge things with him, especially when he's as high as a kite. he's very handsy and touchy when he's high, and he's very mouthy too. I don't necessarily mean verbally, btw. i mean the kisses he gives. if you let him, he'll leave marks. after he's done, he'll have you ride him til your tuckered out.

"You're so good to me, baby... *Gasp* Y-Yes...keep bouncin', please!~"

when he's high, he's confident and dominant. and with these two combined, he can be very passionate. a tamaki who's high doesn't simply fuck. he makes passionate love-nice and slow, or hot and heavy-so set the pace, honey, because mini-tama is rearing to go; he has a pretty thang 😩 a very pretty thang. it's long and not too chunky and his pretty PHAT light pink mushroom head is fucking sensitive so suck on it 🥺

and THE STAMINA THIS MAN HAS 😩 once he's on the confidence boat, he can and will go for hours. he's kinda masochistic because he LOVES overstimulation, so mans can keep cumming. better make a point to babble praises, because it's music to his ears. he'll have your bodies squished together and his pretty pink mushroom head kissing your cervix. tease him if you want his inner dom to come out and bully your womb open. 😩 do a few kegels if you want him to lose it and rail you hard 🥵

"You asked for it, bunny. Yeah--nnnh--you fucking asked for it."

[jaesqueso]

Brat (m)

pairing: fuck buddy!yuta x fem!reader

summary: you decide to behave like a brat so Yuta has to punish you, but when that doesn’t work he needs to resort to his plan b

word count: 1,521

warnings: teasing/brat behaviour, handcuffs, very light chocking, edging, overstimulation, sex toy, fingering, oral sex (receiving), squirting, unprotected sex (when in doubt don’t go without!)

a/n: inspired by this ask, y’all have no idea how much fun I had writing this! anyway, do give me some feedback please! ❤︎

☽ ・・・・・ ☾

“You think it was funny, that little stunt you did tonight?”

You smirk as Yuta handcuffs your wrists to the headboard of his bed. He had already taken every piece of clothing you were wearing while he remains fully dressed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You play innocent.

“Oh you don’t?” He grabs you face forcing you to look at him. “You’re gonna tell me you were not flirting with Mark at dinner?”

“Yuta, I would never!” You pretend to be shocked at his question. He glares at you squeezing his hand on your face. “Okay, maybe I was. So what?”

“So what?” He sticks his tongue inside his cheek, you are really pushing his buttons today. “I told you I don’t want you flirting with my friends.”

“Why?” You innocently look at him. “You’re the one who doesn’t want a relationship, you shouldn’t feel intimidated by other men.”

“Intimidated!?” Now you definitely made him mad. “I don’t know why you’re being such a brat today but you know what’s coming your way.”

“Oh yeah?” You tease him as he positions himself between your legs forcing them apart. “You’re gonna punish me big boy?”

“You little brat, I’m gonna have to shut you up won’t I?” He reaches your panties and stuffs them in your mouth. “Not such a smart ass now are you?”

You whimper as he starts massaging your clit painfully slow.

“Are you gonna behave now?” He whispers in your ear after taking a long lick through your neck. You shake your head which makes him chuckle. “Still want to be a brat then? Alright.”

He speeds up the movements on your clit and you close your eyes biting the fabric in your mouth. You feel the heat building up inside you as he squeezes one of your breasts with his free hand, but  right when you were about to cum he removes himself completely from you making you whine.

“Oh you thought you’d get to cum after being so bratty today? Cute.” He smirks.

He starts kissing your leg slowly from your foot to your thigh, dangerously close to where you need him the most but he then moves to the other leg and does the same. You try to close your legs to get some friction only for him to spread them wider.

“You are really testing me today.” You smirk, with your mouth still stuffed, at his words.

He roughly pushes two fingers inside you which makes you arch your back.

“You’re so wet.” He pushes your body down to the mattress. “You do enjoy being a brat don’t you?” He lowers himself next to your ear. “Or do you just like it when I punish you?”

Muffled moans try to escape your mouth as Yuta starts to move his fingers in and out of you at just the right speed to re-ignite the fire inside you. You grow excited at the though of finally being able to cum but you should’ve known he wouldn’t give you that pleasure just yet.

“Not yet you little brat.” He abruptly pulls his fingers out of you. “Not until you learn to behave,”

He lowers his head to your breasts taking a nipple on his mouth. You hear the sound of his belt being undone and soon his pants are on the ground followed by his shirt. On only his underwear  he rubs his length on your clit making you all hot and bothered again.

“C’mon Yuta,” You say after spitting your underwear out of your mouth. “Are you gonna fuck me or not?” He lets go of your boobs and looks at you in disbelief as you continue. “You know you are desperate to do it, I can feel how hard you are right now.”

“Desperate!?” He grabs your neck and you gasp, a smirk still printed on your face. “You’re the one desperate for release.” He glares at you for a few seconds and then continues. “You know what? Do you want to come?”

“Well of course.” You keep your coy tone as he releases your neck.

“Alright then.” He takes his hand back to your clit and rubs it just the way he knows will take you straight to the orgasm you’ve been waiting to have. “Cum.”

“For real?” You question to make sure he’s not testing you.

“My little brat doesn’t want to cum anymore? I can stop-”

“No!” Is the last word you scream before you finally come undone under him. You’re smiling as you come down from your high, proud that you broke him before he was able to break you. Little did you know he had other plans.

Yuta reaches over his nightstand and pulls up the little egg vibrator he has used many times on you before. He places it over you stomach as he removes his underwear.

You look into his eyes as he wets his dick on your folds before pushing himself in. You moan loudly this time as they’re no restrains, except the ones on your wrists that you’ve been pulling on trying to unsuccessfully set yourself free.

As he roughly thrusts into you, your eyes close and you bite your lip. That is until you hear a vibrating sound. You re-open your eyes and look down only to see him place the egg right on your clit. You squirm and whimper as you’re still sensitive from your first orgasm.

“Stay still.” He pushes your hips back down with his free hand.

As he pushes himself deeper and deeper into you combined with the vibrations on your clit you feel a wave of pleasure run through your body and before you know it you’re cumming for the second time.

You try to knock off his hand that is holding the vibrator against you with your leg but he has a firm grip. You look at him and he’s smirking down at you as he keeps moving his hips against yours.

“What’s wrong? I thought my little brat wanted to cum.”

“T-Too much Yuta.” You stutter clenching around his length. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, you knew he was trying not to cum yet. You were always amazed with his self control.

“Maybe if you start listening, I won’t have to punish you like this.” He wants you to behave but it would be a lie if he said he doesn’t enjoy having you at his mercy like this.

“Please Yuta…” You keep moaning feeling yet another knot forming in your core.

“So now you’re begging?” Yuta smiles finally able to tame you. “You do have a safe word you can use, you know that right?” You only nod so he teases you a bit more. “Go ahead, say it.”

You vigorously shake your head and bit your lip.

“Say it.”

He turns up the speed of the egg against your clit and not even a second later you orgasm for the third time. Only now Yuta is not strong enough to resist and a few strong thrusts later he releases his own juices inside you.

As he turns off the device and pulls himself out, you release a shaky breath thinking it’s all over.

“You can give me one more can’t you?” He raises an eyebrow looking at your fucked up expression.

“Yuta please!” It was supposed to be a plea but it ended up as a loud moan when he started licking your clit mid sentence.

This time he held your hips in place as both his hands were free and you feel a tear roll down your cheek. He has given you multiple orgasms before but never like this. You know there is a word that can just end it all the moment it comes out of your mouth but you don’t want to use it, where’s the fun in that?

He takes two of his fingers and pushes them inside you, curling them up to reach that place he knows is sure to drive you crazy. He removes his head from between your legs to look down at your abused cunt, replacing his tongue with his thumb. He knows exactly what’s gonna happen next, he played with you enough times to memorise the hints your body provides.

“Yuta!” You almost scream as yet another orgasm hits you and you squirt all over him.

“What a pleasant view.” You turn your face to the side at his praise. You always feel embarrassed when he makes you squirt but it would be a lie to say it doesn’t feel damn good.

He gives your pussy a light kiss and then moves to unlock the handcuffs. You rub your wrists as he lays down on his back pulling your head to his chest, your body still shaking.

“Will you stop flirting with my friends now?” You can hear the teasing smile on his voice.

“Will you finally make me your girlfriend?” You tease him back.

“Maybe I will.” You widen your eyes at his words but don’t dare move your head.

Are you still teasing me Nakamoto Yuta?

[blueprint-han]

[Image ID: A black picture with the title “HOW TO SUPPORT FANFICTION AUTHORS” written in bold caps lock, colored with a winter forest picture. End ID.]

Well, this post has been made countless times, but I’m making one too because I’ve seen a lot of people say they’re new to tumblr and don’t know the whole “reblogging is better than liking” rule and other stuff. So without any further ado, here are ways YOU can support the fanfiction authors. Now keep in mind this applies to almost every author out there, not just the stayblr fandom, so if you’re a silent reader (or even if you aren’t), I advise you go through this post. Warning, this is a fairly long post going into detail, so yeah. I still expect you, the readers to read this, and if you’re a writer, feel free to lmk if i’ve written smth wrong or if you want me to add something! ^^

In this post I’ll go into thorough analysis of the pros and cons of each of the methods listed here and how YOU as a reader can show the authors whose fics you read more love and motivate them to produce content.

WARNING; LONG POST! GOES INTO A DECENT AMOUNT OF DETAIL. NOT EDITED, EXCUSE ANY TYPOS.

#1 : LIKING !

I think this is basic common knowledge, and a lot of people tend to do this. When you like the post, the author sees it, you see it, and if the author has their liked posts accessible (which majority of the time they don’t), and if someone deliberately goes to check it, then they see it. See why so many authors say just liking does nothing? Only liking says “Hey, I’m gonna tell you your story is not that good by simply liking it and not sharing it with other people. :D”

♯ PROS:

You’re telling the author that you've read their fic, and either you’ve enjoyed it to a certain extent, or you’re just saving it to read for later.

Likes are seen by you, the author and anyone who has access to your likes (which, most people don’t).

♯ CONS:

If you ONLY like, you’re not really helping the author’s work reach a wide audience because this site isn’t Instagram. Reblogging is the only way people can SEE our works. I’ll cover more on that in the next section.

