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iznsfw · 4 months

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Manic Robotic Dream Girl

IZ Days of Christmas 2023: Day 4 - Choi Yena

IZ*ONE's Choi Yena x Male Reader Smut

8,311 words

Neon lights dance like flames around you. There’s no need to touch them when you’re already burning. Burning with something that’s not a fever but a kind of pain that never goes away.

Sweat pricks the sides of your face and you’re aware of the blots of perspiration running down your jawline. Nights at the Rogue are often hot, but then they surprise you with a sudden burst of windiness, so you never bother to take your coat off. Whatever and wherever, you’ll always be here yet you’ve not once been able to predict the temperature.

That’s what happened when WAKE12 took over.

Apparently, they decide if people are under the weather by controlling it by them-fucking-selves. Kwon feeling shitty? Looks like rain then. Maybe she’s feeling happy? Alright, let the clouds find balance. Angry? Take a fucking hailstorm. What a privilege, one bigger than the lives of the rich men in the North. But everyone forgets about that fact after she sends out minimal alms—canned goods, a Bible, something. Then it’s back to President Kwon is the best! President Kwon can never fail us! President—

“Vodka.”

“Same as yesterday?” asks Yuri, smiling a little bit.

“Same as yesterday.” For a hologram, Yuri can be quite the social butterfly.

Online wallets are all the rage nowadays. The AI voice in your head offers you said option to pay, and you can hear your balance privately spoken. Somehow your brow prevents from creasing as you hear it. You lack funds but somehow have a few extra bucks to drink.

Choose that. You want to save your Wizes for other things. Lock eyes with Yuri and your balance goes down. You’ve paid.

Online and digital wallets modified with embedded signals and readers were in use before you were even born. Of course, there were already such payment options in the twenty-first century, but how WAKE12 changed everything, not just ordering options with telepathic payment, can easily be read in a sixth grade history textbook.

In October of the year 2918, Kwon Eunbi rose in the ranks as a scientist and soldier for Kang Hyewon, former president, and ended up working her way into dictatorship. The textbooks and classrooms teach that she proposed a law to the court and got herself a position for her wit and intelligence. But early first accounts challenge that, saying that she caught the eye of Kang and had a sexual relationship with her. WAKE12 branded this as propaganda that sullies the name of not only the dictator but the one of the late president, who died mysteriously before Kwon rose to power.

Massive backstory for cashless payment, but you know there’s more to it than the government would like to let on. What happened to Kang? What made Kwon so evil the moment she sat in her presidential throne?

“Thank you, sir.” Holograms all have different voices; Yuri’s sounds like she’s singing. At least the bartender slash boss hired her instead of those with monotone, emotionless ones. It’s cheaper to have hologram workers than humans anyway. Less money, less emotional labor, less of feeling like a normal person.

A beggar curled up below the counter holds his hand out. Not an uncommon sight in the Auster, but it’s a pity to see. The world has advanced with its telepathic wallets and 3D holograms yet there will always be individuals who haven’t caught up with time. While the North Rogue leads worldly lifetimes, the Auster is a home for the rejects. The poorest of the poor. The somewhere-in-the-middles. It can never be truly a perfect world if advancement doesn’t include everyone.

Give him a Wize. Back then, that would have been worth a hundred or so dollars, a currency long gone. Not that you’d know of it; WAKE12 claimed leadership way before you were born so the cheap value of the coin studded with the bust of Kwon Eunbi is all you’re accustomed to.

Take your drink and thank Yuri.

The cobblestone is rough beneath your feet. You take your seat at your usual table. Float your fingers around your shotglass. Pour the contents down your chapped mouth almost all in one go. Anything to feel something. Anything to feel anything.

You’re not an alcoholic by any means, though that’s certainly up for debate. But there’s a need for the liquid that rages more than the need for oxygen (the fucking shortage of it) or food (the fucking expense of it). How else could you be less numb? You’re welcome to every feeling at this stage, just not this empty neutrality that slumbers your senses.

Pain? Your throat seizes up when you drink and brings tears to your eyes, so there's that.

Happiness? Hm, none. You’re barely smiling. You’ve no family, little friends, and no partner for the last few years. There’s nothing to be happy about.

Anger? The displays of people fined harshly for their crimes on the big as life advertising screens stir some defiance in you. WAKE12 doesn’t take kindly to hacktivists and young coders dabbling in creating their own AIs. You have your own anti-government opinions, but what’s a human mind against an artificial one? Plus, and probably a less serious reason (tell that to the thousands who flock to the hospitals because of asthma), the air is almost always polluted here in the Rogue. It’s dirtied by car smoke and factory remains. You’d think that robots taking over the labs would improve it. Perhaps they weren’t programmed that way.

Loneliness?

You look around. See the glitching phantoms of new world technology make the drinks breezily. Watch the light-studded train filled with commuters from the Auster. Kwon Eunbi managed to build an underside track for additional trains to run and still the commuters—young students, old grandparents, not young but not old workers whose jobs belong to WAKE12—wear the same tired look you saw yesterday. All you could hear are buzzes and uncanny valley voices from holograms.

The second chair paired with your table is empty. You’re suddenly lucid to the fact that it’ll always be like this. These nights of drinking and walking in the Auster Rogue will be endless, and just the same, you’ll be endlessly alone.

Sometimes mortality could be so depressing.

So depressing that it makes it all so meaningless.

A man stumbles over to the outside bar, breaking your thoughtless reverie. His clothes are as black as the night you spend but you can see blood on the fabric. The skyscrapers provide enough light for you to see his red face from anxious internal and worrying external blood. The pleading look grips his expression like a malfunctioning robot’s limb.

He’s looking back as if afraid of what might be there. The rain-soaked road is tread on roughly by his shaking knees as he crawls his way to the bar. “Please, help me!”

“Warning,” comes the voice in your head, and you know the other visitors hear it, too, “a criminal of the state is in your proximity. Proceed with caution.”

WAKE12 always keeps an eye on those who threaten them. They have goons everywhere. The kindly grandfather down the street could be a veteran waiting for the chance of a medal. They have ears everywhere as well. Undercover cops stay in both crowded and clear spaces to identify possible threats. When it all comes down to it, you’re not safe in your own head at all. The implants can detect when you dream up something terrible. That’s how millions lose their reputation. Their jobs. Their families.

Their lives.

He staggers to the counter, crashing glass that shards his palms, and lets out this wail you’d hear from an abused pup. “Please,” he croaks. “Don’t listen to them. I just need somewhere to hide. I did nothing wrong, nothing!”

The implanted voice in your brain says otherwise. Everyone was given one when the Cyber Age came. That’s what makes a tiny difference in seeing who’s human and who’s not: the tiny, diamond scar below their hairline from the operation. Close inspection can’t always be done, however. Nowadays, too many of these robots and holograms pass the Turing test. You can never truly trust someone.

“Offenses include: playing the role of an accomplice in theft of government data, distribution of terrorist propaganda—”

“Get the fuck out!” says the bartender, having burst out from the back. As a longtime visitor, you haven’t seen him this angry, but you know it stems from fear. No one wants to associate with a criminal. No one wants the association to lead to arrest and the arrest lead to god knows what. Hundreds of people go missing after they’re taken under custody. What Kwon does to them, you don’t know. “Leave or I’ll call the cops!”

Like you said, they lurk everywhere. You’re surprised they haven’t caught up to him.

The bloodied man shakes his head, like please, please, someone believe me. “No, I’m not a criminal! Listen to me, please, I don’t have enough time! They just wanna—cut down”

Rapid footsteps. Sigh and put your glass down. There they are.

The man reaches for him, but the bartender shoves the whole table into his face. He falls back on the ground and cries out for help that never comes. Men and women wearing tight black uniforms and vests pull him up. Their lit helmets that opposingly disallow a view of their faces make them look emotionless. Like robots.

Huh.

While resting your head against the metal chair, you listen to the struggling shuffles of the police and criminal, and see the glitching robots walking down the road. No real emotion, no real living.

He scratches and screams and sobs, but that doesn’t matter to them. They pull him along the rocky cement and recite his nonexistent rights to him. There’s the right to remain silent (he’s screaming), the right to an attorney (nobody in the Auster can afford a good lawyer much less an honest one), and the right to live freely if found innocent of the crime (someone getting convicted happens more often than being released).

Besides, it can’t be called living when it’s in a place so completely devoid of any humanity.

“In more ways than one,” you say. Fuck it, you’ll drink to that.

Like always, you take more than you should. You believe by now you’ve built some kind of immunity. That’s what they all think, you remind yourself, before an inevitable death that buries them in the ground one bricked shot at a time. You swear you’re not dizzy at all or feeling the acid build to your throat, so the sight gathering just a little away from you is real.

Stare at your glass. Space out if not for what you see: behind it, a shapely form of a woman in purple. The blue and violet lights make it difficult for you to distinguish it from her clothes so she actually looks naked. That shocks you more than the arrest. You’re sure she’s got a little modesty in her because why else is she making her way to a table?

Your table?

It’s like she teleported when she’s suddenly seated before you, filling the chair that’s been empty for the last more or so years. You don’t even get the chance to look up at the right time, but the moment you do, you think keeping your eyes on your glass would’ve been better for the sake of your heart.

YENA.

Her name appears in your mind and she hasn’t even introduced herself. But it’s right there, emblazoned in lights in all capitalized four letters: YENA. This girl is Yena. And this girl—this fucking guilty pleasure of a girl—is gorgeous.

The ends of her hair are tinged with blonde, and it’s hard not to give attention to that with how her locks are gathered into twin tails. She smoothes them before looking at you quite seriously, like she’s about to propose a challenge you’d lose.

Blue shining eyes. There’s something odd about the way they twinkle below her bangs—almost like something not human.

Yena dances her fingers around her jawline, elbow resting on the table, and tilts her pretty face. Lets her fingers play with her lips that are made for things the Auster’s known for providing (she can’t be from here though; those crocheted coordinates look costly). That’s how you notice that fine feature. Naturally thick and casually jutted out in a distinctive pout, your eyes are glued to them. Can’t take your prolonged stare away if someone helped you.

“Are you waiting for me to start talking?” Yena asks. She’s not angry, just amused—her voice is smooth and clear, with a tiny pitch that makes her all the more cute.

You shake your head. “Was just trying to figure something out.”

“And that is?”

“A lot of things,” you state. Things you’d keep a secret forever, lest you spill them out to a girl all for the payment of being beautiful. “But I’m not sure pretty girls like you would want to know.”

You try to keep your curious peering at her normal, but it’s difficult when she just attracts attention. She’s a glowing lightbulb in a flutter of moths. Yena doesn’t flicker weakly; she shines, and it’s honestly why everyone else is “subtly” looking at her, this gorgeous stranger who came in and somehow chose the alcoholic who came from places more rock bottom than the Auster.

She laughs. It’s sobering—you think you’ll get drunk on her rather than the cheap alcohol. “Is that what you think of me? Too beautiful to think too much?”

Look her up and down. Yeah, you want to say, that’s about it. It’s not out of offense but rather the instinct in you that wants to tell her you don’t want to put her in a worried state. She’s too… ah, she doesn’t know what you’d do for a girl like her—someone too unreal to be human but too genuine to be the “living” dolls lonely men purchase. Someone who can keep a conversation going without fearing a low blow. Someone who’s out of your league in the Rogue’s mixed pool but chooses you anyway.

“I’m just saying you might not want to hear a stranger boring you with his hard problems.”

“Oh please,” she says, waving it off with a flick of a pointed wrist. “You know my name. I know yours. We’re not strangers anymore.”

How did you—how did she—

Her eyes twinkle again. They’re… violet? You could have bet they were blue. But then you see the suspiciously smooth and clear skin, with the perfect lines of her eyelids, which curve as if manufactured in. She’s definitely not human.

“Besides,” adds Yena sweetly, “you’re really underestimating how good I can take certain hard things.”

Swallow. You opened the door, now you’re locked in.

Yena catches the bob of your Adam’s apple and smirks. Traces her fingers over yours. She can’t be human for sure yet you feel the softness of her hand, the only thing giving you doubt being how chilled her touch is. It's humid here, so where did that come from? Goosebumps pop up in masses across your skin—note how nothing shows up on hers.

Maybe she’s just a confident woman.

“Come on, I dare you.”

“Only if you go first.”

“Yes, sir,” she says. A cutesy saluted hand positions itself before her temple. Her hands are tiny, could be dainty, while her cheeks lift to support an adorable smile.

Your knees tremble. You don’t know where that came from either. Yena just knows what to say to get to a guy. Almost like she was made for it. There’s that question again, resurfacing in your altered brain: is she human or not?

You lean back. Cross your arms. Here you go, on your way to find out. “What’s your story?”