In a nutshell, liking is good! But you should most likely use it in a combination with the other stuff I’ve listed below, because just the like itself doesn’t really do much in giving the author any feedback or interaction on their fics.

To clear shit up; I’m not talking about those people who don’t read the story or appreciate it in the first place. I’m talking about those who appreciate the fic, like it, but don’t leave any sort of feedback to show that.

#2 : REBLOGGING !

This is SO, SO important. I cannot stress on this enough. Let me explain WHY so many writers stress on reblogging content: 

Tumblr’s tag system is inherently fucked up, and has grown more so over the year. I’m not kidding, at first, the fic either used to show up in the tags or it didn’t, but now, sometimes your fic can be REMOVED from the tags because of,,, idk tumblr tag shit. Anyways, as you can see, it’s very demotivating for authors at that point, because the major way for people to find their content and expand their blogs has been blocked.  

Due to this reason, tumblr authors need to RELY on you, their followers to help spread their works to a wider audience. Now again, before you get me wrong, I’m not saying you ae forced to rb our works regardless of whether you like them or not. BUT, that being said, if you DO infact like the story, there’s no harm in reblogging, right? By doing this you’re indirectly telling the author — “hey! :D I liked your fic! Which is why I am gonna share it to my followers so they can read it too :D” Trust me, you’re doing nothing but helping the people who produce content for you to read. Seems like a worthy cause to hit the reblog button, right? It’s only a one, or maximum two step procedure.

Leave tags in your reblogs! Trust me, as an author myself and as much as I know from all my author friends, we oft check the tags of your reblogs to see if you found any part amazing or even if you have anything to say about the writing we put so much hard work into. Even a key smash or a “This was so [insert adjective] 🥺” is enough to leave a smile on your authors face. 

♯ PROS :

You’re !! Sharing !! Your authors !! Works !! This leads to them getting more recognition, so for the content they’re so graciously providing for free, you’re promoting their blog and helping them expand it.

If the tags are being a shit, which majority of the time they are, then you’re literally making an author’s day by reblogging! You’re showing them that you, a follower and appreciator of their works are willingly sharing their content because it deserves to be seen by more people. Again before any dumb people decide to attack me, i am talking about people who like the fic but don't bother reblogging and are silent/ghost readers. I am not forcing anyone to read anybody’s work.

YOU’RE MAKING YOUR AUTHOR SO HAPPY WHAT MORE REASONS COULD YOU POSSIBLY WANT !! 🥺

♯ CONS :

Literally none, because as far as I remember no author is against reblogging of their works. It’s quite literally the way this platform functions. Reblogging is IMPORTANT.

#3 : COMMENTING/SENDING FEEDBACK !

This kind of overlaps with the previous section, but THIS IS SUCH AN IMPORTANT STEP !! When you leave feedback, you are directly giving the author something so much more valuable to them than high follower/note counts or money. Your feedback is literally our serotonin. I kid you not the number of times I’ve received a positive comment and smiled and it has made my day. There’s a reason youtubers (though not the best example, bear with me here because it was the only one I could think of) ask people to subscribe, like and COMMENT. The subscription is like a follow, the like is ofc like a heart, and the comment is equivalent to an rb with comments in the tags. 

You might argue and tell me that a comment is basically like an ask so the reblogging step isn’t necessary, but I’m sure 99% of you use YouTube and you know that more comments leads to people’s videos boosted in the stream/trending charts. This is what reblogging does. Reblogging shares the piece with other people like minded, which leads to a boost in reads. You are literally helping your author grow.

It’s quite literally the same thing as youtubers. Youtubers NEED validation to keep their content creation going, so do writers, so do other ccs on this site. This post is however, focused on WRITERS, so keep that in mind.

♯ PROS :

By doing this, you’re giving author valuable feedback! It’s similar to what you do in rbing with tags. Interactivity with their fics boosts their note counts and helps expand their audience, so srsly, now think of it: your one comment is playing such a massive role to help ccs create more content.

Imagine how much of a difference the note counts will be in when every person who simply likes after reading the fic, reblogs, leaves a comment and sends an ask. the note counts would be high on each and every fic, which is validation in itself, but your comments would inspire the writer so much more! Please, don’t skip the commenting part. Even a simple one like: “this is so cute!” is wonderful. 

♯ CONS :

Remember, if you’re gonna give constructive criticism (which I’m sure you all are smart enough to know if different from hate), make sure the author is okay with it. Authors need to be in a specific mindset and must be ready to accept criticism, so if you’re gonna give constructive criticism to them when they’re at a low point, it may demotivate them.

Just commenting, instead of reblogging and commenting in the tags/ reblogging and then leaving an ask in their inbox, while it gives validation in plenty, will not lead to the author’s work being spread. Therefore I suggest either reblogging and commenting in the tags or reblog and then leave an ask, or comment under the fic!

!! reminder; I am not saying that if you don’t rb and just leave feedback, your feedback has no value. We authors truly appreciate every bit of feedback, but this post is aimed to help you learn how to interact with and support authors, and make them feel more motivated, because the current scenario of liking and scrolling is taking a toll on their creative abilities. Take it from a person who’s been writing for a year.

#4 : COMMSIONING VIA THEIR KO-FI/OTHER APPS !

Before any of you attack me, let me tell you that this is not a step that is 100% necessary to do. ONLY donate if you can and if you genuinely want to, and if anyone is forcing you to pay for something against your will, you need to get yourself out of there.

Regardless, if an author has a kofi and you’re able to and you want to donate, you definitely should! It’s also a valid form of support.

#5 : ADDING THEM ON REC LISTS/ RECOMMENDING THEM TO REC BLOGS

This is such an underrated option, to be honest. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve seen my fic was recommended onto some rec list and it’s made me smile so hard. If you like some fics, create a rec list! They’re oft very popular amongst the fans too. Making rec posts is such a great way to share your favorite stories with others. 

Rec blogs! I’ve seen a couple going around, and needless to say they are a great way to get someone else to read your favorite author’s work whilst also giving them your own feedback. These blogs oft accept recs via a form or ask box, and they leave your feedback along with their own, or else they’ll oft tag the author in the feedback post, so look! You’re basically helping your author share their fic to many more people, because you’ve given them feedback and a reblog.

♯ PROS :

Validation! Feedback! Reblogs! More exposure! Helping a blog grow! Spreading love! basically a run down of the stuff I’ve said before!

♯ CONS :

Literally no con of this. Unless, a one in a million case, this author says they don’t like receiving feedback/being tagged, and I’m sure NO person has said this before, at least none that I’ve heard of.

#6 : FINAL COMMENTS; MISC !

When an author points out about how the interactivity is drastically reducing, don’t just give them blind apologies. Yes, you feel sorry for not interacting as much, we understand, but rather show that you’ll become a better content consumer through your actions. We need to see that we’re not just throwing words into a void and that people are actually trying to be better content consumers. 

Understand the fact that authors don’t get paid for this, and 99% of the time, these authors don’t take commissions either. They’re giving you novel worthy writings for free. Take Percy Jackson: You think the author would have felt motivated to write the subsequent parts, let alone two whole series based off of it if literally no one showed that they were interested? Rick Riordan has sales, he is being paid, there are millions of people and big agencies who provide him feedback. Now take that huge amount and simmer it down to an audience of maybe 10000 people This is what fanfic authors want. They don’t want your money, nor are they telling you to risk your lives for them. All they want is, a reblog, some tags, some feedback, some INTERACTIVITY.  A sign that they aren’t throwing fics into the void and that people actually like them, some motivation to continue. Seems fairly easy to throw an rb with some tags, right?

Don’t bother to tell me that we do this for ourselves and we shouldn’t ask for likes and reblogs and feedback, because 1) you are consuming the content that we “write for ourselves” and 2) writers post their content here for interactivity and feedback. We could just not post and write and save our fics in our dungeon drafts for years. But we choose to post to entertain the readers, the consumers. And we aren’t even asking that much in return.

Don’t give me the whole “I’m scared that authors feel that comments are annoying” excuse either because seriously this has been DEBUNKED SO MANY TIMES. Istg, in the nicest way possible, if you still think writers are annoyed by interaction and feedback, after so many posts, long rants have been posted as to how we’re not, then you must truly be living under a rock. There, I said it. Please stop thinking this way, I’ll say it again, AUTHORS ARE NOT ANNOYED OF FEEDBACK, COMMENTS, TAGS, REBLOGS. WE LOVE IT. Saying this is like saying that the audience in a theatre play shouldn’t clap when the play ends because the actors would find it noisy. 🤡

I’ve seen some people saying they have anxiety issues and such, so pls note that I’m not invalidating your condition. If you’re trying to be more interactive, I really appreciate it! If you can’t, that’s fine too. You’re trying.

But for the people who have no reason other than feeling lazy to rb and comment, your lack of interactiveness is not excused. Please. Tumblr is a reblogging site. If you’re gonna consume content like authors are some sort of machines, I encourage you to go get some more perspective.

This site is not Instagram or the satan bird app. Your likes are appreciated but frankly speaking, they do nothing to the author except tell them “Hey i read ur fic but i'm not gonna support u :D” and honestly, that is detrimental to their creative capabilities and mental health. 

DON’T FOLLOW AN ACC JUST TO MINDLESS RB THEIR SIGNAL BOOST POSTS AND THEIR REBLOGS OF GIFS AND NOT INTERACT WITH THEIR WRITING AT ALL ! Trust me, authors prefer a lower amount of interactive followers than a high count that doesn’t even give them any feedback. Again your follows are appreciated, but when you’re following, you know the type of content the author creates, so the author expects that the more followers, the more interactivity. These days, this is just becoming the opposite. So don’t do it! If you’re gonna follow to read, interact with their works. I promise, this will make both you and the author happy. A win-win situation.

In conclusion: SUPPORT YOUR FUCKING AUTHORS! THEY ARE NOT MACHINES THAT HAVE NO FEELINGS TO PRODUCE CONTENT FOR YOU! FICS TAKE DAYS AND DAYS OF PLANNING, PLOTTING, OUTLINING, WRITING, EDITING, MAKING TEASERS. SO JUST SHOW THEM YOU APPRECIATE THEM WITH AN RB. IT’S THE L E A S T YOU CAN DO.

I will be liking this post here written by the lovely @chaninfused​ and @scriptura-delirus​ . Please take time to read it because if you weren’t convinced by my arguments, you will see how much frustration we as writers face on a daily basis. Please, just show support. Here is the post by @stayndays​ about how to get more people to read your work, because it also has a note on reblogging. Please educate yourself, and put an end to this mindless consuming culutre and bring up some interactivity.

If you’ve read this far, I want you to go to two of your favorite authors and leave some feedback in their inbox, and tag me in it (either tag me yourself or ask the author to do so, they won’t mind). Show your writers that our words are taking effect and you are becoming better consumers. I mean it. I’m serious. I want every single one who reads this post to do this. besides valid reasons, if you’re lazy to do this, you’re a part of the problem. PLEASE get more perspective.

Also, feel free to add to this post! I’d love to read your thoughts too, remember to be kind though. And, if I think your rb is somehow contradicting my points and is bringing down the reason I made this post, I will politely ask you to delete your comment, because this post is about being truthful about the harsh reality of tumblr consumers and how we can change it. I’m sure none of you will let it get to that point, though. <3 love you guys. 💓

And, just a reminder, don’t just blindly like this too. Do what I said before, and while I am not forcing you, I’d appreciate your reblog, because seriously, it took me 3 whole days to write this, plus, I’m sure this will help more of your followers understand the fault in consumer culture. haha, that’s it! This post was way too long uff.

also, this is ur cue to not be stupid in my inbox. You have something to say? Think I worded smth wrongly? I’m sure it wasn’t my intention to do so, point it out with manners. 

[notasiren21]

26 for Lukanette WIPs please. :)

26. Party Crasher!Luka

I FUCKED UP AND JUST WROTE IT I GUESS???

Party Crasher

-Lukanette oneshot

“You mean to tell me Agreste ditched you? After all that pleading to let him take you to the party for your successful launch line for next season, he’s ditched you?”

“Kagami, don’t kill him.”

“Fine, remind me why I can’t though? This is such an ass move of his if he’s trying to prove he’s the one for you.”

“Because,” Marinette grits out, faking a toothy smile to a work couple that waves from passing, “I want to castrate and kill him myself.”

Kagami laughs roughly in surprise, “Why the castration?”

“So I can fit his small ass into the tightest pair of skinny jeans we have for our tall teenage girls.” The not so stoic girl sips on her wine, pleased with her friend’s rage. “I told him I haven’t been interested since we were 14, but him thinking I’ll forgive him if I even had a silver of interest in dating him? Fuck him.”

“Or,” Kagami drawls, long nails tapping the stem of her glass as she leans to peer over her friend’s shoulder, “You could fuck him instead?”

Mari gasps in offense, “I am NOT trying for a one night stand, no matter what you guys say.”

“No, you little mouse,” she admonishes, fully heartedly agreeing with the sentiment, “I just mean your big and handsome protective snake is here to save the day.”

Marinette’s mind took a second longer to click the pieces together, trying to make sense of Kagami’s nicknames for her friend group, before her heart thudded and she slowly turned.

There, passing by the models who had walked in Marinette’s designs and batted their false lashes at the rockstar, was Luka Couffaine.

Dressed to the nines in a very punk like and sophisticated way that revealed he very much wanted to impress her and did in fact listen to her fashion advice. Black skinny jeans only he could pull off, high top converse and a white button up with a black vest to overlay it. The cheeky and handsome bastard forgoing the tie to leave one too many buttons undone and his sleeves rolled up to reveal his tattoos.

Oh, on the life of his cat Sass was she proud of him.

And maybe drooling just a little?

He approached her, a sly smile working its way to his lips as he eyed her up and down, eyes shining bright at her black low cocktail that she paired with navy blue heels.

So maybe she sometimes used Luka as a whole for inspiration.

He raised a hand, finger wrapping around a loose curled tendril out of an elegantly messy low bun, “I thought it was the models you were supposed to make the stars of the show.”

“Had I known you were gonna show up, I would’ve worn one of my bests here.”

His hand froze, “This isn’t your best? You tease,” he broke out in a grin. His hand moved further, thumbing at the collection of piercings in her ear he accompanied her with to get years ago. “God, you’re so fucking beautiful.”

“Well, I’m suddenly glad I can only acknowledge this as awkward and not feel it.” Kagami noted into her class. Her phone buzzed, electing a sigh from her as she began turning. “Have fun, my mother decided to remind me why this wine was a good idea to have before she came.”

She watched her friend walk away, her other -her best friend and other half, remained taking her in and stroking the soft spot under her ear he once claimed with a mark-

The one time they admitted their crushes and strong attraction towards the other the night before he left for tour years ago.

It was the only time Luka had indulged himself in his wants and desires, the only time he had asked to and still provided her with an out. And now he still remains far off in her memories, even as he stands in front of her with that look on his face years later.

“How did you,” she swallows when his soft gaze flicks back up to her eyes with his full attention. “How did you get in? It’s a ticket only event.”

He shrugged, turning to offer her an arm and walk around. “I may or may not have seen Adrien’s post about his mom and dad going to a gala event and him going to see his cousin there. Seems like that took precedence I guess.”

Marinette huffed low, “Félix has been in town for three weeks. Adrien and I had lunch with him the other day.”

Luka stilled as a busboy stopped in front of them, offering them glasses of champagne. Luka’s nose twitched, then his lip as he turned away with a polite smile. Marinette shook her head in turn as well.

“You know you don’t have to pass just because of me, right?”

“Hey, we do this ‘young 20 some year olds unable to drink alcohol’ in solidarity together.” He cracked a smile at that, “Soda is my alcohol.”

“Alright, you can be an honorary member of the alcohol intolerance club.” Luka laughed when she hummed gleefully. “Dork.”

“Nerd.”

“So, back on topic, Adrien just really had no excuse then?”

“Ha, no, even his dad stopped by an hour ago to congratulate me and get press photos done to promote the line. All his son did for me was send a text with a sad face attached to his cancellation.”

“... I can kick his ass, you know?”

“I know, I’m just saving for a rainy day.” She laughed, stepping closer to his side and wrapping both arms around his. “So, the ticket, you party crasher.”

“Right, yeah, I may or may not have called your assistant earlier today to swipe it. I took a guess that she held onto it for safe keeping so-,”

“She’s new, I’m not surprised she just gave it up that easily.” She let Luka guide her into a dance. One hand with painted black holding hers to his chest, the other gently tugging to hold his shoulder before he held her waist.

“Oh, that, that explains a lot now.”

“What?”

He flinched, a nervous glint flashing across his features. “I may or may not have lied about who exactly I was since she didn’t know my name-,”

“Doesn’t listen to your music, already told her the sin she was committing.”

“And who I was to you, specifically-,”

Marinette tilted her head back in a laugh, Luka’s arm tightening to brace her weight, “You said you were my husband, didn’t you?”

He flushes at a memory of once getting a creep off her back a year ago by claiming that very title to her.

“Erm, no, I said I was your boyfriend and may have sold it by saying some pet name and swooning over you just a little,” he watched her eyes go wide then soft, a smile twitching to show. He stepped closer, almost pulling her flush to him, “But if that’s what you want, I can go out and get some marriage certificate?”

She flushed, lips parting and a rush of air passing them.

“Maybe call Jagged up and fly us to Vegas? I mean, we’re both looking good right now, you more so.” Her face went a shade or two deeper. She jumped in surprise when he let go of her hand to play with a tendril again on the right side, tilting her face to press a kiss to her left cheek. “God, you’re such a pretty little thing.”

She squeaked.

“What, what was the pet name?”

“Hm?” He lazily met her gaze, a dream like haze filter over them as he moved her body to sway with his. “Oh, that.”

“What was it?”

Baby, babygirl, beautiful, gorgeous- he may have said more than one.

He gave a slow and wicked grin, twirling her out and back into his chest in a swift and stunning movement as he nudged his nose to hers.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He teased, smile spreading wider and radiant as she forgot to breathe for a second.

What. A fucking. Tease.

The need for him to make good on his words and looks hit through her hard and reminded her of their one night together that they both never forgotten. And how much she wished that was every night, as long as it ended up with them curled right around each other and love and happiness coaxing them to sleep instead of stress and loneliness.

He watched her steel her gaze, her jaw tightened. He swallowed when her height, now of five feet thanks to heels, straightened and forced him to pull up. A violent shiver rocked through him when both hands held along the back of his neck, one slipping under the collar of his shirt to scratch along the nape.

“Marinette-,” he choked.

“I’m only asking so I can show my reciprocation.” She leaned closer, kicking her shoes off into some corner and standing on his converse that every elder of theirs had eyed in question during the night. He supported her actions fully, of course. Still stepping them around in dance within a fluid motion. “Not gonna tell me, hun?”

He coughed, loudly and looked away from her to catch his breath. Watching adults cheat on spouses everywhere or everyone else minding their own business to stare at models or the shrimp on the tables.

He almost tripped when she wined in protest, her hand gripping his chin lightly and turning it to face her. His eyes were flickering between admiration, lust and love, growing three shades of deeper blue than was possible.

“C’mon, baby, tell me.”

“Baby?” He stammered out in surprise. Teenage Luka was having a fucking field day with this. “Marinette, I was only joking earlier and-,”

“Were you really though?”

“No,” his response was fast and instant, a wince playing at the corner of his eyes and his button nose scrunching in loss of control.

“Hey handsome,” he preened under the nickname passing her lips, even if close to millions called him the same thing, it paid more effect when it was Marinette calling him it. “Tell me why you came tonight.”

His neck was aching from staring down to meet her eyes now that the heels were gone but he let himself down lower to press his forehead to hers. “Because you deserve better than what he gives you.”

The girl stilled, expecting an awkward or a flirtatious remark. “What?”

The rockstar looked away sheepishly, a little ashamed. “I know you’re considering getting with him, but when I heard he was canceling on you I let my jealousy win out and I just wanted to be there for you.” He bit his lip when he felt her tugging his face back in her direction, choosing to resist the pressure. “You have to believe me when I say I came with no ulterior motives other than protecting you from going stag to your own party tonight.”

“You, you came to protect me?”

He shrugged, another small shiver racking through him when her hands moved along and glided across his neck. “And make sure you had a good night. I even asked your mom what you were wearing tonight just so I could make sure my outfit complimented yours to cheer you up.”