Yena shrugs, her shoulders bare and smooth. And you’re thinking of how you’d like to see the rest of them, the rest of her body naked by pulling down the crocheted strap of the purple coordinates. How you’d like to touch those puffed up cheeks and not care if they’re real or not when you pull her close to kiss her. How those lips—

“Don’t have one.”

“Sorry?”

She laughs. Even the way she giggles is attractive. “No, seriously,” she replies, licking her lips. “There’s nothing interesting about me. I’m the most normal girl there is.”

There is nothing normal about her. Everything she says is too prepared. The largeness of her eyes gives everything away. Her hair is combed too finely that you’re not unconvinced that it isn't human hair at all, though you can see them connect at the roots. It’s like someone drew a cute animated girl on a notepad one lonely night, sent the idea to a rich bastard, and brought her to life.

So no, you’re not buying it.

“So you’re saying you’re just a blank canvas.”

“If you put it like that, I guess.” Yena rolls her eyes. You’re a bit obsessed. “Guys want that, right? A blank piece of a girl they could shoot more than a shot at? Maybe paint her white?”

You’re thankful you didn’t continue drinking. Otherwise, your surprise would be visible and audible with the lodge of your throat as you wineboard yourself.

The side of her mouth raises. A soft dimple exceeding cuteness—it’s deeper, brighter, shinier. You imagine her as a college student, charming boys into submission just with a wink and a smile that can melt hearts and bring guilt to lust-addled minds.

That’s what she’s doing: Yena is melting you because of how adorable she is, but then you take a look at her body, note the fine curves it boasts, and feel the need to go to a confessional pastor. You’re not supposed to repeats in your mind, but you’re you—if you aren’t supposed to do it, then of course you’ll do it anyway.

“Woah,” you say with a nervous laugh. “Woah.”

“Look.” She rests her forearm on the table and talks so casually one would think she weren’t just talking about getting cumshots. “I‘m not taking that back, so do with that what you will.”

Under the table, behind the scenes, her leg is curled around one of yours. Her ankle glides along your skin teasingly. Not a speck of hair on all of those flawless legs, but you’re shivering anyway from the contact. Hence, make a show of closing your coat around yourself. You can’t fool her when it’s not even chilly.

Recover, piecing together the brokenness of your confidence she tore apart.

“My story is, uh, weird.”

“Tell me.”

“This might be too personal but—” You lift your shoulders awkwardly. “I used to date a girl who looks exactly like you.”

Kim Chaewon—short auburn hair, soft cheeks, and a tiny figure. She’s a memory you didn’t think of returning to today, but then Yena came here, and now you’re back to your youth.

“She was a cop. Cutest officer I’ve ever seen, but a real bitch, for the lack of a better word. Then she left me.”

“You broke her heart, didn’t you?”

Sputter. “No!” you immediately deny, shaking your head. “I—I didn’t hurt her, she was—”

A filthy lie. You became nonchalant, undeserving of a sweet woman who’d do anything for you, even give up her well-paying job. Again and again, Chaewon expressed her concerns: why were you talking to Minju? Where have you been? Why are you so mean? You disregarded them all the same. She deserved the ignorance; she was too fucking controlling, too fucking jealous.

Yena knows you’re lying. It’s like you’re a wound she can peel back to see all the ugliness, all the damage underneath. Her smile tells you everything.

“Oh, come on. I don’t care. Except for this.” Yena intertwines her fingers. Rests her chin on top of the formed platform. “Was she a good fuck?”

Your laugh is forced, trying to make a good deal out of this situation. A girl is flirting with you right after you saw someone disappear. Now you’re wondering if she’s a robot. Now, through some way, she knows you’re lying about your ex. Coincidences meet yet you refuse to connect them—parallel lines they shall stay, forever.

“Yena, what exactly is up with you?” you ask. “You just met me. And come on now, why me?”

It’s begun to be hotter in this space. Loosen your coat. Perspiration isn’t because of the atmosphere, so you find out (and what a surprise). It’s because of the woman across you, a midnight sun. If the painful sun was actually a symbol of good in the Rogue, Yena would play its role perfectly. She’d scorch through you and you’ll enjoy every second. Yeah, you’d get all sorts of tans and burns and cancers if you bask in her without protection, but my god, are you willing to take the risk.

“I just don’t like seeing pretty boys have problems,” she replies easily. “If they want, (and I know they do), I’ll take them all away. Soon, all you'll think of is me. Like I’m the sun peeking in your room and you just can’t get enough sleep because of it.”

You tense up. Millions of questions, a void empty of answers. Once again, how was she so spot on? You’re not breathing quite well, and your clothes are tighter tonight. “Yena, look, I-I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

Don’t be, not because you aren't, but because she said so.

She pouts. “You’re not gonna buy me a drink?”

“You sound disappointed.”

“Nope. Remember what I said? I’m a blank canvas. So do whatever you want with me. Buy me a drink. Or not. Tell me to fuck off. Or not. Force me on my knees.”

Yena kneels.

There’s no mantle on the table to cover up what she’s about to do. You gasp, then try to mask it as a poor cough, but you’re distracted by how she pulls your pants down effortlessly. The button sealing your coat is busted open and gone.

So is your dignity.

Yena’s tongue sticks out at the side of her mouth as she looks up at you with excitement and mischief in her eyes.

“Or let me do the job. I’m a big girl after all.”

She seals her teeth around your zipper and tugs down. It’s embarrassing how hard you are for her. But Yena doesn’t care. Adoration is clear on her face as she stares at your shaft, the worshipful energy in her eyes so overwhelming that she has to do something about it.

“Yena—” What a way to go out: screaming a stranger’s name.

You knew those lips were up to no good the moment you saw them. She’s provided evidence, too. Her soft lips embrace your boner and suckle fervently while dragging themselves upwards. It’s a caress that tenses you up rather than comforts you. It works you up, tying you down with the little weight Yena has. You could kick her away right now and tell her to go away. File a case against her.

You don’t.

The joined duo of careful teeth and wild tongue gets you whimpering. Shivering. Begging. How is she so good at this?

Her mouth is perfectly wet. It’s not copiously soaked to have you cringing but the perfect balance of wet and ready, coating your rod again and again. She gives you too much and just right. It would be a cruel violation if you were asked to choose one and only one.

“Baby, what the fuck—” you stammer.

Her throat’s an expert in taking you because one push of her lips to your base welcomes you in its tight hole. Your knees shake; Yena places her hands on it, not to stop their trembles but for leverage during the dip of her head.

Close your eyes, look up, and stare at skies that provide no reprieving stars. Think of how she’s infinitely bett—

“Better than any pussy, huh?” Yena asks. The third time is no coincidence, so you’ve heard. “And it’s just my throat.”

At this stage, you don’t care if she’s a robot or not, because either way, that mouth is a fucking treasure.

You lift your hips and start slowly working yourself in Yena’s face. Her lips pucker and pout to allow you inside with pleasurable friction. Those eyes—there aren’t any planets in the sky because of the pollution but you think you can see their sparkle in them.

The amazing part is that Yena doesn’t choke. She endlessly takes you in, receiving every inch like a blessed gift, but you don’t hear her wheeze. No sounds of complaints escape her. You have a feeling it’s not because of your cock sliding in and out of it. She only gags on occasion, and those already sound fake. It’s like she’s doing it just so you can get worked up hearing her moans.

While others might be impressed, you’re dumbfounded. She tightens and loosens and pushes and pulls just for your pleasure.

“Yena, I– you’re doing so good,” you compliment her in gasped breaths.

Her cheeks hollow. The suction strengthens and it now feels like your soul’s being swallowed down her neck. She knows how to tease you with light pandering from her teeth, generous licking, and strengthened swallowing. Her mouth is warm but you are more so. She’s making you feel hot in all these layers, an additional one played by her perfect lips.

Perfect hair, too, you note.

Hungry impulses take over your body and now you’re pumping your core into the girl’s face with the help of her pigtails. Yena’s hair is thick and silky, and it’s another enjoyable factor: feeling how it slips between your fingers and how each pull directs her lips to press firmly to your crotch.

She doesn’t gag with that either. She must have had a lot of experience; she did say she can take hard things fine. That is, if she were human. If not, whoever built her had dirty ideas: the lack of gag reflex surely brings in the five star ratings.

Bright star-like eyes, cute ruinable face, mouth that can take the largest.

Yep, perfect.

“Good—fucking—girl.”

Your cock weeps white. Yena feels the first drop and immediately pulls away. She pumps your shaft with a strong, urgent fist. As she hinted, you blast all over her face. Your orgasm grips you and shakes you like never before, and of course, the little brat enjoys it. She’s nearly laughing.

“There,” says Yena after she drains you. Her duck-like lips are sticky with cum. “Canvas painted.”

What a pretty painting you’ve made. Here, shown to the public, is the manic pixie dream girl, semen on her chin to symbolize how each word she utters has you climaxing; hair disheveled to show your subtle but messy rule over her, because you own her although you weren’t there when her mechanical limbs were assembled and her face drawn; and a smile on her face to show that despite all this: she likes it.

You laugh, short blunt breaths wisping in the air. “There really is something wrong with you, Yena,” you say.

She’s a girl who’s extremely pretty, good at blowjobs, and likes public sex and oral. She can also read minds. Oh, and she might not be real.

“You could say that again.” She wipes her mouth. “Though I do think I could use a little fixing from you.”

You take her home. Your mother would have been disappointed in you if she knew you violated the first law you were ever taught: don’t talk to strangers. Most of all, don’t ever let them in. But Yena is no stranger—like she said, she knows your name and for some reason, you know her own. You’re not strangers. And your mother isn’t around to command you not to kneel for a pretty girl.

This home of yours isn’t fancy, but if people from 2024 saw it, they’d be mesmerized. You’re not rich enough to afford the penthouses the North offers; this one is alright for you. The stories of the building aren’t aligned with each other, separating a few yards with floating floors that defy gravity. That’s right; WAKE12 somehow found a way to disobey the rules of physics. The ends are lit up with bright lights that blind you from miles away. Wide windows encircle the areas along with al frescos and convenient malls. Back then, this would have been classified as the house of the wealthy—you can’t say you agree with the sentiment when you’re not at all rich.

“Hi,” says Yena brightly at the front desk. She’s so smiley, always grinning like she’s just told a really clever joke. “Where’s the elevator?”

“I, uh…”

The manager looks at her oddly. Your ears redden; she still hasn’t cleaned her face up. Evidence of your deed lies there on her nose and chin and cheeks, even in her perfect hair.

“Well?”

The manager lifts the phone immediately. Before he could dial a number, Yena sighs loudly.

“Look.” She silences the telephone with a slam of the device down on the keypad. The man’s hand cringes. “I’m about to fuck this guy’s brains out and I promise your little backup bosses can’t do anything about it.”

He stares at her.

“I’m gonna use his dick until it’s limp as a balloon, then ride him in bed, then bend over on the kitchen table so he could breed me like a common whore.”

You lift an index finger to apologize, but put it back down. Did she just say you can breed her?

His jaw tenses. The teeth behind those unsmiling thin lips grit, not in annoyance but in fear. Yena’s bouncy and sweet, but apparently she’s excluding people who cockblock from her cute attitude.

“So,” finishes Yena, lowering her gaze, “where is the fucking elevator?”

The elevator has no pulley or doors. It sits at the side of the uneven floors and rises with nothing but a sizable pod. You’ve had to watch your weight to be able to enjoy the freedom from staircases.

Yena steps on it with no worry. As you look at her, you realize how positively tiny she is. That’s why she isn’t doubtful about fitting in the claustrophobic space. Her violet clothes can slip off at any time at her pull of a waist and slim thighs. All the fullness goes to her cheeks, painted with fake tattooed stars and minimal doodles.

She’s the kind of girl you could just pick up and do whatever to. You’re the kind of guy who really, really likes the idea.

Holding your hand is a thing of the past. Yena clutches your cock over your jeans as the elevator lifts the two of you up.

The first thing she does the moment you enter your home is not kiss you, or slam you to the door, or whisper dirty nothings in the hollow of your ear. Yena looks around and says, simply, “Doable.”

You chuckle. You’re not offended. It’s a tidy, minimal apartment with glass that spans a viewing pleasure of the artificial forest and the hills. Glass lost its value but skyrocketed in purchases when Jo Yuri, first activist recorded in the history of WAKE12’s domination, was imprisoned. People compared her name to glass (yuri was 유리 and 유리 meant glass) and since then, it has been used everywhere. High demand, low price. Her symbol and namesake is used the way the public wants her to be used: cheap thing convenient only to the eye. They always said she was too pretty to talk too much.

“Here, doable is the best compliment,” you reply. You go to your bedroom to clean the place. If you want to fuck a rich girl, make sure the bedroom is at least up to her standards. “You have personal maids there in the North?”