She was silent for a minute or so, and he waited, patiently as ever and guiding her to rest her head against his chest as he swayed them.

Luka, doing all the work. Luka, taking matters into his own hands when someone fails her. Luka, going the extra mile to make sure she has a happy memory.

Fuck giving second chances to other people. Luka is the only one to have shown her he’s the most earning of the concept and notion.

She pulls away, feeling the slight reluctance in his arms on her waist before they drop to his side, “Grab my heels.”

He raises a black brow but complies, turning to find them and hooking his fingers in the backs. He eyes them, used to seeing her shoes laying around the Liberty when she comes over or even at her own place, but he always has to remark that, “You have small feet.”

“You’ve also called them cute,” she huffs, tugging on his hand and pulling him near the entrance.

He follows, like they always do for one another. “Because they are- where are we going?” He stops them as they round an empty corridor, away from the hotel’s event room where the party is still very much happening. The heel of his palm grips tight to archway, pressing against it, the small shoes still dangling in his hold.

“Home, your place or mine. Actually, mine’s closer.”

He laughs brightly, “You can’t ditch your own party for another movie night, Mari.”

The petite girl turns to him, a fierce expression in his eyes that makes him swallow harshly. “No, but I can ditch to celebrate in getting what I really want. For finally getting what I want.”

“The Chinese takeout place is closed this time of ni-,”

“You.”

“What?” Luka wheezes, he blinks stupidly at her. Prettily and stupidly. He straightens, freehand tugging at his collar a little like he needs room to breathe. “Come again?”

“I’m going home. I’m taking you with me. And we’re gonna celebrate that I finally got off my ass and got what I wanted.”

He hums, nervously and a bounce starting in his hand, a shake in one hand, his dark brows furrow, “And you want?”

“You.”

“You- you want,” he sucks in a sharp breath, pain flashing across his features as he clears his throat. “You want me?”

Her eyes soften, a smile showing as she steps closer to him and takes his face into her hands, pulling him down to be eye level with her as he braces his weight on the wall next to them with a hand.

“Yes,” he looks awestruck as she giggles. “I want you... can you let me keep you?”

He laughs nervously, “I’ll fucking sell myself to you if that’s what you really want, fuck.”

She’s smiling, leaning up on tiptoes to alleviate the strain in his neck and pressing a kiss to his lips, muffling the undignified noise of surprise that escapes him. She lets him get used to her for a second, kissing him slowly and purposely as starts to eventually overcome the shock and kiss her back in reverence.

He pulls away suddenly, a guilted expression on his face.

“Wait, wait. What about Adrien?”

“What about him?”

Luka fidgets, a quick glimpse of insecurities and jealousy showing to her before he regains a semblance of control after having his walls knocked down. “He’s been trying to go out with you, win you affections.”

He only knows of the situation, but never presses her to talk about it. It’s natural for it to come up in conversation everyday when he asks her about work knowing the stress of being twenty-two in a high end fashion company could be a bit more than overwhelming. He wanted to be a safe place to her since the beginning.

“There’s nothing about him. I’ve shut him down an handful of times and now it’s just a matter of letting him indulge himself in what he thinks are romantic gestures when me saying no doesn’t cut it. There’s nothing going on between him and I, just his belief that my crush from years ago accounts for something today.”

Luka still looks wary and isn’t touching her, most likely his conscious trying to be the better person between him and Adrien by not going out with the girl his friend is pining after.

Even if said girl is Luka’s legitimate best friend and the very same girl he’s been in love with since he was a kid.

Marinette feels like it’s a dirty tactic as she gets closer to him, trying to gauge where it’s jealousy and where it’s insecurity in regards to Adrien.

She presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Luka’s head turns minutely at the attention, tilting less than a centimeter to catch her lips before he catches himself. He struggles when her next kiss falls to his lips and is soft and slow, how he always wants to kiss her.

“Remember our first kiss?” She whispers, wounding arms around his waist and pressing close to him.

He matches her volume, an adoring look winning for a split second, “Of course I remember.”

“Remember our first date?”

“At the ice cream parlor, you wore a pink skirt that kept twirling when you did.” She feels his resolve break a little, his own right to be selfish with her slipping out a little.

His arms slip around her, and he presses a gentle kiss to her temple. “Remember our goodbye at the airport?” His arms tightening around her speak more volumes than his strained, “Yes,” does.

She’s just a little closer to convincing him to stop being so sacrificial with his own wants or needs. She just has to push more.

“Remember waking up in one another’s arms that morning?”

He’s silent for a few seconds, thinking of what he can say in response to that. Wondering how honest to be, “... every day, I think of that morning every day.”

She still hears the clipped apprehension in his voice. That tone she knows so well that’s gonna lead into him giving her advice to rethink this whole decision and talk to him when she’s absolutely sure. How she shouldn’t think on impulse and lunge at what she wants unless she knows she does wanna keep with it.

But, he has to know she always thinks back on moments with him and that she longs to have jumped on impulse if it meant being with him.

Every time he’s showed up with takeout at her place. When he smiles so freely at her. When he bandages her cuts and blisters from working all night long.

When he showed up tonight looking like he had been her dare to begin with. How her heart felt when he admitted to lying to her secretary. The way he looked carrying her high heels that were much too small for his hands but he didn’t care because she asked him to.

How he crashed her own party to make sure she’d have fun tonight.

She’s sure she wants this, him.

All those nicknames they could call each other. All the benefits of dating the other and having a date to everything the other needs to attend. Having her best friend be her boyfriend meaning there’s no holding back from anything.

She’ll cringe about it in the morning, but it’s gotta work to break his long instilled fear of being a bad friend or person. Of being unselfish.

“Do you still remember that night?”

She’s sure he’s stopped breaking by the way his entire body seems to shut down, but then it reboots and he’s shaking against her and can’t seem to breathe correctly, his eyes avoiding hers as he swallows again and looking like he’s willing to risk going into an allergic reaction for the sake of one drink.

“That- that’s not something you forget, Marinette.” His hands are twitching on her waist, grip tightening just a little and a vein is jumping in his arm to do something to prove he remembers alright.

One more push, “Do you still remember how I tasted that night?”

He seizes her waist, lunging to kiss her desperately like he did that night and when he left, a growl passing his lips onto hers. He’s cupping the back of her neck, fingers threading through her hair, breathing her in and shaking against her as his resolves breaks completely and the selfish side comes out. The one that’s nowhere near as selfish as the average person, but enough to take in the matter of his own needs and wants. He pulls back, letting her watch his eyes darken, the pupils expanding until the blues are next to near mere ridges of color. He’s watching hers do the same before he nudges her nose and kisses her slowly, more loving and affectionate. His control slipping back into place and resulting in the Luka she so loves regaining the handles of his own mind.

He’s careful in the way he tugs her lip with his teeth, how he coaxes her to let him kiss her fully before pull back and panting against her lips.

“Yes, I remember,” his voice is rough and he has to glance away from her and straighten. She watches him take a few meditative breaths before he looks back at her.

“Does that really help?” She gestures to his chest and mouth, “the breathing?”

He laughs hollowly, “No, not really, but it bought me time to create some distance in this,” he glances around, “Not your apartment place.”

She laughs at the suddenly horrified look that crosses his face, the image of them making out and the threat of almost being caught in public instantly dawning on him. He glares playfully at her.

“You did that all on purpose.”

“Had to, you were just about to give me up for the sake of being a good friend to me and Adrien.” She pauses, a wicked idea forming to prove her point, “Unless, you want Adrien to know what that all is like?”

A dark look crosses Luka’s face; unrestrained bouts of suppressed jealousy, possessiveness and territoriality. “No,” he growls out, eyes squeezing shut and having to clear his throat. “I’d rather not let him know any of that personally.”

“Not even how I taste?”

“Marinette,” he warned, the growl resurfacing. She cooed, wrapping him up in a hug and pressing a kiss to his jaw as an apology. He whined, “It’s not funny when you do that.”

“No, but everything you feel is alright to feel. Don’t hold back for the sake of not being selfish. You can be selfish with me, you’re a reasonable guy and know boundaries.” She sighed, nuzzling further into his warm embrace. “I don’t like Adrien the way he wants me to, and lately, it’s hard to even be his friend. He needs to move on from me. Hell, I’m better friends with Félix now than him.”

“Just hope they don’t switch up on you again.”

She huffed in amusement. “God no, I’d kill them.”

“It’s adorable how how your less than five feet body resorts to violence and death threats.”

“Mm, except you, I’m quite fond of you.” She looks up at him, chin pressed to his chest and smiling when he looks at her softly and presses a kiss to her nose. “This, us, is not an impulse. Just a restrained want I’ve had for awhile.”

“Okay, I understand now.”

She grins cheekily at him, “Or need, if that makes you all possessive hot yet secretly adorable rockstar boyfriend mode again.”

“Boyfriend?” He smiled slowly, radiant as always and heart stopping. “If teenage me could hear you, he’d probably shut down from being overwhelmed.”

“Nineteen year old you certainly didn’t that night,” she mumbles, grinning at the loud bark of laughter that surprises the both of them when Luka throws his head back.

“Yeah, thanks for reminding me what age I lost it at, totally rockstar of me, right?” The blush that’s coating his neck and ears is adorable, a shy smile quirking at her briefly.

“I think it’s sweet, cute even.”

“Yeah, because you’re the one I lost it to.” He deadpanned without conviction. “But, I guess I’ll take being sweet and cute.”

“It’s okay though, I mean, I did the cliché of losing my virginity to someone I was in love with.” Luka does in fact shut down in her embrace hearing that. Hands jittering against her and fingers tapping like he’s trying to speak through notes against her skin.

He takes another minute, before pressing a kiss to her hair. “If this is you confessing your love to me -and believe me, it’s killing me to stop you right now, I’d rather you do it in regards to another topic and not the fact that we were one another’s first time.” He avoids the dangerous smirk aimed his way, or the sharp angle of her cocked, black brow above breathtaking blues. “C’mon, let’s go dance some more and celebrate your success before we leave, maybe find your assistant to introduce me as your boyfriend to.”

She pours at him when he tugs on her hand in the direction of the party. “But-,”

He breathed out shakily, a waning patient look in his eyes and a false smirk aimed at her. “Can I sleep over tonight?”

“Do you want to?”