Yena continues looking around. She’s mildly fascinated by everything, especially in the big window placed on the ceiling that lets stars peer down at you. For some reason, all the ejaculation on her face is gone. You don’t remember her bringing a washcloth.

“I’m not from the North, you know.”

“You’re not?”

“Nope. I don’t come from anywhere.”

You come out, having cleared your bed from clothes and the floors of trash. You fed the trash to the connected chute that all apartments have, which leads down to the Southern Auster. The word may be Latin and is already defined as south, but there’s places poorer than the part you live in. You’re lucky to be here. The Southern Auster’s where it’s much more dangerous. The people there scavenge for food and money, and their cries go unheard in the night. It’s the biggest criminal capital of the Rogue.

You come out and Yena’s sitting on the kitchen table with a knife.

Stop in your tracks.

See the blood running down her arm.

“Oh, don’t worry,” she says dismissively. “It doesn’t hurt.”

You still don’t know what to say. The wound on her skin’s dissolved to a scar that looks more like a scratch on metal. Why would she do that? Why would that do that?

“In fact, I think it’s kind of cool.” Yena slides the blade on the strap of her top. It falls apart, right down to her braless chest. A pink, perky nipple is clear in the moonlight shining from above. “When people see me, they usually want to hurt me, so I might as well do it myself, right? They want to slap me, pull my hair, choke me. They say that and figure I’m totally flattered.”

You want to say that you couldn’t blame them. Yena’s got this innocent but naughty aura about her that you want to completely ruin. There’s her hair, all dolled up and her quirky makeup that brings attention that eventually switches down to the body she doesn’t bother hiding.

But it looks like she’s doing the ruining. Aren’t those the best stories? Boy corrupts girl when it’s the other way around in reality?

To use the word “reality” when you’re with Yena is laughable. She can read your mind like a Rogue Times newspaper. You get that things you thought were impossible have a chance of happening in these days, but you don’t remember wounds healing that fast. The knife slices right through the fabric, revealing swoon-worthy curves of her waist and hips, making her bleed only not for too long. Who would want a scar-ridden skinny girl anyway?

“Well,” you say after a dutiful swallow, “are you?”

Yena examines the knife. Her crimson blood dripping from its edge is a worthwhile watch while she considers this.

She finally puts down the knife, much to your relief. “I don’t know. What about you, handsome? Do you want to hurt me or fuck me?”

“I… I’m not like them. I don’t wanna hit you or make you cry or anything. I want to fuck you, that’s completely different.”

First confession of the night that didn’t need saying when it’s clear. You let her blow you in public. You took her home. The intention is staring you in the face: you want to have sex with a girl you just met.

Yena smiles. “You’d be surprised how blurred the lines are.”

Yena‘s hands fall on your shoulders and make you fall to the kitchen chair and make your pants fall on the floor. Falling, falling, falling for her—it’s all you’re able to do provided that she’s stunning. She’s tiny with her thin arms and legs but her breasts are surprisingly supple. The cleavage her top subtly shows off hinted to that and you’re still shocked.

She’s a hot desert, and the only source you can drink of is her core. Her pussy is slick, making her thighs glue together only for them to part as she sits on your lap.

The first grind has you both breathless. The second renders a duet of moans. She’s so wet that it’s excessive enough for her to drip down your cock and completely cover it with her. Yena’s pussy lips splay and clasp your shaft with slippery friction.

She curses. “You’re so hard. Big, t-too.” She aims your cockhead at her clit and sighs at the toe-curling pleasure. “You think you can fit in me?”

“I guess we’ll have to see.”

Yena smirks. She continues soaking you with her wetness. Her juices pour from your head to your balls. Then, without warning, she sheathes your rod inside her.

You gasp. It’s so easy to slip yourself in and all too difficult to cope with how tight she is. Her walls, perfectly textured and sloppy, trap you and let you out, giving you false hope of escaping, only to imprison you again. It’s the best punishment you ever had.

Her throat was already better than the other cunts you’ve spent yourself in, so what does that make her pussy?

The best. Her overflowing waterfall lets her ride you easily. It seems like there’s a million spots inside her you can target for she quivers and cries with each bounce. Her hair flows photogenically while her chest does the same erotic motion.

“So fucking good, fuck,” Yena groans. Her round butt lands on your lap and you think you’d like it to stay there forever. Curl your hands around her cheeks. Draw a healthy moan from the throat you used.

Yena’s pussy curves and opens in every best way. She makes it so easy to mold her into the shape of your cock, to rearrange her insides. Was she made for dick? She’s so wet that you’d think she’s a nymphomaniac who won’t let you go, the same way her vagina won’t let you go as its grip curls around you and threatens to milk you to your wits’ end.

You wouldn’t mind that.

Her riding accelerates to an unbearable point the moment you start to spank her. She’s right about hurting and having sex being almost the same—you want to leave red handprints all over her jiggling ass. You want to pull her hair until she screams. You want to fuck this perfect cunt of hers right up to when she’s creaming all over you, flooding your sexes with her naturla nectar.

And the crazy thing is: she’ll actually let you.

“Fucking brat,” you say, hitting her butt again. She yelps coquettishly. “Are you really this thirsty for cock?”

“God, yes…” Her head throws back. Yena’s eyes shut and although her vision is blocked she sees stars. “Wanted to know how your dick would split me open. Fuck, keep doing that!”

Her core tightens with each blow you expel on her bouncing ass. Her hole’s already so enclosed so when she squeezes more, it’s close to having your cock tortured. You’re suffocating inside her. You’re waterboarded again and again with her waterfall of wetness.

You guide Yena’s motions with your hands on her behind. She’s so light that you’re practically using her as a doll, fucking her on your erection and letting yourself enjoy how her tits recoil. Her moans turn on a part of your brain that you don’t know, but it transmits to you these thoughts: fuck her senseless.

You raise her as high as you can, her weight nothing even to your long-untrained muscles, then slam her down. She sinks deeper into your lap and takes longer inches. Yena’s screams bounce off the soundproof walls that ensure only you can hear them. Those walls were fucking expensive, so of course you gotta let them have purpose. Slap Yena’s thighs down on yours and let her pussy envelop you right up to the point of bruises appearing on your skin.

How does she not sweat? Your hands wander all over her tight body and still you don’t find a drop of sweat. Her pigtails are still secured. You guess she was just made to be eternally pretty.

She is pretty, under any circumstance—her smooth skin possesses zero blemishes and her winged eyes remain lamp-bright. She’s pretty, even when she lets out the pitchiest sounds, even when Yena’s lips rise into a devilish smile before sealing on your neck. She nibbles on your skin and rakes up your sensitivity.

“Holy shit, Yena…”

“Yeah, that’s right.” She licks behind your ear and you nearly lose it. Maybe you already did. “Say my name. Because I’m all yours. This pussy is yours to use and abuse, so do it.”

Rub her tiny pulsing clit. Yena’s cries deafen you. If that’s not enough, she drowns you with her cum. There’s no raft to save you. You’re all alone. You’ll drown here and never see the light of day again.

Electricity runs through her body as the pleasure ramps up. Her fingers weaken on your shoulders. Her gasps are split off by larger, more surprised evolutions. Yena’s close.

“Fuck, no, I can’t!” Yena’s riding is furious and borderline abusive. The noises between your two crotches are louder than before.

“You can,” you insist. You throb inside her while her pussy becomes smaller despite the many thrusts you perform. “Take it like a good girl, Yena.”

“Fuck me, use me, I’m just your cute little helpless girl, fuck me!”

She couldn’t be more correct. She’s just a useless doll, thin and adorable and tight—so why not use her like one?

You’re surprised your limbs have any power in them, but they impress as you lift Yena up. During your walk to the counter, you don’t stop thrusting in her. She’s wet and ready, just waiting and begging for it to happen. Her pretty face is smudged with tears. There’s sick satisfaction in you from seeing how the confident girl at the bar is now just a fuckhole to use.

“Oh, oh, ah!” Cute little whines come out from those lips. Her mouth used its power to pick you up, make you cum, make you scared. In this second, all that is gone: she’ll only ever use it to wail in pleasure.

Knock her against the kitchen counter. Her thighs press to the curve. You spread them open and continue spending yourself to death in her. Her sides that slant to make the physique you love are perfect handles to thrust.

You’re completely soaked, but she’s completely defiled. The dream girl is not just any dream but a wet dream. She’s the fantasy you never had but will constantly think of now. And you don’t care if WAKE12 knows you’re fucking her. They can read all the thoughts you have about Yena as much as they like, and you wouldn’t care.

Instead of giving a fuck, you twist her around, her smooth back in front of you, and fuck her harder while you’re at it. Admire the way your hips slap her ass and give her the spanking she deserves. One spank, that’s for being so tempting. Another for the price of her promiscuity. Three one-after-the-other’s because she’s too wild, too free for a girl with that face.

“God, please, harder!” Yena cries. “Make me your little cocksleeve cumslut!”

She does not take pain to heart, physically and mentally. In spite of your rapid pumps and the slap of your stomach to her bent and ready ass, no bruises or scratches appear on her skin. You say all these degrading words and rather than mope about it, she gets more turned on. She forces you to give all your might in railing her in this apartment where the open windows give you away rather than the sounds. And you’re nodding along, saying:

“Of course.”

Of course you’ll grab her tits and pinch their nipples as hard as you can. Yena’s skin might not be humanly warm but these boobs are real. They’re soft in your palms and plentiful. Is she a masochist? You tweak and slap and squeeze; in response, she’s… smiling?

Of course you’ll slip your touch all over her body. Appreciate every perfect curve, every fine fullness. After fondling her tits, you slide your hands over her smooth pits, then to her arms that struggle to remain stable. She’s sensitive all over; it’s evident in the way she babbles each time you caress her.

Of course you’ll take her hair and pull as hard as you can. She won’t get mad. Nothing ever gets to the cool girl.

“Oh my god!” Yena shouts.

Those pigtails are there for a reason. Thrusts become easier to do with her hair curled in between your digits. Her ass meets your crotch easily and you find yourself excavating her cavern, hitting her in all the good places. Yena hums and screeches and sobs.

“Bad girl.” Her hair plays the role of your reins. They’re convenient in spreading Yena apart with your shaft, tearing at her tightness. “You’re nothing but a filthy cocksucking slut.”

“M-mhm, yes, just for you, just for this perfect dick, ahh! I’m cumming!”

Yena’s core flexes and contracts. It holds you like it never wants you to go but you let go anyway. You can do nothing besides that especially if it’s her, someone who’s so cute but so seductive, so challenging but submissive. Each part of her—those blowjob lips, her blooming face, her cockiness—makes you wish this could never end.

The first sign of the end of this pornographic one-reeler is your semen raining inside her, setting a storm in her guts. You pant, legs weak, while Yena’s seem to go on forever although she’s smaller than you.

The second sign is the mess she made. Those aforementioned desirable legs are painted by obscenity. She squirted all over your floor and herself. Your cum coats her vulva plus spills down freely.

Yena looking back at you with a tired smile is the last one, along with her asking, through shattered breaths, “Better than your whore ex?”

Because that’s the thing about girls like Yena. They’ll do everything to please you. Perhaps she’s a good dresser, but really, this is your style, not hers. This type of fashion is what you like on women: modestly revealing. Girls like Yena will give you everything, make you discover yourself, and when all this happens, she’ll remain the thoughtless, forgiving girl. She won’t complain about things that will set you off and say coy, clever things, the kind men like to hear.

All just to be better.

She is.

“Yeah.”

Yena chuckles. For a moment, she looks like the sweetest girl in the world. The happiness overtakes her face and makes her smile reach her ears.

It disappears as fast as it arrived.

“Wrong fucking answer.”

Alarm sounds of every kind—natural disaster, fire, robbery, whistles—blare in your head. You can’t hear anything except the thin screeches of emergency. But for what?

Yena loses her brightness. Everything that made her shine shuts down. She smiles, that same one full of mischief, before she breaks, too. Her eyes turn pitch black, the ones you see in crows, the sign of bad luck. She disassembles part by part before you. The light girl is suddenly so heavy that she forces you down. Suddenly, her torso above yours feels colder than before.

What the fuck?

Escape is your first instinct. You push the remains of the girl away. Your feet kick the broken parts as if you’d break, too. You brush past the fringe of her bangs. Below it, no diamond scar rests on her forehead.

Stare down at her. Yena truly is not real. Your manic robotic dream girl is dead. She was never alive.

“You have been found guilty,” says the implant. You used to hear it when WAKE12 arrested people and now it talks to arrest you. The alarms are loud but you understand every fragment.

The implant’s emotionless voice now sounds a lot like—

“Chaewon?”

Bad luck comes just like the consequences of the law, personified by stilettos clicking on your floor, a shadow in the moonlight, and the face of the woman you swear you never wanted to see again.

And yet here she is.

Chaewon looks so much like Yena. Yena looks so much like Chaewon. Their chins, their eyes, their bangs—who is who? Their faces mingle and mix in your vision. You think you’re going crazy.

She puts away a remote control and places her hands on her hips. Her black bodysuit is all you see as she approaches. Her smiling lips don’t utter a word. You hear her voice, all in your head.

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything and everything you do shall be punished by WAKE12 accordingly. This is the price you pay for your crime.”

There’s a gun in front of you. It’s aimed at your chest, determined to crush what keeps it beating. Raise your hands, but not in surrender. You’ll die before you try to be Chaewon’s toy again.

“What crime? Being your ex-boyfriend?” you spit. This has got to be a joke. “Chaewon, I said, what crime?”

She can’t abuse her authority. She couldn’t have done all that just to get back at you. And for what? Being a bad boyfriend when you were younger and dumber?

You hear her speak. That striking smile looks more terrifying than beautiful. It dissolves into darkness to pronounce your wrongdoing.

“For the crime of fucking existing,” she snarls.

You hate Chaewon. You swore you never did yet now you do wholeheartedly. You tried to love her and reciprocate her efforts. She’s a busy woman so she should have understood you had other commitments.

This is the last time you ever want to hear from her.

A bullet you don’t see coming. It soars in the wind and finds its home sweet home in your skull.

She’s the last thing you ever heard.

601 notes · View notes

wintermischief · 1 year

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Bucky x Reader Friends To Lovers/Mutual Pining Trope Fic Recs (part one)

18+ ONLY. Writing may contain mature content. Mostly Bucky Barnes x F! and GN!Reader. Please show support to these amazing writers!!

❗️ PLEASE MESSAGE ME IF YOU’D LIKE ME TO REMOVE YOUR FIC OR IF I MADE A MISTAKE❗️

The Apprentice @chrisevansredbelt

Grilled Cheese And Other Love Languages @bucky-bucket-barnes

B.B Boy @bucky-bucket-barnes

A Half Naked Nurse And Wrong Ideas | Part 2 @urimaginespimp

Do I Even Have A Chance? @noceurous

I Need You To Have Me | As Long As You Have Me @noceurous

One Simple Touch @likeahorribledream

Hearsay @jadedvibes

Listen To Me, Not Just My Words @lilacletter

Water Bottle @cloudybarnes

You @lovelybarnes

Baby @lovelybarnes

Truth @lovelybarnes

Juxtaposition @lovelybarnes

Honey, Dumpling @sparklefics

Silent Girl + The Winter Soldier @kinanabinks

Ponytails @bbyboybucket

Aching @bbyboybucket

Admit It @ghostofskywalker

Dear January @writing-for-marvel

Hush, Baby @noctumbra

Tap @/houseravenclaws

Worth The Wait @littleredwolf

What Took You So Long? @bowersbubbles

Perfect For Me @buckyswintersoldiermask

It’s Always Been You @sunshinebuckybarnes

Always Been Yours @sunshinebuckybarnes

Sugar @sunshinebuckybarnes

Guys Night @/teamcap4bucky

Wrong Number @/teamcap4bucky

Aisle 4 @buckyhoney

How Bucky Falls In Love With You (headcanon) @chennqingg

Massage @namorsinta

Just Maybe @namorsinta

Make A Move @beefybuckrrito

Who Are You? @bxcketbarnes

Five Sweaters To Make Me Want You @sebbytrash

A Shore Thing @buckymorelikefuckme

Cry Baby @buckymorelikefuckme

My Everyday @pellucid-constellations

Starry Starry Night @jobean12-blog

Cosmic Love | Part 2 @jobean12-blog

Been Here All Along @jobean12-blog

Here (In Your Arms) @sleepypanda27

Like I Want You | Part 2 @tmpestuous

Some Other Guy @espinosaurusrexex

Nightmares @ro-is-struggling

Getting Close @rogerswifesblog

Open Your Heart @vibraniumarm06-bucket

To Be Seen @tarithenurse

Make It Reality @buckybarnesandmarvel

Three Hundred @adrinktostopyourthirst

She’s Not Mad @subwaysurf45

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky x female reader #bestfriend!bucky #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky barnes x reader friends to lovers #bucky barnes x reader mutual pining

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zepskies · 9 months

Text

Strong as Blood - Part 2

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Reader

Summary: After you accidentally break through a solid wood table, you know there’s something wrong with you. You begin to have your suspicions, but can you keep it from Ben long enough to find out?

(In other words: This is the story of how you and Ben discover that you’re pregnant.)

AN: Did you like Part 1? Well, here's Part 2! This two-part fic can be read as stand-alone, but it’s really a bonus sequel to Break Me Down!

(Also, for those of you in the medical field…try to suspend your disbelief on this one. 😅)

Word Count: 6,200

Tags/Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, fluff overload.

To find the chronological reading order for the series, check out the series masterlist. ⤵️

💚 Break Me Down

Part 2: “One Year, Forty, and a Hundred”

About a week later, you and Ben told your family the good news.

Your mom, Marie, took Ben’s face in her hands and pressed a delighted motherly kiss on his cheek, and then his forehead.

He very narrowly tolerated it with his usual gruffness, but you knew better. You saw the fond glint well hidden in his eyes, even after Marie released him.

It hadn’t taken her long after meeting Ben to start treating him like a son; always asking about his missions with Supe Affairs, praising a job well done when he had a successful report, and offering a supportive word even when they didn’t quite go his way.

Ben maintained his usual stoic bravado, but you knew he secretly ate up the praise, along with Marie’s genuine, nurturing nature.

Every time you saw your mother, she would give you baked goods in tupperware—for both of you, she claimed. But you noticed they were most often his favorites. You had a feeling she’d won him over early on with her macadamia nut brownies. (She still couldn’t cook worth a damn either, but she’d been taking a baking class.)

So Ben continued to help her do the dishes, even though she insisted he was a guest in her home. He claimed he was doing it so you wouldn’t jump in yourself.

And now we’re family, you had pointed out. Then Ben gifted you with one of those smiles, subtle and pleased, just for you.

You felt somewhat lazy, just sitting at the kitchen table with your sister Luisa. She sat close to you with her arm looped around yours, and she rubbed your lower back, which you now realized had been aching more often. For God’s sake, you hadn’t even realized you were late on your period.

I need to take some time off work, even before this kid gets here, you mused.

Realistically though, you should’ve expected this might happen. You hadn’t ever gotten around to replacing your IUD after you’d gotten it removed a few months ago. And God knew, Ben didn’t know how to pull out. (And he certainly didn’t buy condoms.)

“What’re you hoping for, a boy or a girl?” Louisa asked you and Ben, disrupting the path of your thoughts. You turned to your sister thoughtfully.

She still had her reservations about him, but she seemed to be warming up to your boyfriend a bit more after you told her the news. Especially after Ben had explained one of his plans over dinner.

His first thought was to hire Frank and Loco back as your personal security throughout your pregnancy, and likely even afterwards.

It was a rare time when you didn’t argue with him; the idea made sense, especially if you were going to continue working in Surveillance at Supe Affairs until you went on maternity leave. And, it would just be great to see them again. Frank had already agreed to start on Monday, after giving his polite congratulations.

(You and Ben each got a package in the mail yesterday: a box of bonafide Cuban cigars for him, a maternity body pillow for you, and a hand-crafted toy box for the baby. Inside had been a white noise sound machine to help the baby sleep.)

But now, Ben brightened at Louisa’s question. He crossed his arms and leaned against the kitchen counter.

“A son,” he replied. How brow rose, as if the answer was obvious. “I’ll be able to bring him up right. Strong. Not like these beanie-wearing pussies running the fucking Starbucks.”

“Ben,” you warned. He crossed his arms at you, quite literally standing firm on his stance. But your mother just smiled and pat his arm.

“It’s okay, honey,” she said. “I understand what you mean.”

You raised an incredulous brow.

Oh sure, you thought. She didn’t mind salty language when it was Ben, but God forbid you or Luisa bang a toe in your mother’s presence. Nor did it surprise you that she was agreeing with him.

But then Marie turned to him more earnestly.

“The way you take care of my daughter, I have no doubt you’ll make an excellent father,” she told him.

Ben treated her with a charming smile that showed touches of warmth.

Damn, you thought, as you felt the telltale burn of tears in your eyes. But it wasn’t just about what Marie had said. You had hoped for this one day, but it seemed he was finally making room for your family in his heart too.

“Football. A man’s game,” Ben continued. “I’ll teach him, take him fishing. Everything my old man didn’t bother with, I’ll do it all. Bring him up right…”

As your boyfriend chatted away with your mom, you hid a tendril of worry. You wondered what would happen if the baby turned out to be a girl.

With a glance at your sister, her subtle, raised brows told you she was thinking along the same lines. You sighed and got up; once again, it was time to pee.

Louisa followed you into the hall and laid a hand on your back.

“Hey,” she said. “You know how much I care about you, right?”

“And where’s this going?” you quipped. But you turned around and gave your little sister a half-smile. You knew what she was about to say.

“So what are you going to do about that?” she asked, gesturing to your man in the kitchen. “Mr. Macho wants his prized stud. What happens if he doesn’t get him?”

You sighed. “Ben’s wanted this for a long time. He’s got an idea in his head of what it’s going to be like, and…we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

Louisa’s lips pursed, like she wasn’t quite satisfied with that answer.

“And what about you?” she asked. “How do you feel about this?”

You blinked back at her in slight surprise, but then your expression melted into a soft smile.

“I’m happy, Lou,” you said. Tears welled up in your eyes, yet again. “I’m really happy.”

Louisa relented then, squeezing your hand. “Good…then good. I’m happy for you too.”

And that was really all you wanted.

“What? You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Ben said, peering harder at the ultrasound. The kind OBGYN faltered, though she again tried to point out that what he was looking at was actually a small foot.

“Congratulations,” she told you both. “She’s the right size for twelve weeks of development. And look there, you can even see the umbilical cord—”

“You sure this thing isn’t on the fritz?” Ben asked, bumping the ultrasound monitor with his hand.

“Ben.” You looked over at him with a glare. “Are you serious right now?”

He looked back over at you, and you saw his stubbornness in his frown and knitted brows.

“I’m just saying—” he started, but you didn’t let him get that far.

“You heard the freakin’ doctor. We’re having a girl,” you snapped. “I’m the one who has the transvaginal probe shoved up inside me, so shut the fuck up!”

Ben’s jaw worked as he barely held himself from barking back at you. It wouldn’t be the first time you levied your smart mouth at him, but it wasn’t often that you disrespected him.

“Excuse me?” he still groused.

His anger got waylaid though. He watched you heave a sigh and blink quickly, so you wouldn’t release the well of frustrated tears building behind your eyes.

The doctor looked between you both warily. You turned to her with watery eyes, and you sniffed to keep your emotions at bay.

“Continue, please.”

When the appointment with the OBGYN was done, you didn’t let Ben help you down from the examining table. Nor did you let him touch you, all the way to the car.

An hour later, you both made it back to the apartment you shared in Scarsdale. You stomped up the stairs ahead of him and beelined into the bedroom. You had half a mind to slam the door in his face, but you didn’t have the energy to be that petty.

Frankly, you were exhausted with a tinge of nausea. But you didn’t know if that was pregnancy sickness, or if you were just that anxious.

You sat down on your side of the bed, and you sighed when you heard Ben’s heavy footsteps enter in behind you.

“All right, that could’ve gone better,” he said. “But look at it from my point of view—”

That nearly unhinged you. Your stomach roiled, but you got to your feet and turned around to face him where he stood by the foot of the bed, arms crossed.

“It’s not all about you,” you shot back. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m the one carrying this baby. I’m not just a human incubator.”

“I fucking know that,” he retorted, but you raised a hand to silence him.

“And you’re not the only one who’s wanted this,” you said. Against your will, your eyes once again burned with tears as you held yourself. “You know very well what I’ve…that I didn’t have a normal family growing up.”

Ben quieted. His irritation softened around the edges, especially as your voice trembled.

“Don’t you know what it’s going to mean to me to give our child what I didn’t have?” you asked. “Stability, support, and…and love, from both parents?”

Tears slipped down your cheeks. And when he didn’t seem to have anything to say to you, you shook your head and walked away.

Ben let out a heavy breath. He followed you and stopped you in the living room. “Listen—”

“No, you listen,” you snapped, whirling around on him. “I would’ve been content no matter if it was a boy or a girl, and you ruined that today. You really did.”

His gaze briefly fell to the floor, before it met yours again.

“But even with that, I’m still happy,” you said, as your vision became blurry and wet. “I’m so damn happy…and so scared.”

When you finally broke down crying, Ben got a full picture of just how badly he’d fucked this up. He collected you in his arms and guided you to sit with him on the couch. There he held you as you clung to him and wept into his neck.