“Yes,” he breathed. “I’m very close to just following you home at this point, trust me. I don’t care how the night ends, just as long as it’s you and me tonight.”

She’s letting him make them dance again, feeling as the nerves leave his body as he gets them to fall in step with the tempo. He doesn’t care that he has to bend a little ways down to rest his cheek on her hair, not when she’s letting him pull her up against his chest when she typically only reaches the bottom of his rib cage.

They work well together, they fit perfectly together because they’re more than used to the instinctive adapting to one another.

Her hands cup his cheeks, kissing him carefully without reservation and the anxiety, “It was only an impulse at times because I love you and have for awhile.”

Luka deepens the kiss just a little, thankful she’s the type of girlfriend to let him indulge in her as he smiles, “I get it, I’ve had my share of impulsive thoughts for as long as I’ve been in love with you since we were young. I love you, Mari.”

“Enough to crash a party for me, apparently,” she whispered, a little moved by the thought that they were finally together. He thumbed her tears away.

“Enough to kill Adrien or Félix if you ask me to,” he replied in a loving tone, soothing her gasps for air when she broke apart in giggles against his chest in reaction.

He didn’t leave after that night. And he went to every party as her date too.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

care less, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader, implied taehyung x reader

summary: There are countless partings in this world. People come in and out of your life, impacts large and small. But there is one where you could care less. You really could. And that’s Min Yoongi, your high school ex-boyfriend, the one who took something from you and promptly disappeared, only to come back with a furious declaration, on the night you’re supposed to teach Kim Taehyung how to eat pussy.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language, discussions about adult topics; mentions of slut shaming; reader is pansexual; rough angsty smut (fem reader, slight dom/sub themes, m-receiving oral, overstimulation, hair-pulling, cowgirl); regrets everywhere; non-idol!AU; exes-to-lovers; pianist, softsub!Yoongi

inspired by “I get mad when I see you, and even madder when I don't”, wet-haired Yoongi in Run BTS! 131, ONEWE’s song ‘소행성 (Parting)’, and you’re probably wondering how these things go together. 

–

"How do you eat a girl out?"

"I... what?"

"How," Kim Taehyung repeated, slower this time, emphasizing each syllable with his impossibly deep voice. "Do you eat a girl out?"

"Why are you asking me?"

Taehyung raised his eyebrows. "Because you've hooked up with tons of girls. You must have eaten out at least one of them." You blinked at him as he continued. "I figure you have a unique perspective because you're a girl whose probably been eaten out and whose eaten out other girls."

You put down your spicy chicken. "Is this why you offered to buy me lunch?"

Taehyung's giant brown eyes shifted around uncomfortably. "Look," he said in a hushed tone. "I took this girl on a nice date and then it got to the spicy bit–"

"Leading her on, yes, yes, continue."

Taehyung narrowed his eyes at you but ignored your comment, barreling on. "And she asked me to eat her out, but I didn't know what I was doing."

"An absolute tragedy for sex god Kim Taehyung," you mocked. He growled and threw one of his chicken bones in your direction as you laughed. 

"Oi, this is serious!"

You kept cracking up, taking a bite of spicy crispy meat. "Yes, seriously funny." He kept glaring at you, so you relented a little. "She didn't ask for the dick like everyone else?"

Taehyung pouted. "Well, she did, after I spent twenty minutes doing what she called, basically nothing," he scowled. 

You shrugged. "Then you redeemed yourself, so what's the problem?"

Taehyung crouched over the table, stabbing your plastic tray. "The problem is, she's gonna tell other girls I can't eat pussy."

"Nah, she won't," you chewed, relishing the spiciness of the chicken. "She'll be too busy daydreaming about your giant dick."

Taehyung frowned, obviously not believing you. You casually are another piece of chicken, watching him contemplating. He was wearing cream slacks and a beige sweater, casually handsome with his dark brown hair, long enough to curl around his eyebrows. His fried chicken was already demolished into bones. He always got his not spicy. 

You never understood that. 

"Why didn't you ask me to eat you out?"

You shrugged. "We were only hooking up. I wanted to sit on your dick like everyone else."

"Teach me."

Your fingers were turning bright red with the crispy breading on the meat. You could feel the tingle of the spice on your puffy lips and throat, a measured fire burning. You didn’t bother to reach for your drink. Better to lull in the fire for a bit.

"Taehyung, it's just practice."

"Then let me practice on you."

You sucked out a bit of chicken from your teeth as you gave him a disbelieving look. "Thought your policy was to never fuck twice?"

He shrugged. "Not technically a fuck? Besides, you're the Sex Teacher," he added with a snicker.

You rolled your eyes. "Ugh, don't call me that. Some dudes started calling me that just because I took some guy's virginity."

"You've probably taken several virginities with your track record."

"Speak for yourself."

"Do you or do you not know how to eat a girl out?" Taehyung asked, brown eyes boring into you.

You picked up the toothpick the restaurant had provided you and stuck it between your teeth. Brushed the crumbs off your flannel dress and picked up your tray, standing up. 

"'Course I do."

-

Thus, you were now in your apartment with Kim Taehyung, several days later, wondering why you agreed to this nonsense. 

"Do I just whip off your pants or what?"

You rolled your eyes, keeping a firm grip on your gray sweatpants. He had arrived in a long black coat and brown turtleneck, black billowy slacks. Kicked his shoes off and presented you with said question.

"What do I get out of this?" you grumbled, turning around and heading into your apartment, shivering a little because of your loose white t-shirt that you had cut in half ages ago, turning it into a crop top. It had a stain at the bottom, so what better way to fix it than chop it off? Still, you should have opened the front door with your hoodie on, but it would warm up soon with the door now closed. 

"What do you what? Money?"

"I'm not a prostitute, Taehyung," you muttered. "Even if you think I am."

"I don't," Taehyung said coolly. "But money happens to buy things, so maybe you want some to buy something for yourself."

You pursed your lips, grabbing your mint thermos of warm water. It was a bit weird, but you preferred warm water over most drinks, except soda. But you couldn't be binging on soda all day, unfortunately, so you tried not to buy it and stuck with the water. Kept you from getting diabetes. Damn you, weak human body!

"Nice nips."

You raised an eyebrow as you took a sip. You weren't wearing a bra. Your hard nipples were poking through the t-shirt thanks to the cold.

"Are they distracting your fragile mind?"

Taehyung smiled, dark curls around his teasing brown eyes. "No, I'm simply appreciating them. A lot."

You looked down. Taehyung opened his coat. You sucked in the side of your lip, seeing his bulge. Maybe he was too chill with you now. Ever since you two realized your sex partners overlapped, a strange friendship developed. You’d talk about it casually with him, as if you two were discussing Pokémon trading cards instead of one-night stands. He would advise you against so-and-so and you would warn him about who-the-fuck-ever. Of course, you two only figured that out after you sat on his dick, but, hey, it was a nice dick. Lived up to the hype.

Unlike Taehyung, you didn't really have any weird rules when it came to hooking up. You went with the flow, and if you were feeling it, then you did it. Didn't really matter who it was, what gender, if they wanted to be upside down on a park bench as you sucked their balls and they jacked off into their own face (happened once, was kind of interesting to be honest). Taehyung, however, had some kind of conquest thing going on, numbers and all that, and needed everyone to know he was good at it. Insanely good. Mind-blowingly good. 

Taehyung closed his coat, tilting his head. "Whatchu want then? Not another fuck. Something else."

Your doorbell rang. 

"Oh, for fuck’s sake," you muttered, slamming your thermos down and marching to the door. "What is this, a fucking zoo, I swear–"

You wrenched the door open. 

"Fuck you."

Slightly slurred, husky, deep. 

Okay, well, yeah, sure, after I teach Taehyung how to–

The black head of hair raised and your thought disintegrated into pure shock.

"I get mad when I see you," the man growled. "And even madder when I don't."

He was holding a half-full bottle of soju.

"I... what?" was your incredibly weak reply, because you were staring at the hunched form of Min Yoongi. Black hair longer than the last time you saw him, styled over a clean undercut, wearing a torn-up black bomber jacket and a green t-shirt, acid-wash jeans with giant holes, revealing his pink, slightly bruised knees. He was breathing hard, glaring at you. 

Accusing you. 

Suddenly the years without him felt like an eternity.

"Hyung?!"

Oh right. Taehyung existed. 

But you couldn't react, couldn't breathe, starstruck, awestruck, dumbstruck at seeing Min Yoongi at your doorstep. Yoongi cocked at eyebrow, looking past you, and Taehyung's body was suddenly pressed against your back, reminding you, yes, he was real, actually there, why was he there again? What was life?

"Hyung, holy shit! I haven't seen you in ages, since..." Taehyung's voice suddenly died, baritone vanishing into nothing. 

"Why the fuck is he here?" Yoongi grunted.

"I... was going to ask her to–"

"He was leaving," you interrupted, shoving Taehyung from behind you to in front of you. "Taking his coat and leaving."

"What?" Taehyung sputtered, brown eyes wide, confused, blinking rapidly. "Hyung, why do you have a bottle of soju–"

Yoongi clicked his tongue, very loudly. 

"Forget this."

He turned, but Taehyung grabbed his arm. 

Not you.

Taehyung stopped Yoongi. 

The world was so cold. Your arm outstretched but touching nothing, because Taehyung was faster, Taehyung was closer, and you were so very far away from Min Yoongi. Yoongi turned his head slowly, venom in his gaze. 

"Hyung."

Yoongi's eyes locked with yours, making you breathless. 

"I don't understand," Taehyung said quietly. "What's going on? I thought you didn't care about her."

Those cat-like eyes narrowed, expression cold and emotionless. "Is that what you told them?"

It was airless and then the world burst into flames.

"You didn't tell me until the last day," you hissed, curling your hands into fists, voice rising. "You told all your friends, but you didn't tell me until the last day, not until the very last second before you flew to fucking Europe to go to university for that fucking music program!"

Taehyung's eyes widened. "Y-You said she didn't care..."

"Fuck you, Min Yoongi," you snarled, every muscle in your arms tensing, remembering all the moments, the gentleness that turned to coldness, the last night and what he took from you, turning into years and years of not caring about anything, fucking everything in sight, anyone who said yes, trying to forget his kiss and his memory before he got on a fucking plane and flew time zones away, never trying to contact you after. 

"Fuck you for thinking you can be angry at me for any reason at all, fuck you for thinking I did anything, fucking anything, to deserve that shit, taking my fucking virginity and leaving me!"

"I didn't take your virginity," Yoongi spat back, spinning around, hair bristling. "You lost it to that–"

"Maybe you should have fucking asked me instead of believing stupid fucking rumors!"

The human body was useless, but also driven by emotion, and you didn't even feel cold anymore, years of anger piled up, rumors that you were a whore, so you became that whore, owning it, doing it all, because why did it fucking matter when everyone already thought that? Sex Teacher they called you and your first teacher was standing in front of you, completely clueless. 

Fucking idiot.

Yoongi glared at you. You glared back. 

Taehyung stood there, gawking.

Yoongi's eyes dropped. He shoved the half-empty bottle of soju into Taehyung's arms and pushed Taehyung aside, Taehyung flailing to prevent dropping the glass bottle, and closed the distance between you and him, and now you could see, older, more tired, still handsome, still the same dreamer from years ago who traced your fingers and placed them on the keys, slowly helping you play the notes even though you didn’t know jack shit, and you enthralled with his smile, his laugh, his dream of becoming a world-renowned pianist.

Yoongi grabbed your face and kissed you. 

The first was the scent of alcohol, a subtle sweetness on his lips, but alcohol nonetheless. The second was the softness, the faint flush of his cheeks paired with his lips on yours, dainty despite the strength in grip on your cheeks. The third. 

Heat.

The years-old iceberg of 'I-don't-give-a-shit' melting faster than the polar ice caps, sheets and sheets of ice crashing into the sea of emotions, youth and stubbornness combined, melted in his kiss, you grabbing a fistful of his shirt and yanking him in your apartment, Taehyung calling after you both.

"Um, guys? Hello?"

"Go drinking Taehyung," Yoongi growled and slammed the door. 

-

Taehyung held the half-bottle of soju.

What now?

What about his reputation?

He frowned. 

Maybe he should call up Park Jimin. 

Taehyung took a sip of the soju as he walked away. He made a disgusted face. Ugh. Why did hyung like such strong shit? The flavor was unique and rich, but his throat felt like a layer of skin was being sloughed off.

One would only drink something like this if they were depressed. 

Oh.

-

"Your reputation precedes you."

"Fuck off."

"You became quite a woman."

"And you're still an insensitive shit."

You yanked his jacket off and dumped it on the floor, fists back in his green shirt, biting his lip, kissing him hard, him gasping in your mouth, his hands on your breasts, kneading them through the t-shirt, fingertips brushing over your hard nipples, sparks of pleasure crackling through you. 

"I was trying to protect you," Yoongi snarled, just as angry as you, both frustrated at time lost, both knowing it was for the best, both realizing that his misunderstanding and your reaction was just shitty communication of stubborn youth and time past that couldn't reset.

But still. 

Anger doesn't care about reason. 

"Protect me, my ass," you scowled, dragging him into your kitchen, pinning him against the counter. "What do you think I am, emotional fragility queen?"

"You wouldn't have cared?" he shot back, gripping your shirt and flinging it up, sucking in a breath as he revealed your tits. 

"Obviously! Why would I spend years being a slut to forget about your stupid hands?" you scowled, grabbing his wrists, planting said hands on your breasts, shuddering at the cold touch, chilled by night air, not exactly the same hands as back then, but better, rougher, strength of a man and not a high school boy, thumb and index finger rolling your hard nipples. Once again, fistfuls of his shirt, shaking him aggressively through heavy breaths. "You and your stupid mouth."

Kissing him, not the same, but better, stronger, more intense, stained with alcohol and regrets, devouring your tongue hungrily, intertwining.

"It would have ended the same," Yoongi murmured, the hurt creeping in his grating voice. 

It would have. 

And that was the shittest bit.

Knowing that even if he told you earlier that it would hurt no less, knowing that you would have gone and fucked other people anyway, because even if you tried to make it long distance, it wouldn't have worked. Some people could do it, but not young you and young Yoongi, too immature to know the meaning of wait.

"Still gives you no right to believe the words of others instead of asking me outright," you muttered, bending him backwards on the counter with your weight and he was letting you do it, hands still glued to your tits. "Why would believe that shit?"

"Because it was easier to leave you that way," Yoongi admitted, shame flitting in his dark eyes. 

"Fucking shit, you're an idiot."

You already knew that. Guessed, after years of agonizing over it. Easier to be angry than understanding. Easier to feel pain than to acknowledge it. What could you do? Tell him not to go to Europe? Not when his parents, his family, his friends, his neighbors, fuck, the whole damn school was ecstatic and congratulatory for him, everyone except you, not because you didn’t want Yoongi to follow his dreams, but because you wanted him to stay.

With you.

Selfishly.

And so, it was so much easier to be mad, so much easier for the two of you to fight until he tumbled on top of you, kissing you, tearing off your clothes as you tore off his and the first time hurt, it hurt but not as much as you thought, maybe because there was so much adrenaline from the anger and because he was so careful and loving about it.

He really was.

And there was pain, but it was nothing compared to the pain you felt the next day and the day after, and the next month, years, numbing everything, agreeing to really stupid propositions like the thing with Taehyung, all because you knew and he knew, but you both chose to be mad over being reasonable.

You hauled Yoongi up onto your kitchen counter, him kicking the side of the cabinets to lift himself up, not speaking. One look in his eyes and you saw yourself reflected in them, so close to tears that you kept your mouth shut and he kept his shut, preferring the anger to the sadness.

Because deep down, you were so, so happy to see Yoongi again.

It didn’t discount any of the wrongs though.

You fumbled with the button of his jeans and his hands came to help, unzipping, fingertips tracing over yours, more agile than before, swifter than an amateur. You raised your head, locking your gaze with his.

Yoongi was panting, cheeks flushed, guilt consuming his features.

It stung.

You yanked his pants down unceremoniously, not caring right now about stupid young you and stupid young Yoongi, gripping his underwear and dragging them down, his hard cock springing up, bigger than you remembered, thicker, red tip twitching, still wanting it just as bad, not looking at his face and closing your mouth in on it, gripping his hips and pulling him closer for better leverage. His scent and moan encompassed you, your eyes shutting as your tongue circled around his hot length, swallowing it up, oh so good, so good, better than anyone else’s because it was the one you tried to forget, entranced by the way Yoongi’s cock slid down your throat and filled your mouth, hearing his ecstasy from your touch, gasps of pleasure as you began to bob your head up and down, tongue going from the bottom of the head, down the quivering veins, all the way to the base, nudging his balls with the tip of your tongue, a skill you learned from many, many blowjobs.

You opened your eyes and you knew your guilt was in them. Yoongi could see it with every mouthful of his cock disappearing into your lips, his eyes half-lidded and pupils dilated, empathizing.

“Yeah, so what if we’ve fucked other people?” he grunted, rolling his hips into your face and making you growl in your chest. “I could care less.”

Yeah, you could, and me too.

Faster and tighter, suffocating him with your mouth, hands flat on the counter, blowing him at the same spot you were eating a fucking salad two hours ago before Taehyung’s arrival and contemplating tongue techniques, back when your iceberg of uncaring was still intact but now it was part of the ocean of emotions once more, watching Yoongi unravel, rubbing his fists into the granite, crying out and arching his back, black hair fanning out with every harsh swallow and throat clench around the head, leaking pre-cum into your throat and throbbing into the roof of your mouth.

“F-Fuck me…”

He hissed out your name and snapped his chin to his chest, thrusting into your mouth, exploding, salty thickness coating your tongue and down your tight throat, you gulping it down with a choked gasp, his taste a part of you now after all this time, an edge of bitterness that you welcomed, who knew what the fuck he was eating before this, but you didn’t care, didn’t care, you had Yoongi’s cock in your mouth and every second was worth it.

Your tongue coated the head, collecting the dribbling cum and you swallowed that too, glaring at him. Lowering down once more, swallowing him to the base once again, him sucking in a pained breath at the sensitivity because your throat was unforgiving, constricting him as forcefully as you could, tongue sliding up, teasing right under the head, the thin skin that make Yoongi squirm and hiss under you, spreading the slit with the tip of your tongue. Yoongi slapped his palms onto the counter, clenching his jaw to avoid screaming.

But he didn’t stop you.

He simply watched you with pained eyes, letting you do whatever you wanted, thrashing under your merciless mouth, rutting the sensitive head against the roof of your mouth roughly, his body thrashing to try to get away, but still Yoongi said nothing, thin moans escaping his closed lips, even twisting his hips back and rocking them into your face to let you abuse him more, manhandling him to your heart’s content. You kept going, long agonizing minutes, strongly sucking the head, shoving it all the way to the back of your throat, teasing it with your tongue, swirling around and around, pressure, roughness, tightness, aggravating the sensitive skin until you saw Yoongi on the verge of tears.

He still didn’t stop you.

You retreated, your lips now only around the head, tongue ghosting over the pulsating, inflamed tip, drenching it with saliva.

“You deserved that,” you muttered.

“I deserve a lot of things,” Yoongi grunted, finally relaxing his shoulders and laying flat against the counter, panting hard, cheeks still flushed, staring at the ceiling.

Neither of you were saying sorry.

You gave him one last painful suck and he swore under his breath, but didn’t say anything else, biting his lip hard as you popped your mouth off his cock. For a few moments, there was nothing but oppressive, irate panting. Yoongi’s dick was still hard and sticking straight up, he himself spread out on your kitchen counter like a fucking buffet, still wearing his shirt and half-wearing his jeans. You were shirtless, tits out, gray sweatpants slung low on your hips.

“When are you going back?”

Yoongi was still staring at the ceiling.

“Don’t know.”

“Liar.”

Dark eyes flickered down.

“If you asked me five minutes ago, the answer would have been in two weeks.”

Your eyes narrowed, boring into his. “How many blowjobs have you gotten overseas, huh? One hundred? Five hundred?” Frustration, grief, vehemence, all rolled into one, turning your voice into ice, sheets of frozen water churning and reforming, snapping together one by one with each word, your hands coming up and digging your nails into his thighs, racking them down, bright red scratches in your wake. “How many people have you fucked? Do you think I’m fucking stupid, Yoongi?”