The longer it went on, the more he felt like an asshole—with the kind of uncomfortable, gut-churning remorse that only you tended to draw from him.

Ben hesitated, but he knew you deserved to hear him say it. (And you probably wouldn’t let this go until he did.)

“Okay, sweetheart, calm down,” he rumbled in your ear. Along with, "…I’m sorry."

The weight of that fell between you for a moment. You nodded, with a sniff, and he slowly rubbed your back.

“You don’t need to be scared,” he said. “My blood’s making you nice and strong.”

Well, technically it was the baby’s blood, and the super genes they held. You shook your head against his neck.

“That’s not it,” you said. “I mean, that’s part of it, I guess. Dr. Baker didn’t do a great job of reassuring me, but she did say that if the strength lasts throughout the birth, she didn’t expect serious complications.”

Fuck. Ben’s hand tightened in your hair. That...was a thought he hadn't considered. It now made his stomach clench, though he remained silent.

He wished you would’ve taken him with you to see Dr. Baker, but he guessed he couldn’t begrudge you for your worries. He knew he'd be having his own talk with the good doctor soon enough.

“I love my mom. She did her best, you know? But I…I’ve had to take care of myself for most of my life,” you explained, with a hand fisted tight in his shirt. “What the hell do I know about being a mom?”

Ben considered that with a frown. He pulled back enough to see your face, tucking his curled fingers beneath your chin so you’d look at him.

“You looked after your sister, didn’t you?” he reminded. “Made sure she was safe, and grew up right. Now you take care of me, like I take care of you… And you got no problem calling me out on my bullshit.”

That got a slight smile out of you. He brushed away another one of your tears with his thumb.

“You’re gonna be great, sweetheart. I never had any doubts about that,” he said, “The truth is, I couldn’t wait to fuck you raw to make this happen.”

You spluttered a laugh then, even though you were still weeping.

“Yeah, I know,” you said with a wry smile, stroking his bearded cheek. You leaned up and kissed the other cheek. He turned his head and went for your lips. The kiss was slow and tender while he held you where you always felt safe.

Ben grasped the hand on his cheek…and an idea flickered through his mind.

He parted from you, only to say, “Wait here.”

Your brows furrowed, and you blinked through wet lashes. “What?”

“Just stay put for me,” he said.

But he didn’t tell you what he was up to as he left you on the couch to duck into the bedroom. You took the time to wipe at your eyes and take some deep, calming breaths.

Ben came back soon after, seemingly empty-handed as he sat down next to you. You gave him a curious look.

He slipped a hand into his pocket. “Just for the record, I’ve had this for a while.”

And he pulled a black velvet box out of his pocket. You let out a shaky breath of surprise. The ring he pulled out wasn’t a flashy, gaudy thing like you half-expected. It actually looked delicate, and vintage, pale gold with filigree around the hexagonal stone. It glittered, even in the dim lamplight.

“Where’d you find that?” you asked. But somehow, looking into his eyes, you knew what this was.

“Besides those old pictures, the only thing I’ve got left of my mother is right here,” he said, holding up the ring for you. More burgeoning tears fell down your cheeks as your heart constricted.

“Marry me,” he said, rubbing his thumb across the back of your hand.

Despite yourself, a smile raised the corner of your mouth. “Hmm, I don’t know. Is that a question?”

Ben released a breath. Reluctantly, he smirked.

“Fucking figures that you’d make this difficult,” he said.

“You’re the one who fumbled at the goal line, Romeo,” you replied cheekily.

You then gestured at the ground in front of you. He raised a brow.

But, he obliged your demands, making a show of sliding from the couch, down to the ground. He parted your jean-clad knees so he could move in between them. He knelt one knee on the hard wood, and once again took your hand.

Ben somehow hesitated on the question, even though you both were hanging on his words. With your free hand, you smoothed his hair away from his eyes, subtly encouraging him.

“If I had to go back, do it all over again,” he said, “I wouldn’t have done a damn thing different.”

You frowned at him. “Really?”

“That’s right,” he said. “Because I’m right where I want to be.”

You teared up all over again when you realized what he was really saying. You laid a hand on his chest, where his fiercest power resided. He squeezed the hand he held.

“So what’s it gonna be, sweetheart. Will you marry me?” Ben asked. His smirk was almost boyish, despite his age. And yet, it was so very him.

You reached out with your free hand and slid your fingers through his hair, resting it at the back of his neck.

“Yeah,” you agreed, with a beaming smile. “Let’s do it.”

He slipped the ring on your finger, where it fit well. And it was now the most beautiful thing you owned, not only for its shining beauty.

You pulled him in for a kiss. His hands burned up your thighs, squeezing your hips. But again, he hesitated. His lips pulled away from yours as his hand moved to brush your belly. It was already brimming with life. He’d seen the images, heard the heartbeat.

“Thank you,” Ben said. His voice was deep and gruff.

You smiled. With a nod, you held him to you, laying a sweet path of kisses from his cheek, down to his neck.

“I love you,” you said.

He just nodded in response. His throat was tight at the moment. But you wouldn’t let him get off that easy.

“Say it,” you jostled him in your arms. “I’m only growing a super melon for you.”

It earned you an amused look from him.

“I love you too,” he said. His voice was a bit coarse, and laden with rare emotion. You pulled him into a stronger hug, which soon became him dragging you into his lap when he raised himself up onto to the couch. You took his face in your hands.

“See? We made it here,” you teased. You knew he remembered the conversation you two had a few months ago, about waiting a little while to take this next step in your relationship. To have a family.

“Soon. Not someday,” he’d told you. And you’d agreed.

You reminded him of it now while you stroked his face. “I promised you, didn’t I?”

He snorted at that. “You sure took your fucking time with that one, huh?”

“Excuse me?” you retorted.

Ben pulled you into a kiss before you could truly get going. Arguing with him was one of the things you did best.

But what you two ended up doing on the couch was second to none.

A few months later…

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Ben said. His tone was edged, his brows crunching. “What kind of development?”

You curled a hand around his wrist, shooting him a calming look before you returned your attention to Dr. Baker.

“What do you mean, Tonya?” you asked. Your other hand continued to rest over your belly.

At the seven-month mark of your pregnancy, you felt like you were beginning to resemble a parade float as you sat on the medical examining table in the doctor’s office. But you were grateful for Ben’s warm hand spanning the small of your back. It gave you stability as a coil of anxiety began to bloom in your chest.

Dr. Baker reviewed her charts once more. You didn’t like that gleam of scientific interest in her eye while she perused the data, then looked up at you and Ben from her narrow-framed glasses.

“Not with the baby. She’s doing very well,” she said.

That gave you a measure of immense relief.

“The development concerns you,” she clarified, meeting your gaze. “As you know, we’ve been monitoring you very closely.”

You nodded. The weekly checkups and monthly blood panels served to both soothe and increase your anxiety, but you knew that it made Ben feel better, that you were being taken care of in this aspect of your pregnancy.

To government knowledge, no one other than Becca Butcher had ever gone through a pregnancy of this nature. And Homelander had been created in a lab. This was breaking somewhat new ground (which was only in the top five of “things that made you nervous.”)

“I found something…interesting in your bloodwork,” said Dr. Baker. She pulled out two charts from her files and clipped them onto her whiteboard for you and Ben to see. They looked virtually the same, with one graph’s red bars slightly lower than the first.

“What’s that?” Ben asked.

“It’s your wife’s cell regeneration levels,” the doctor replied, pointing to the second graph. “Hers have become almost as high as yours.”

She pointed to the first graph for comparison. You leaned in closer to see as your eyes widened. With the weight of your belly making you off balance, you nearly slid off the examining table. Ben noticed and caught you quick. His arms came around you, though as the news donned on him, his face slid into shock.

“What?” he uttered.

“That’s got to be because of the baby,” you reasoned. “Is it…just temporary? Like the super strength.”

Even that was somewhat intermittent. Some days, you felt your aches and pains and experienced morning sickness and food aversions, like any other pregnant woman. On others, you were able to lift one side of the couch one-handed and vacuum up the dust bunnies underneath it.

“I believe that blood transfusion, as well as your pregnancy greatly accelerated the effects, but no, this isn’t an isolated incident.” Dr. Baker shook her head. “Your DNA has mutated.”

“Are you serious?” you nearly choked out. She nodded. Dr. Baker never joked.

“By my calculations, this process started before you conceived. Over the course of the past year, or more,” she explained. “Do you understand what this means?”

“Y-Yes, I think so,” you said. Your hand squeezed over Ben’s; it was the hand that carried the weight of your gold wedding bands. A lump of emotion rose in your throat. “It means…I’m going to heal from injuries quicker than normal. And…I’m not going to age like a normal person.”

“That’s likely correct,” she replied.

That news fell in the room like a stone. You shared a wide-eyed look with Ben. Neither of you knew quite what to think just yet. Even though he was trying to maintain an even-keel expression, you could see his eyes were beginning to brighten with hope. Yours were too…though you were still confused.

“How the hell is this possible?” you asked. “I mean, Ben gave me his blood for a transfusion. But like you said, that was one time, two years ago now. And you said the pregnancy accelerated this, but that’s not how it started…”

Dr. Baker actually smiled. You didn’t like the wry turn of her lips. She crossed her legs where she sat at her desk and tapped her clipboard with her pen.

“How often would you say you two have sex?” she asked.

That was certainly not where you thought this conversation was going. You couldn’t help but blush.

“How is that even remotely relevant?” you asked.

You glanced at your husband, who merely gave you one of his smug smirks, while his thumb stroked your side. Fucking typical.

“Once a week?” the doctor prompted.

Your face heated up further, and you had to cover your mouth with a hand. Your sex life wasn’t quite as…vivacious as it had been since before you’d gotten pregnant, but it was still a good one, even with your growing size. Ben was nothing if not creative.

And you were still newlyweds, after all.

“Assume we’re doing a healthy amount of fucking, doc,” Ben remarked.

You gasped and hit his thigh, and finally covered your whole face in thorough embarrassment. He just smirked and took your hand so you couldn’t hide. It amused him that you still got like this.

He then pressed a kiss to the back of your fingers.

You sighed and held his hand back. I chose this man. Remember that.

“Again, what does that have to with this?” you asked, your voice a bit higher.

Dr. Baker’s lips flickered at another one of those smiles. “Well, how often did you use condoms over the past two years?”

You and Ben both snorted in response.

“He’s morally opposed to them, doctor,” you said dryly.

She nodded. “I assumed as much.”

Once again, Ben smirked, but Dr. Baker plowed ahead.

“Let me explain it this way,” she said. “Think of how HIV spreads sexually. The infected DNA is transmitted, and it eventually hits the partner’s bloodstream, affecting the entire body. What we have here is a similar case…if for the fact that this was a gradual effect, over the course of several months.”

Ben blinked, and a frown also tugged down his brows.

“Are you saying that I gave her my superpowers…like an STD?” he asked.

Your eyes became as wide as saucers.

Holy shit! you thought, and another one occurred to you. If this all started from the first time you and Ben ever had sex…then that was over two years of being dosed with literal super sperm.

“Not quite,” Dr. Baker said to him. “Just the essence of what sets your DNA apart, even from other supes.”

“Right. Because how the hell hasn’t this happened to anyone else who’s normal?” you asked. “What makes Ben different?”

Dr. Baker finally set down her pen. She folded her hands in her lap to address you with a patience that you didn’t often see from her.

“Remember, the serum he received was still a prototype,” she said. “Vought continued to refine the recipe after the ‘Soldier Boy’ project was successful. For example, the way his cells regenerate is one of those factors that needed to be weeded out, if Compound V was to be a successful product in the long-term.”

You nodded slowly, as that made sense to you. If every supe suddenly lived over a hundred years, it would make it pretty hard to secretly inject that shit into newborns. They had to package it in a more insidious way.

“This is an unpredictable outcome of your exposure to his unique genetic makeup,” Dr. Baker continued, “and there may very well be more to come in the future.”

You weren’t sure how to take that potentially foreboding news, but on the other hand…

“Oh my God! I’m going to live to be a hundred,” you said, holding tighter onto Ben as shock began to make you tremble. His grip was firm and steadying in response. And yet, his face betrayed how he was trying to process this as well.

“Likely much longer than that,” Dr. Baker said, shocking you even further. And she reminded, “Your cells aren’t regenerating at quite the same rate as his…but it is close.”

Again, holy fucking shit.

You let out a halting breath, and you looked up at Ben, a smile growing across your face. You reached up a hand for his bearded cheek. He looked down on you with his usual stoicism, but it was merely a front. You saw through to the true emotions shining in his eyes.

“Well, looks like you’re stuck with me, baby,” you said, even as your own eyes stung with tears. Your heart felt full to the brim, and even overflowing. If this was what it took to be with your husband, then altering your genetics was a price you were willing to pay…at least in this way.