He gritted his teeth, screwing his eyes shut, fingers curling onto fists at the pain.

“I really thought you didn’t care,” was his distressed hiss.

You stopped; nails sunk into his pale skin, creating dark crescents with how hard you were pressing.

“I thought you would hate me forever.”

Your hands left his thighs, glaring scarlet lines of your pain on his skin now.

“And I thought it would get better, but it didn’t.”

His fingers uncoiled, one by one. Long, deft digits, practiced, trained, beautiful, crescents of pink from his own nails in his palm. Eyes opening, lash by lash, lifting, dark, pained, regretful, drifting down to you and his exposed, still-hard cock, just there, ignored, surrounded by scratch marks.

“I was mad that you didn’t try to contact me,” Yoongi mumbled. “And madder at myself for not trying to contact you.”

Ice cracking, melting off, crashing back down into the vast ocean of emotion.

You reached into your pocket.

Your name, tumbling from his lips, his eyes shifting to you.

“In between countless partings, the one I always remembered was you.”

You climbed onto the counter, sweatpants and underwear on the floor. Yoongi’s eyes widened in shock, so stunned that he couldn’t stop staring at you, knees, thighs, crotch – clean, you were always clean-shaven, but he didn’t know that, a habit you developed without him and now you felt weird with hair down there – and so he could see everything, wet lips glistening. Up to your waist, a pattern of small moles above your bellybutton that high-school Yoongi had danced his fingers over.

Saying, “My Milky Way, my galaxy.”

This was after you called him an insensitive bastard and he accused you of losing your virginity to some athletic jock kid, as if high-school you would ever have a chance with someone like that.

Up your tits, your collarbones, your face.

Determined.

Yoongi jumped, realizing you had wrapped your hand around his cock and pumped it a few times before rolling down the condom, angling your pussy above the purple-red head. He made eye contact with you.

“I can’t go back if you do this,” he whispered.

“Boo-fucking-hoo, shut your trap.”

You sank down and he clamped his jaw shut, veins on his neck popping out in strain as Yoongi tried not to cry, your previous ministrations amplifying the sudden hot, wet pleasure that overwhelmed him, you sighing in bliss as he filled you, nicer than before, better because you knew what to do now, relaxing your muscles before pulsing around him, his eyelids fluttering, whines in his throat, palms flat on the granite, such beautiful hands that you reached down and put them on your thighs, wanting him to touch you.

Dark brown eyes shaking, pupils dilated, fingernails digging into your skin.

“Isn’t that what you do? Use your hands all day?” you taunted.

He gripped your thighs tight, apology flashing across his features.

“You better not cum before I do,” you snapped, rocking your hips a little.

Yoongi sucked in a breath. “I’ll try.”

You leaned forward, one hand on the counter, the other closing in on his black hair. Twisting the black locks in your fingers, gripping so hard your knuckles were white, but you weren’t pulling on his hair, only holding it, but your eyes told him everything.

“You fucking owe me.”

Him staring into your blazing eyes.

“I owe you for the rest of my life.”

You rolled your hips into his crotch, hard, smacking your ass down on his balls and he whimpered, jerking his head to the side and pulling his own hair, whimper turning into a wounded gasp.

“Shut the fuck up. We both know you deserved that scholarship, you talented asshole.”

You began your pace, bruising and intense from the start, unforgiving, but you had already forgiven him, years ago, by yourself with no one else to know, now your hand in his hair with Yoongi writhing under you, causing his own pain flaring across his scalp because your grip was so tight, his hands on your thighs, his length sliding out and then shoved back in. You could feel him getting harder, swelling more, the sensation unbearable so he kept igniting the pain to prevent himself from orgasm. You made sure to let the maximum amount of your skin to hit him – clit on his crotch, pussy enveloped around his cock, the tip hitting your deepest, most pleasurable spot, ass smacking against his balls – so that even you moaned, shivers of ecstasy layering on top of each other, climbing notes of a song from long ago.

Now continuing.

From that night at your parents’ house that bedroom of painful and lovely memories, his hands on your wrists, telling you that he could go slow until you felt better, how could he not know? Yoongi just assumed it was because you weren’t aroused since you were so angry at him, and you never accused him of having any experience before you, and to be honest you didn’t give a shit; if that was society’s fault or your feelings for him, you didn’t know. It all seemed so foolish back then, stupid, why were you so attached to a high-school boy when there were thousands of other men and women out there, and you tried, you fucked them, but in the end.

In the end, it wasn’t the roars of pleasure or multiple orgasms or big dicks or sweet pussy that made you feel the same as you felt when you looked down at Yoongi, eyes rolling back, biting his lip so hard the skin was white, black hair bunched around your fingers, his fucking green t-shirt still on but you could tell every muscle was tensed and he was barely breathing, anything to prevent himself from orgasm, knuckles white on your thighs, clutching them so hard they would surely leave bruises, but you didn’t care.

Yoongi was a genius. He could play the piano like no one else.

Someone could be technically better, someone could be more experienced, someone could be more nuanced, but no one felt music like Yoongi felt music, no one loved piano like how Yoongi loved piano.

He deserved every cent, every experience, every year he spent overseas.

He seemed to feel your gaze on him and his eyes found yours, black pupils nearly overtaking the irises, sweating so bad that his t-shirt was soaking down the front.

“Hold on,” you breathed. “Hold on for me, Yoongi.”

He whined pathetically.

Did he love you as much as he loved piano or was it the soju talking?

Who are you kidding?

Yoongi would never love you as much as the piano.

You set your jaw and leaned down a little more, bending his cock the tiniest bit, more leverage to go harder, rougher, rolling your spine down, smack! Onto his crotch, Yoongi’s mouth flying open and crying out your name in shock, your knees screaming on the harsh granite but you didn’t care, fucking Yoongi for all you were worth, using every muscle and every technique you knew to apply as much pressure as you could, choking his dick. Yoongi’s hands jolted off your thighs, hitting your open thermos on the counter, both of your forgetting it was there this whole time, the double-walled, stainless steel, mint thermos.

It toppled and spewed warm water all over your thighs, your joined crotches, part of his shirt, probably leaking down his ass and onto the counter.

You yelped at the sudden unexpected wet warmth. Yoongi’s hips jerked up, wild moan escaping his lips and your pussy spasmed, orgasm plummeting into you, a sudden avalanche that made your eyes roll back and a guttural groan vibrate your chest, both hands inadvertently clasping and yanking on Yoongi’s hair, and he lost it, whining your name as he came, hard cock lurching and convulsing against your walls, shooting his load into the condom, his cries extending to wanton, pained moans. It took everything in you to at least loosen your fingers, spreading them on his scalp and holding his head as gently as you could, whole body shuddering, even your jaw, not able to say his name properly because your teeth were clattering uncomfortably against each other.

You closed your eyes.

Listening to Yoongi’s strained breathing. Hearing pain, sadness, his raspy voice from long ago, words in the seconds before you feel asleep in his arms from being worn out from anger and losing your virginity. All this time, wanting to believe it was silence, wanting to believe he said nothing, letting yourself believe in your lie to fuel your rage.

“I am sorry.”

You opened your eyes, lowering your chin. Yoongi’s dark orbs, glassy and spent, trying to focus on your face. His hand came up, still wet with the spilled water, and you realized you had pitched forward a little from the force of your orgasm.

His fingers danced on the small mole pattern above your bellybutton.

“My Milky Way. My galaxy,” he whispered softly.

Lovingly.

Guilt all over his face.

“I have to go back. I have performances, opportunities.”

You leaned down. “Stop lying, Yoongi.” Eyes locked with his and a smile. “You want to go back. Because you are an ambitious, talented asshole.”

You knew you were right. You could see it in his eyes, the quickness as he looked away, not wanting to face you. You slumped down, knees giving out, Yoongi’s cock half-buried in you, slowly softening, but it didn’t matter. You put your full weight on him, fitting your chin on his shoulder, not quite looking at his face, nose far too close to your fucking kitchen counter. Yoongi grunted uncomfortably, but didn’t tell you to get off. There was water everywhere and the mint thermos was on the tile floor and somehow neither of you had noticed. It must have made a very loud sound.

“I hate my job anyway. Might as well run away to a different continent for some stupid boy.”

“I can’t ask you to come with me.”

“I’m not asking.”

He chuckled.

“You really have changed.”

“Sucks for you.”

You felt his arms wrap around your waist.

“Guess so.”

-

“Why was Taehyung here anyway?”

“I was supposed to show him how to eat pussy.”

Yoongi blinked at you, holding a damp rag. Both of you were kneeling on the floor, naked, attempting to sop up the mess. “How?”

“He was going to practice on me.”

“I can give a live demonstration instead,” Yoongi growled, an edge possessive.

“Yeah, no, I think my night is booked. Emergency appointment.”

You picked up your kitchen towels and wrung them out in your sink, looking down at him, raising your eyebrow. Yoongi’s hair was messy and curled, wet from sweat and water. He gazed up at you. You saw him shiver. You kept your expression neutral despite your heartbeat racing.

“Have some catching up to do.”

--

masterpost

[hewhofightsbythesword]

scotch or irish? tommy shelby x reader

warning/s: underage drinking, swearing, violence, and slight smut

 inspired by disco pigs (2001) 

A/N: I was really high when I came up this idea. Even wrote it while I was high, but I couldn’t find it the next mirning. Wasn’t sure if I really wrote it or if it was a dream. Either way, it’s here lol After like two weeks. Sowwyy 

Tommy and y/n. y/n and Tommy. For as long as the pair can remember, that’s the way it has always been. Born only a few months apart, the two created an instant bond so strong that Aunt Polly said it would transcend through many lifetimes. And of course, Aunt Polly was never wrong in the matters of the heart. This was a friendship full of heart, romantic and platonic love for there was not one without the rest. Tommy’s mother would say to Polly, “That boy... it’s his cleverness that’ll kill him.” Martha found herself confiding in her more, so she continued, “As long as Tommy and y/n have each other... I am not worried.” And everyone knew. Everyone except Tommy and y/n.

The two had very similar minds. What one was thinking, the other was already mentally processing and vice versa. It would be almost adorable if it wasn’t so weird, as Arthur Sr. would call it. It was only weird because they were so smart. Against everybody else (even Polly at times, although she would never admit it), they were always two steps ahead.