Though you gave him a more teasing smile. “You’re not gonna be able to welch out of that ‘til death do us part thing. So cancel the caravan of blow and strippers.”

Ben chuckled deeply. He held your hand and stroked the inside of your wrist. For a moment, he just looked down at your face. It had become a bit more rounded with your pregnancy—thighs and arms (and ass) thicker too. And to him, you were still perfectly his.

“Fine by me. You’ve got something they don’t, anyway,” he said. He remembered the same words he’d said to you just a year ago, in the bed he still shared with you.

Your eyes gleamed with amusement, and so much more. You played along.

“Oh yeah? What’s that?” you asked.

He smirked. “You’ve got a supe STD.”

Your eyes widened at his audacity, but you burst out laughing and hit his shoulder.

“Yeah, from you,” you quipped back. “I should’ve known you were carrying something.”

The two of you didn’t know it, but that was when Dr. Baker smiled to herself. She decided then to leave the room, giving you some privacy as Ben laughed and framed your face with his hands.

His thumbs brushed against your cheeks, catching stray tears as they fell. You bit your lip as your glassy eyes met his once more. Ben became more serious as he let out a sigh.

“It’s not gonna be easy,” he reminded you. “Your family, your friends…they’re going to change, and you’re going to stay the same.”

Your excitement dimmed as that realization hit you. Your hands clenched in his shirt, over his chest. You thought about your mom, your sister, Yvette and Devon, Annie and Hughie and the rest of the team (even Butcher, you would miss).

“Yeah…that part’s not gonna be fun,” you said with a heavy, tremulous sigh. Your heart clenched at the very thought of them growing old, leaving you behind.

But your gaze eventually drew back up to him. You wondered then, not for the first time, how it must’ve been for him. For his parents to grow old and pass on long before him. For childhood friends, old lovers…

“Do you know what I worried about when we got married?” you asked.

Ben’s hands traveled down from your face, down your arms, to finally rest at your waist and thigh. He stared back at you expectantly.

“When you first told me you loved me, you said you were holding back the truth. Because you thought that one day, you’d be alone again,” you said, stroking his chest. “That honestly broke my heart. And it made me wonder if I was selfish to be with you anyway.”

Ben frowned, but you shook your head before he could respond.

“I told myself that after the baby was born, I’d go to Dr. Baker and ask her to find a way to make this happen,” you said. Another smile grew across your face. “But guess what? We figured it out all on our own, super stud.”

Ben smiled then, huffing in amusement as he thumbed at your cheek. You couldn’t really understand the full force of his relief. It might’ve threatened to buckle him into a seat, if he had been standing.

But now, he struggled with the warmth in his chest that for once, had nothing to do with his powers. He moved in to tug you into his arms, and he let out a long breath through his nose.

You couldn’t see how his eyes closed, but you felt his lips press against your forehead. You held him close. Or as closely as you could with your belly getting in between.

You rubbed his back and rested against his chest, hearing the calming, steady sound of his heart beating under your ear.

“And at this rate, I might even live longer than you,” you teased. “After all, you got a head start. Compared to you, I’m still a hot young thing.”

Ben snorted and shook his head. “All right. Now you’re pushing it.”

You smirked into his chest.

“I’ll have to figure out where you rent those caravans.”

“For fuck’s sake,” he muttered. At the sound of your giggle, he couldn’t help but smile.

He still swatted you on the ass though.

A couple more months later…

He smelled like cigar smoke. For which you had no doubt, Ben had been puffing away with Frank and M.M. outside the hospital.

The team of doctors (led by Dr. Baker) had finally left you alone with your husband, allowing you to take your first relaxed breath of the day.

“Your mom and your sister are waiting. Blondie and the others are out there too,” he said quietly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “My girl’s got a whole possy of bitches.”

You assumed he meant Annie and the rest of the team.

You shot him a look, but you were careful not to disturb the sleeping newborn resting on your chest, in the crook of your arm.

“They’re my friends, babe,” you whispered. “And they’re your friends now too, you just don’t want to admit it.”

Ben didn’t acknowledge that, but he laid a hand on your shoulder as he sat down on the edge of your hospital bed.

“How’re you doin’, sweetheart?” he asked. “Got everything you need?”

He’d become even more protective, but also very sweet to you in these past several months. More so than you’d thought him capable of, but it warmed you every time, when you considered how rough, how stoic, and how damn-near emotionally repressed he was not so very long ago.

It seemed that fatherhood was beginning to soften him, even before he began. You quirked a smile at the thought, and at his question.

“Imagine pushing a super melon out of your dick. That’s how I’m doing,” you said, tired but still cheeky as ever.

He snorted a bit loudly at that, and you shushed him, as if it wasn’t your fault he was laughing. He expected nothing less from you.

“But I’m okay,” you answered his second question. “All I need right now is you.”

Ben considered you for a moment, a slightly softer smile curving his lips, and he nodded.

“All right,” he said.

Your daughter woke and began to squirm in your arms, prompting Ben to look down at the bundle wrapped in a soft pink blanket. Gently as possible, he brushed the tuft of downy brown hair on her head. His hand shook ever so slightly, touching her small cheek.

How can this little thing be mine? he wondered. His lips pressed into a firm line.

There was a thought, deep and thrumming inside him, that he didn’t deserve this. That just a couple of years ago, he had nothing to lose.

And now, his entire world was in this room. He’d never admit it, but it was a terrifying thought, for a man who’d had everything and nothing.

You unknowingly stopped the path of his thoughts when you raised a warm hand to his cheek. It earned his attention, and he grabbed your hand to keep it there.

You smiled up at Ben with weariness in your eyes. The super strength had drained out of you a few moments after the umbilical cord was cut, which had made for a less painful labor than you anticipated. But it had also been a long and uncomfortable eighteen hours.

“Wanna hold her for a while?” you asked.

The offer caught him off guard. His brows drew together, but he very carefully took his daughter from you, into his arms. Despite your temporary abilities throughout your pregnancy, he didn’t know if she already had his strength, or if it was something she’d grow into. Ben didn’t want to take any chances.

As he looked down at a small face that already had some of his features, he inhaled a faltering breath.

It was the first time you ever saw true tears in his eyes, as one managed to draw a path down his cheek. You smiled, and the pair of rings on your left hand caught the lamplight as you rested your hand on your chest.

Ben held the bundle close in the crook of his arm. One of the baby’s hands was free, and he tickled his finger in her palm. She grasped it on reflex, opening her mouth on a yawn. Despite his red and shining eyes, he smiled, especially when she reached up for a strand of his hair with small, grabby fingers.

He let her get a hold of it, smirking when she gave it a little tug. Just hours old, and his girl was already demanding his attention. He didn’t know if newborns were able to do that this early, or if it was her blood that made her special.

Either way, he knew then that she was going to be a handful. Just like you.

Ben glanced over and found you watching him with soft amusement. He looked back down at his daughter and told her the obvious.

“You know, you’re blessed to have my genes, baby girl,” he said. It elicited a knowing scoff out of you. However, his smirk softened. “But you’re also lucky as hell to have your mom.”

Ben looked back at you, and there was the predictable well of tears forming in your eyes.

“She’s the best damn woman you’re ever gonna meet,” he said.

He knew then that what he said to you before was right. If he had to go back to 1984, or even 1944, he’d do it all exactly the same.

It all worked out pretty damn well, from where he was standing.

AN: I’m not crying, you’re crying. 🥹😭

I sincerely hope you enjoyed Strong as Blood. I know I said I was going to be done with these two for a hot minute while I concentrate on Smoke Eater (Firefighter!Dean Winchester x Reader).

But now that we’re here, I have another one-shot idea I’d like to sketch out in the near future…

Would you guys want to read about their family dynamic? Maybe fast-forward a couple years to the “terrible twos” stage with their first child.

Along with some cameos from the Annie, Hughie, M.M. and the rest of the team. Maybe even Marie and Louisa, Grandpa George, and the insufferable Aunt Trina?

Let me know in the comments, or just what you thought of Part 2! 😘

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#Strong as Blood #Part 2 #soldier boy #soldier boy/ben x reader #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x female reader #the boys #soldier boy/ben #soldier boy x you #fluff #BMD verse #Break me down verse #zepskies writes

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neo-nomatrix · 2 months

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The Head of Aphrodite

Aphrodite!Gojo x Ares!reader

word count: 1072

summary: You, goddess of war, go into battle with your beloved, god of love.

banners by: @cafekitsune and @saradika

warnings: idk historical inaccuracies? i tried to follow some parts of the iliad. i was originally gonna do this with aphrodite!reader and ares!gojo (or toji) but this happened. coercion by gojo. uhh gods fight mortals??? idk i needed an excuse to put them into battle and realized that it doesn’t make sense in the middle of writing

You betrayed your own mother for your beloved.

Since the beginning your mother and you had sided with the Greeks during the Trojan war. Your mother despised the Trojans. After Paris, the prince of Troy, had said Gojo was more beautiful than her. Although you agreed, she was still your mother. Yet, you were only in love with one. Gojo Satoru, God of beauty and love, the most gorgeous being through the living and the dead.

“Please, my love,” Satoru begged from beneath you.

He often did this, groveling at your feet at any chance he could get. You’re sat on your throne, a beautiful creation made of leather, metal, and skulls. It’s a drastic difference from your dark demeanor to Satorus constant beam of light following him. Your skin is adorned in your armor, face resting on your hand in boredom. His white tunic slips off his shoulder as you look down at him, revealing a chest chiseled by Pygmalion. His skin glowing radiance. He caresses your bare legs in his arms, kissing up your calves and thighs. Whispering sweet nothings to you, in hopes of convincing you.

“My loyalty is supposed to lie with the Greeks, you know this, my love,” you say back.

“No. Your loyalty lies with me,” Satoru says back, his eyes turning suddenly dark before shifting back to his mesmerizing blue ones.

“My mother would-“ you begin before Satoru cuts you off.

“To hell with Hera! She only wants you on the side of the Greeks because the Trojans worship me instead of her. You really believe she is worth more than me? Your lover?” He begs, voice almost whimpering in despair.

“What do they have to offer me?” You ask.

“Brutality. The Trojans are men of war! They will not rest until the battle is done, they are true soldiers,” The God says, knowing you would take a liking to a barbaric nature.

“You’ll be fighting by my side, my goddess,” He continued.

“Joining the Trojans would be joining the losing side. I only win,” you argue with him.

“why must you be so difficult?” Satoru thinks to himself.

“You would rather fight against me? Is that how you see me, my dearest?” He says, knowing it will push your buttons.

“I didn’t mean it like that, and you know it,” you say, irritated by him.

“But you did! You would rather fight with me, your lover, the god who is the reason for all your pleasure, because it means you would win a war that doesn’t even matter to us!” He reasons.

“Satoru, you started the war! You are insufferable, i’m beginning to actually want to fight against you,” Your fuse is about to blow.

“Oh, sweet girl,” Satoru muses at you.

He begins to make his way up your body from his pathetic position. Slowly touching your body, from your ankles up to your face. He presses soft, pleasuring kisses, to every part of your body he can reach. He easily finds the sweet spots on your neck and teases at them.

“Join me, my goddess. My all powerful being, creator of destruction and war,” he whispers against your skin.

“Fine,” you mumble back.

It’s not your proudest moment. A goddess who has put men on their knees due to a simple look. A goddess who has won, and started, hundreds of wars. The goddess that has been broken down so easily. A small bit of begging and touching makes you crumble. Gojo knows he has won. He smiles against your lips.

“I knew I would win.”

You’re drenched in the blood of mortals. You know none of it is yours because no warrior has yet to even come close to you with their blade. You are the Goddess of the war. Subsequently, many did not take a liking to you. Most did not worship you, and you don’t mind. You relish in slaughter and bloodlust, why would a few (thousand) mortals hating you make a difference? If it really mattered to you, you could just kill them too.

Satoru looks ethereal on the battlefield. The god of beauty really doesn’t take a day off. When you spot him he’s wiping off blood from his face, bodies surrounding him. He pulls out his grand sword from the body of a soldier, face turning into disgust when he sees the gruesome scene around him.

In contrast to you, many worshiped Satoru Gojo. They adored him. He was charming, handsome, kind, handsome, funny, and was handsome on the list? Satoru Gojo is a sight even among Gods. The mere thought of him to mortals was enough to send someone into shock.

It was no surprise when you heard a soldier talk about taking his head as some sort of trophy. Even if not surprising it still enrages you. The thought of disgusting mortals even thinking of taking your lovers head made you want to wipe out every living being on the planet.

You create a path to these said men. The aura surrounding you smelling of death. Your sword gripped in your hand. You wish for them to suffer. Your steps hold so much power the ground shakes beneath you, causing the men to fall. You begin stabbing into their chests, piercing their stomachs through the armor. Until you take one by the hair, and in one swift stroke their head comes off their body. Face going limp, stuck in an expression of fear.

Unbeknownst to you, Gojo was watching you. He was taken aback by you. The sheer power you held with you. Your muscles gleaming in the smoky air, sweat and blood decorating them. He has never seen something so attractive in his life. If he were to describe true beauty, he would say you.

You turn to him with an angry smile on your face. The once living head turned into a skull at your command. Simply another death to add to your collection.

Still seething you approach Gojo. Looking him in the eye. A dark presence follows you while your lover is surrounded by a light one. His head pounds in adoration for you. He has never felt like this in his entire life. You throw your sword into the ground, eager to touch Satoru. You calloused hands wrap around his biceps. You stare at Satoru in the eyes, his hand wrapped around your waist.

“No one touches what’s mine.”

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujustu kaisen #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk gojo #gojo satoru x you

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beemochi-art · 4 months

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The very sweet and beautiful Bumblebee! From my transformers au. (God it needs a name.)

He was the first to arrive on earth! Young and way smarter than he looks. Shy and awkward when first meeting someone but when he comes out of his shell he’s quick with his words and his mind. He’s a curious bot and sometimes that’ll get him into trouble, but he can’t help himself to investigate, it’s the scout in him.

Despite his predecessors of the bumblebees with large kill counts, he has decided he’s not going to kill. Beat the stuffing out of, sure. But never kill. He’s seen the bad on both sides.

Backstory time.

Bumblebee was a standard autobot clone and there were hundreds like him. (Well, kind of.)

These autobot drone foot soldiers were put on a ship heading to earths moon to make a base. On their long journey, the soldiers eventually started being more laxed with each other and the standard military ship turned into a colony of sorts. Professionalism was thrown to the side and well… Bumblebee was forged of the ship. But he wasn’t know as bumblebee yet. He was b127. All the soldiers go by numbers since they were taught their line of bots weren’t worth names.

B127 didn’t have a strong connection with cybertron and really didn’t care for the war. He hadn’t seen either. The higher ups that were on the ship; Riptide, Fortress Maximus and the great Sentinel Prime would commonly mistreat the soldiers. ( Riptide wasn’t so bad but still a bully, in an older brother kind of way.) B127 couldn’t keep his mouth shut. And he’d usually be heavily reprimanded. He couldn’t stand seeing his clan take the continued mistreatment and even worse them dishing out the punishments on the higher ups behalf.

Finally they made it to the moon but there were already decepticons there. The two went into battle, the autobots fought hard but it hard been years since they’ve been in a real fight. B127 wanted to fight to protect his family but was instead put on a escaped pod to earth by the order of Sentinel Prime.

The pod reached earth and put bee in a hyper sleep. Bumblebee never found out how the fight would go, waking up years later. He assumed that they both canceled each other out since he didn’t see any autobots or decepticons. He was wrong.

He would meet a girl who got caught up with some cons. Bumblebee saved her but he got damaged. She In return fixed him up. Bumblebee didn’t talk to her cause he was nervous, but she started just calling him bumblebee and the same stuck. Bumblebee fell in love with planet and it’s people. Swearing to protect it. For the girls own safety he left.

Eventually getting an autobot signal. More pods showed up. Optimus Prime, Chromia, Wheeljack, Ratchet, Ironhide, Jazz and Scavenger.

Bumblebee already had like a suto base set up (really it was his secret hide out. And he just liked a lot of space.) Bumblebee soon realized that these bots were very different from the higher ups he met before. They treated each other more like family. Bumblebee just assumed they treated him with respect because they didn’t know he was a drone foot soldier. He saw no need to tell them.

Voice claim: Steven Yeun

I could have said more about the backstory but that would have been spoily spoilers soooooo…..

#my art #transformers #transformers au #bumblebee #tf bumblebee #autobot bumblebee #long post

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bless-my-demons · 11 months

Text

Redamancy: Chapter Nine

Series Summary: What happens when your soulmate is a vampire that struggles to maintain a diet of trying not to kill you? Common sense says run for the hills, nothing is worth your life - but my heart is whispering why not, what’s there to lose?

Warnings: Cussing and a mild mention of killing vampires

Notes: This chapter is… the longest one yet and definitely my fav so far - I love me some protective men, enjoy!! [FYI: Y/m/n is your middle name]

Word Count: 5096

Series Masterlist

• March 12th, 2005 • Forks, WA •

Jasper

I pull my motorcycle to a stop at an outlook over the Olympic Forest just outside of town, not wanting to go far for her first ride, but also wanting to get her alone and just be. I reach a hand behind me for her to take as she climbs off before I pop out the kickstand and get off myself. She’s handing me my protective gear as I turn to see what’s got her eager to leave my side and I’m met with the second most gorgeous view, the first being the girl before me.

The deep green of the forest clashes against the oranges, pinks, and purples of the descending sun to make for a spectacular sunset. To make it even better, I can see the reflection of it in her eyes - the duality of beauty rendering me speechless for longer than I’d like to admit.

This gorgeous creature, this kind and beautiful soul before me is meant to be mine. My singer, the greatest temptation a vampire could ever experience and I have found her. How on earth a monster like me is supposed to be an equal for an angel like her, I might never know.

Reader

He’s staring at me in such a way that I feel completely alive. It’s causing my face to heat, but I could care less about being embarrassed-this beautiful sunset and the vampire next to me have snatched all rational thought.

I turn to meet his eyes and I can tell a million things are running through his mind by the slightly unfocused look. The hint of a grin on his perfect lips bring a smile to my own, “Penny for your thoughts?” I ask.

“You’d have millions.” He jokes, but I’m slightly lost and tilt my head. “My thoughts are nothing but you, darlin’. You’d have millions if you had a penny for each one.”

My mouth gapes like a fish for a few seconds, for someone so stoic usually, he sure can make a girl swoon. So instead of replying, I turn my gaze to his hands, running my fingers over them and up his wrist. Before they could ascend any further though, one of his hands reaches up to stop me. Fearing that I’ve unknowingly pushed a boundary, I glance up in alarm.

“There is a reason I wear sleeves, sweetheart.” He explains quietly with a sad half-smile.

“If you think any part of you could scare me, you’re wrong Hale.” I mean it and I know he can sense the truth of my words.

“I’ve done things, horrible things for a horrible person, and I did them without question-“

“So tell me and let me prove that none of that matters now.” I lift a brow daring him to defy me.

In response he pushes the sleeves of his shirt up to reveal scarred forearms. Not just typical scarring, but bite marks. I let out a gasp at the hard ridges and pits that penetrate his skin, there must be hundreds and they have to have been painful to permanently damage the skin of a vampire. My wide eyes meet his and I can tell he’s holding his breath for what I might say.

“Who-what could do this to you? Why? How?” Questions begin tumbling from my lips as my fingers float across his damaged skin, anguish beginning to seep into my bones as his explanation begins.

“I was the youngest major in the Texas Calvary, evacuating women and children from the battlefield when I… came across three women that I thought required assistance. Being the gentleman and soldier I was, I offered them aid and it cost me my life.” He inhaled a deep breath before continuing, still watching my hands explore his skin. “Their leader Maria, was the one that changed me with the intention to use me as a general for her own army. An army of newly turned vampires, impossible for anyone, human or vampire, to beat. I was…” A heavy pause, “Also in charge of dispatching them once they outlived her usefulness for her.”

I meet his eyes as he struggles through that last sentence. Unbelievable. This man? This kind, gentle, sweet, considerate man was used to train and then kill other people for a woman clearly not strong enough to do it herself? I’m in shock at the audacity.

“If you’re waiting for me to run screaming, you’ll have to try harder.” I whisper, afraid I might scream in frustration should I speak any louder.

He puffs out a breath at my words and shakes his head. “You amaze me at every turn, you know that?” One hand pulls away from my touch to run fingers across my cheekbone in a tender gesture, drastically contrasting the story his skin tells.

“You think you can scare me, but I’m still here.” I’m here because I’m a magnet drawn to you and I don’t ever want to be pulled away, but I keep those words from slipping out with the rest.

“I’m a monster that has killed more people than I can remember, and that’s okay with you?” He asks honestly and bluntly, eyes searching mine.

“You did what was asked of you by someone that manipulated you, that is not on you and it does not make you a monster, Jasper.” The conviction in my voice is strong.

“You feel so strongly for my past and my demons, but you won’t let me in that pretty little mind of yours, why is that?” He taps on my temple gently, questioning my very being.

“Who said you aren’t already in here?” It’s my turn to tap my own temple, but my words and actions are a little more harsh now that my own demons are rushing to the surface. “You are in every single thought night and day, Hale-“

“Then why do you play this game - one moment you’re all in and the next you’re scared-“

“Because someone like you don’t waste their time with someone like me!” The quiet is deafening for a few beats following my confession. “You are gorgeous, and-and mysterious, and everything a girl could dream to have-“ but he interrupts my ramble with hands cradling my face.

“And utterly taken by you. You, darlin’. Never have I felt so alive, so seen by someone. Someone that is so incredible she caught me off guard with a door and a simple look, me-a vampire!” His words are frantic.

“I’m just a plain ‘ole regular girl like everyone else, the one you date before the real one comes along and-”

“No.” One word, one syllable and yet it holds so much weight. “Do not diminish yourself because of the value you’ve placed upon me, I will not allow it.”

What do I even say to that? Before I could articulate a response, his face lowers and his forehead rests on mine. “You are everything I need and I want you to understand that I’m not going anywhere and no other will ever take me away from you or catch my eye if you’re worried about something like that.”

A rumble in the distance reminds us of our surroundings again, darkness having moved in and a storm notifying us that it’s on the way.

“Let me get you home, sweetheart.” A kiss is delicately placed high on my cheekbone, tender and cool to soothe the heat that might be permanently settled there.

• March 13th, 2005 • Home •

Reader

The outing with Jasper yesterday has had my mind in a spin since he dropped me off at home. I can’t believe he not only indulged my request, but that I got to essentially be a human backpack for an insanely hot vampire. And our conversation… I can’t even - he flipped my world around and stole my breath away.

I’m still breathless. And looking for my stupid hat.

“Mom, have you seen my Cubs baseball hat?” I yell from the top of the stairs.

“No sweetie, did you check the bottom of the hall closet? Maybe it fell in there!” She yelled back from her spot fixing lunch in the kitchen.

I huff and run to the closet, swinging the door open and spotting the blue hat tossed haphazardly on top of our snowshoes. Great, now I’ll smell like feet. I hurry to the bathroom and grab the fabric spray from under the sink as the front doorbell rings.

Shit-shit-shit, he’s early! I finish tying my shoes to prevent myself from tripping down the stairs in my haste. As I reach the top, I hear my mother beat me to the front door to invite Jasper in, swinging the door wide in her excitement at a boy standing on our front porch.

“Good afternoon, ma’am.” He drawls in his southern accent, he offers his hand out to shake my mother’s, “Jasper Hale.” His eyes flicking up to meet mine as I descend the stairs, my mother accepting the gentlemanly gesture.

“Oh good afternoon dear!” My mother turns to me, “I made lunch in the kitchen if you two are hungry.”

“No thanks mom, we’ll just get going!” I tell her breathlessly, popping a kiss to her cheek as I brush past, “Love you!”

She sputters a second, trying to catch up, “Love you too dear, just be home at a reasonable time!” She yells after me, standing in the doorway to our home.

“I won’t keep her too late, ma’am.” Jasper flashes her a smile, “Promise I’ll keep her safe, to the best of my ability.” Finally he gives in to my tug of his jacket sleeve to follow me down the front steps.

My mother continues to stand on the porch, watching us like a hawk as Jasper opens the passenger door for me to Edward’s Volvo. He throws a wink at me before shutting the door and walking around to the driver’s side, waving goodbye to my mother who returns it.

“In a hurry, doll?” He asks, placing his right hand on my headrest as he leans over to back out of my drive.

I can’t think straight when he invades my space like this, “I just spared you from the third degree my mother was about to lay on you back there. You’re welcome, Hale.” I huff, trying to not let his proximity affect me.

He chuckles, for what I’m not entirely sure: my increasing heart rate or the comment about my mother.

“I think I can handle your mom.” He eventually responds, hands now having returned to safe territory on the steering wheel.

“Oh of that I have no doubt, but she would’ve kept us entirely too long and I’m not about to let you keep me from watching the most interesting game of baseball I’ve ever witnessed.” I responded.

Lord knows my mother would’ve embarrassed me by asking what his intentions were and we don’t need that kind of talk. We don’t need it yet, anyways.