From a young age the two understood their natural connection. For example, at the age of seven, Tommy and y/n planned to swear a vow of silence together that was planned to last a total of ten days. At first, y/n was met with slight worry from Tommy.

“We need code names! What should I call you if I need you?”

“You won’t have to need me, silly. That’s the whole point! I will already know, and so will you.” The logic was missing. They were both aware of this but none cared.

The goal was set for ten days. Not a single word was uttered between the kids or anyone else for that matter, aggravating the living hell out of those around them, especially Arthur who would’ve done anything to be a part of the joke. However, by day five, y/n broke the vow, rushing her feet as fast as they allowed a few houses down on Watery Lane.

That day she had heard a few of the older Lee boys, around Arthur’s age, speaking down on the Gypsy Shelby’s. y/n just had to tell Tommy or she was sure she would burst. It was also on day five Tommy came to two realizations: (1) He too would break their vow of silence. There was nothing worth doing if it meant he couldn’t do it with the person who understood him the most. (2) Tommy decided that same day that y/n, in her own right, was a Shelby too.

“Shelby,” he whispers to himself, only for him to hear.

At age 15, y/n was able to convince Tommy to steal a bottle of whiskey from the local pub. Her little hands shoved a piece of a paper with instructions in his direction. “Meet me here,” was all she told him with big eyes before he could even get a word in, running back to whatever held her short attention span. Unfolding the paper, Tommy could see a drawn out map of where to find the only girl who could keep young Tommy on his toes.

If anyone asked him, he would tell them all this was something he had to do. Many nights Arthur and Tommy had to go in all hours of the night looking for their father in pubs. One night in a drunken haze, Arthur Sr. takes his second born by the shoulders, causing him to be dragged onto the floor next to his father. He takes his boy by the face, shaking it a few times to show how serious he was trying to be.

“A man is meant to provide, always. Be a man, Thomas.”

y/n asked and Tommy planned to provide.

Seeing the large “X” marking the destination, it matched the location right before Tommy’s eyes. It was a beautiful far away, empty place from Watery Lane with lots of surrounding nature. It had just finished raining. y/n always did like the way the rain made the earth smell.

She notices her friend right away and runs up to him. y/n takes him by the hand. “I found my favorite tree here. Come on,” she says very nonchalantly.

Tommy shakes his head behind her. “Of course you did, Shelby. Of course you did.”

y/n often thought the world moved too slow for her liking. She always liked to be out and about. Always wild, never to be tamed. She figures that’s why she likes the Shelby’s so much. She was blessed to find a family early in her life that matched her soul. Except, she knows why she likes Tommy so much. He liked to be wild too. He moved just as fast as y/n, and he thought just as fast as her. So there was no doubt in her mind once she tasked her best friend with the alcohol that he'd deliver.

“I just took the first one I saw and ran like hell.” He presents y/n the bottle.

“Scotch whiskey,” y/n reads the label out loud before opening it. Tommy at this point began to see the trouble that she carried within her starting to stir. Confirming this intuitive feeling, y/n goes to make a quick toast like the kind she has seen her father make with Tommy’s. “To your Aunt Pol who would kill you if she ever knew, Thomas Shelby,” she groans out as she takes the first large swing with the most confidence. Even from when they were children, Tommy always wondered how so much confidence could fit in such a small body.

He takes the bottle from her to mimic her actions. “To my Aunt Polly who will find out by the week’s end.” They both laugh before Tommy takes his sip, but when he does, he takes it differently than y/n. “What the fuck, y/n. How can you even drink that shit?” He spits and coughs as he attempts to recover.

“What? I like it.” She shrugs while going for another.

At age 18, Tommy realized he loved y/n. By the time Tommy turned eighteen, it came to no surprise to anyone that he was already turning out to be a ladies man. Girls turning into young women were quick to notice his dark hair and hypnotic blue eyes. He was different than any of the factory worker boys that took after their fathers. He was ambitious. He wanted more to life than what dirty old Birmingham could offer, and the young women knew this so in some way, it even made it seem okay that his last name was Shelby. Almost as if Tommy was being pardoned for being a Shelby. And he hated that feeling.

y/n never made Tommy feel that way. She was always the first and the last one to defend her friend since birth. Crowned by Tommy all those years ago, she was Shelby. What else could have made her break her vow with Tommy all those years ago? Tommy didn’t realize exactly what he was realizing at the time. How could he? They were kids being kids. He couldn’t have known it was loyalty. If it wasn’t clear to Tommy then, it was now.

“You need to get out of here. Go get Arthur and John. This is no place for a woman,” Tommy warns y/n one night out, sensing trouble.

The two found themselves cornered by a group of boys around their age. The Peaky Blinders were gaining respect, notoriety, and fear from those around them. Things were changing for the Shelby’s, but not everyone agreed. Most certainly not the three boys looking for a fight. “Run!”

“No!” She hisses back. She tightens her fist and holds them up.

“There is no fucking way I’m letting you do this.”

“Either I leave to get the boys and we come back to your half-dead body, if we’re lucky or I stay and fight and we may actually win this.” Truth be told, y/n wished she could listen to Tommy and go get his brothers. But more than the fear she felt for herself, it was tenfold for Tommy.

“Damn you, Shelby.” he tells her as the fight breaks out.

No words were exchanged on the walk to The Garrison. It seemed like all of the day’s events were forcing Tommy to think about the vow they made when they were seven. Only this time, Tommy could see the logic she proposed. He did know what she was thinking because he was so sure she was thinking the same as him.

“Whiskey, Harry,” was all Tommy said, not bothering to spare the man a glance. y/n goes to sit at a table like they always do but was stopped by Tommy. He latches onto her hand, careful with the cuts and bruises that were beginning to form. “No,” he tells her, “We’ll be in the snug.” And no one protested. They may have wanted to but at the sight of blood on their clothes and on his razor blade, no one dared to speak out against the Blinder.

Not long after Harry delivers two glasses of whiskey through the snug’s window. “Give the toast, Shelby,” he gives the cup to y/n.

Her eyes never leave his. Even with exhaustion hijacking them, y/n could not name a more beautiful sight. “To you, Tommy. To the best and worst pal in the world.”

In his state of shock, Tommy failed to clink their glasses together, so y/n did it. The sound pulls him out of his own swirling thoughts, and they down their drink in an instant. Like the siamese twins they are, a look of disgust and twinge of horror overtake their faces.

“Scotch.”

“Irish.”

They both spit out like venom but were quick to laugh it off. “You gave me the wrong cup, Thomas!”

“Hey, come on now. I’m still Tommy. I’m just a bloody idiot for not knowing the difference.”

Only a few moments later, the laughing winds down a bit. The atmosphere still remains light only to be shattered. “Why don’t you love me?” He blurts out to y/n. “Like the way I love you?”

y/n’s content smile never falters. “I believe you have been too busy to notice me, Tommy. I’ve been right here. Because if you would have just asked, I would’ve said I loved you too. And I do... love you too.”

He smiles at her. “The best and worst pal in the world.”

y/n could feel her heart begin to hammer against her chest. She no longer felt like she was sitting down but floating. With the adrenaline from the fight gone, she should have been able to feel her wounds mark their place on her skin. But that’s not true. All she could feel was a warm, tight feeling in her chest. The boy she loved, loved her back. And no amount of irish whiskey could ever compare.

“Do you trust me?”

“With my whole heart.”

Tommy’s eyes searched y/n’s for any trace of hesitance or fraud but found none. All he could see were the eyes of the girl he loved the most. And most importantly, the girl loved him back.

He stands up to speak to Harry through the snug’s window and comes back shortly after. “Come here, Shelby.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to kiss the only girl in all of Small Heath that I love.” At that, y/n had no protests.

Their kiss was nothing less of what the two expected. It wasn't awkward. Nerve wracking, sure, but not awkward. Many nights y/n dreamt about this very moment. She dreamt how Tommy’s lips would feel against hers. She often wondered what kind of lover he was. And now she knows, leaving her with no more thoughts to wonder about.

She is the first one to pull away. “I have loved you since we were seven and you called me “Shelby” for the first time.” She places desperate kisses onto his lips, cheeks, and neck. Anywhere they would fall, really, leaving traces of pure love behind.

Tommy feels like he is starting to lose control once her pillow soft lips attack his neck. “Tell me again, y/n. Let me hear you.”

“I love you,” She reminds him in between her kisses.

“Shelby... if you keep doing that, I’m not sure how much gentleman will be left in me.”

She looks up from the spot on his neck she was loving on, having found his sweet spot. “This one? Right here?” She asks, feigning innocence as she lightly bites down. When she hears his soft moan, her tongue laps at the spot relieving it only to finish off with a few kisses.

Before the last one can even land, Tommy’s hand finds her neck to take control once more. He doesn’t squeeze nor does he have a rough hold. He merely wraps his fingers around the neck he will one day dress in the biggest jewels. Tommy guides y/n to the edge of the table and pushes her to lay on it.

“Here, Tommy?” She giggles watching her best friends crawl on top of her

He shushes her with more wet kisses. “No one will come in. It’s just me and you.” His hands caress, squeeze, and tease whatever he can.

“It’s yours, Tommy, my heart. It’s all yours.”

He wraps his hand under her hair that was sprawled over the table into a makeshift ponytail. “Mine,” he proves when he finally feels all of her. His eyes never hers, wanting to sear the memory of the exact moment she became his. Pain overtakes her face but her hands on his lower back right above his ass lets him know she was okay. After a while, y/n signals Tommy to start moving once more and pain starts to transform into a pleasure y/n never thought was possible.

All the sounds the two were making were sure to be drowned out by the ruckus made by the drunk men just outside the snug. Tommy was sure to tell Harry that no one else was allowed in under any circumstances. In his moment of euphoria, Tommy was ready to wet his razor blade for the second time that night should anyone dare barge in and take a look at what belonged to him.

This wasn’t Tommy’s first time but it was the first time he realized all what sex could be. All the men in his life were wrong. He was wrong. It didn’t have to be all what they said it should. All he ever needed was y/n. Now that he had her, he had no intention of ever letting go.

Basking in the momentary afterglow of his best orgasm, he says, “You know what, Shelby? I don’t think I mind scotch whiskey all that much anymore,” his thumb traces y/n lower lip, even getting it slightly moist, “Not when the taste comes from your lips. My lips.”