• March 13th, 2005 • Cullen Residence •

Reader

Jasper parked the car in the garage of his massive home, if a work of architecture could be called ‘home’. He speeds around to the passenger side to open my door before I even got the chance to reach for the handle.

“I can open my own door, you know?” I mention as I stand from the car.

“Where I’m from, a lady should never have to open a door for herself.” He states matter-of-factly, shutting the door and moving past me to lead the way, arm brushing my shoulder and creating goosebumps in its wake.

Flustered by his chivalry, I follow him silently inside.

“Where is everyone?” I ask, taking in the view of the forest from the large windows.

It takes him a minute to respond, having disappeared somewhere momentarily just to return with a jacket draped over his arm and a warm-looking scarf in hand.

“Edward is picking up Isabella and should be here any moment to get us. The rest of my family is in the clearing warming up.” He answers, draping the scarf around my neck with a twinkle of mischief in his eyes.

Before I could comment on the look, Edward honked impatiently from the driveway.

Jasper

A little part of me wishes I just ran to the clearing while Y/n rode with Edward and Bella, just to clear my head from her scent. The rest of me is happy to have a few more moments in her presence, even if for just a little while.

I make eye contact with my brother in the rear view mirror, knowing he can read my thoughts. He gives a small dip of his chin in acknowledgment, as if to say he understands the internal conflict of wanting to be close to her while knowing it’s also torture to do so.

“Are you warm enough?” I ask, catching her rubbing her hands together in her lap.

“Oh I’ll be fine, I’m just excited is all.” She responds, I can tell she isn’t entirely telling the truth the way the little white lie taints her emotions. Unfortunately I can’t tell if it’s about the temperature or her excitement at the prospect of watching a vampire baseball game. I chuckle and glance out my window, now I know how Edward feels not being able to read Isabella’s thoughts.

My brother lets out a small laugh himself causing the women to turn on us, “What?” They ask in sync.

“Edward finds my thoughts amusing is all, nothing to worry about darlin’.” I tell Y/n. I notice her face blanche and immediately realize I never told her of Edward’s power.

“He-he what?” She stutters, clearly worrying over the invasion of privacy she was never warned about and I kick myself for not having this conversation beforehand.

“Edward can read the thoughts of those in his vicinity. He’s respectful with his power though, he wouldn’t invade your privacy like that.” I reassure her, using a portion of my power to round out some of her nerves.

“I can hear you, but it sort of passes through.” Edward hesitates, “It’s like sitting in a room full of people conversing, but not really paying attention even though you can hear them talking all at once. I’m used to communicating with Jasper this way, I apologize for not prefacing my abilities sooner.” He finishes, glancing back to look over his shoulder with a sad smile.

“Thank you Edward, I appreciate that very much.” Y/n sighs, “I think it’s actually a pretty amazing power to have.” She tells him with a smile.

“Sometimes it is,” Edward glances to Bella, “Sometimes it isn’t.”

“Why did we have to wait for a thunderstorm to play baseball?” She turns to ask me innocently after a beat of silence.

“Oh you’re about to see.” I tell her with a grin as Edward pulls the Jeep to a stop at the edge of a clearing, the rest of my family gathered not far away.

As I help her out of Emmett’s Wrangler, I remove my jacket to place around her shoulders.

“Before you say anything, I don’t need it. Keep it warm for me.” I can’t resist placing a kiss to the crown of her head, her scent mingling with mine making for a heady mixture. I turn and lead her to where everyone is gathered, Emmett sending a pointed look my way at the interaction he just witnessed. I shrug as a way of answering, trying not to make it a big deal since he’s always been worried about my loneliness the last few decades.

“Alright let’s pick teams!” Carlisle announces, attempting to wrangle our rowdy bunch.

Reader

As the Cullen’s separate into their teams, I follow Esme as she tugs Bella and I over to home plate explaining the game. Carlisle and Rosalie play-flight over who gets to go first, but my eye is on Jasper as he warms up with a few test-swings with a bat.

“We could use a few impartial opinions.” Esme smiles at us, shifting Bella and I to stand behind her as she assumes the ‘catcher’ position.

Rose is up to bat first, Jasper and Carlisle on her team while Emmett, Edward, and Alice make up the opposition. The latter taking up her place at the pitcher’s mound - she nods her head and announces, “It’s time.”

First pitch from Alice and Rose absolutely smashes it, the thunder cracking in time with the strike of the bat.

“Okay, now I see why you need the thunder.” Bella says, impressed. “That’s gotta be a home run, right?”

Rosalie rounds second and heads for third, a blonde blur on the field. “Edward is fast.” Esme tells her with confidence.

Right when I think there’s no possible way Edward could get his sister out before she slides home, a baseball rockets it’s way out of the woods and straight into Esme’s hands. Tagging her adoptive daughter with the ball, she looks over her shoulder at us for confirmation.

“You’re out!” Bella motions a thumb over her shoulder at a very not happy Rose.

I turn to look at Jasper, completely blown away by what transpired, but I’m distracted in the way he idly spins his baseball bat. My emotions must catch his attention, because he doesn’t stop as he makes eye contact. Who knew something so basic as flipping a bat could be so attractive?

“Babe, c’mon! It’s just a game!” Emmett yells from across the field, garnering my attention from his brother.

Rosalie brushes past Bella to intimidate her umpire call as Carlisle takes his place at home plate. Another beautiful pitch by Alice and powerful swing by the doctor, the ball heads straight for the middle ground between the two brothers in the outfield. Colliding together, they miss the ball and their dad claims second base.

Next up is Jasper and I’m positively vibrating with excitement to see him in action. Showing off again with his idle bat tossing, he settles in and sends Alice’s next ball into orbit, but Emmett manages to snag it out of thin air.

“My monkey man.” Rose says proudly from her spot next to me, I huff in aggravation at Jasper getting out so early.

Just as Rosalie takes her second turn and is running for first base, Alice yells out a warning, “Stop!”

After a few seconds and hearing something that clearly Bella and I fail to pick up with our human ears, the family not gathered around us returns to our sides in a hurry.

“They were leaving and then they heard us-“

“Let’s go.” Edward cuts off Alice to grab for Bella, but Carlisle stops his son.

“It’s too late.”

Jasper is at my side as the rest of his family shuffled around us, “What’s happening?” I ask him worriedly.

“Vampires, they heard us playing and are on their way here.” He answers me completely serious, zipping up his jacket that I’m wearing. “Stay behind me, don’t move and don’t attract their attention.”

“Jas-“

“No one touches you.” He meets my eyes as his words send ice through my veins, will it come to that?

I will my heart to calm as I get shuffled to stand behind him and Emmett, I rest a hand on Jasper’s back to anchor myself.

I can’t see them from my hiding spot, but I hear one with a slight accent, “I believe this belongs to you?”

“Thank you.” Carlisle replies curtly.

“I am Laraunt, this is Victoria and James.”

“I’m Carlisle, this is my family.” I feel Jasper tense under my hand like he’s concentrating. Readying for a fight? What do I do if this turns into a vampire brawl?

I turn to look at Edward over my shoulder but he doesn’t meet my gaze and Bella has her head turned down. Hiding her eyes I realize - her human eyes, acting shy in the face of new vampires so that they might not be interested in her.

Carlisle and the one speaking for the group, Laraunt, continue their efficient conversation as I step closer to Jasper. From this position I can see all three strangers and fear begins to worm it’s way into my chest. I’ve become so comfortable with the Cullens’ that I’ve forgotten they’re vampires. Vampires as dangerous as the ones before me look, minus the red eyes.

The tall one missing a shirt, James presumably since Laraunt and Carlisle are still conversing, seems to lock in on Bella and Edward. The grip I have on Jasper tightens and he reaches a hand back to pat the outside of my thigh in reassurance at his earlier statement.

“So, could you use three more players?” My heart almost stops, how do we get out of this? “Come on, just one game?”

Seemingly reading my mind, Carlisle plays along with a little chuckle, “Sure, why not. A few of us were leaving, you could take their place.” I feel Jasper’s arm nudge me in the direction of Edward and Bella, a sign to join their departure.

“We’ll bat first.” Carlisle announces, throwing the ball to the newcomers as our group begins to separate.

“I’m the one with the wicked curve ball.” The female, Victoria taunts in a low voice.

Jasper let’s out a low laugh, “Well I think we can handle that.”

As everyone begins to take their new places and I make my way towards Bella, I notice that one of the new males seems zoned-in on Edward, or rather, Bella. Next thing I know, a breeze shifts Bella’s hair and my heart shudders in my chest - the wind, our scent-

“You brought a snack?” James threatens as he leans into a crouch. Snapping his gaze to me as I let out a gasp, “Two snacks?”

Jasper let’s out a deep growl as he lunges in front of me, the rest of his family surrounding Bella and I in a protective stance.

“The girls are with us.” Carlisle asserts, “I think it best if you leave.”

“I can see the game is over, we’ll go now.” The one in charge tries to placate the tense situation. “James.”

As the new vampires turn to leave, Carlisle urges Edward and Jasper, “Get Bella and Y/n out of here, go!”

The four of us jog back to Emmett’s Jeep, Jasper keeping me from stumbling in the mud.

“Okay I’ve got it-I’ve got it, I’m alright!” Bella yells at Edward while he tries to buckle her in. “What, n-now he’s coming after me? Us?”

“Listen to me-James is a tracker, the hunt is his obsession. I read his mind, our reaction on the field set him off. We just made this his most exciting game ever, he’s never going to stop.” Edward explains, frantic in his words and his driving.

“So what do we do?” Bella panics.

“We kill him-“ Jasper starts.

“Rip him apart and burn the pieces.” Edward finishes.

“Where are we going?”

“Away from Forks. We’ll get a ferry to Vancouver.”

“I have to go home, now. You have to take me home.” Bella orders him.

“You can’t go home, he’s just going to trace your scent there-it’s the first place he’s going to look.”

My chest constricts, my mom. Jasper grabs my hand, no doubt feeling my growing fear. “My mom.” I whisper to him as his eyes bounce between mine searching for what to say.

“My dad is there!-“

“It doesn’t matter!”

“Yes it does! He could get killed because of us! What about Y/n’s mom?!”

“Just let me get you out of here first, alright? Neither one of you are safe.”

“It’s my dad, we have to go back!” She argues back, exasperated. “We’ll figure out a way to lead the tracker away somehow-I don’t know, but we have to do something!”

“Jasper, you have to take me home.” I plead with him while squeezing his hand.

“Darlin’, I-“

“I’ll go anywhere you want me to, I just need to make sure she’s okay! If I disappear, she’ll hunt me down.” I try to reason with him, short of panicking myself.

Pulling up at Bella’s house, both her and Edward leap out of their seats and for the door. Just as Bella slams the front door in his face putting on a show, Jasper hops in the driver’s seat and peels out of the driveway in the direction of my house.

“You go inside, make up a reason to leave tonight. I’ll wait in the car, but if you aren’t out in five minutes, I’m coming in to get you.” He orders me and I nod.

“Thank you, I can’t leave her without saying anything… Thank you, Jasper.”

“Don’t thank me yet, I’m taking you far from here until this is settled.” His voice steady even though my life is turning upside down as we speak.

As the large vehicle rumbles to a stop just in front of my porch, I leap from my seat. The light above the door flicking on, my mother swings it open before my fingers could grab the handle.

“Everything alri-“

“No, mom.” I brush past her to ascend the stairs. “Bella is leaving for her mom’s tonight, I need to go with her!”

“Sweetheart, it’s too late for a drive like that!” She says, chasing me.

“She can’t drive by herself, she needs me mom! I can make sure she’s safe and keep you updated.” I plead with her as I throw random articles of clothing in my empty gym bag.

“Y/n, you can’t-“

“Mom,” I turn to her, dead serious, “I’m going whether you let me or not. She’s my best friend and she needs to leave. I can at least make sure she’s okay and gets to her mom’s. I’ll turn around and come right back afterwards!”

“Your phone stays on and charged.” She says with her hands on her hips, “I call, you better answer after the first ring. Anything - and I mean anything happens, you call me and Chief Swan immediately, Y/n Y/m/n.”

“Yes ma’am.” I snatch my bag and give her a hug as I rush out of my room. “I love you.” I murmur into her shoulder.

“You’re my world, sweetheart. Please be careful?” I nod, “I love you too.”

After a peck to my head, I race down the stairs and back out to the Jeep.

“It’s going to be alright.” Jasper tries to soothe me, both with his words and an artificial wave of calm.

“Don’t.” I bristle, “Nothing about this is alright.”

Immediately the foreign feeling vacates me and a coldness slides into my chest. I know he was only trying to help me, but I can’t take it, I can’t take the easy way out right now. So I glance out my window as the trees rush past on our way to his house.

• March 13th, 2005 • Cullen Residence •

Jasper

This day-this whole thing is fucked. And not at all how I saw this weekend going. I promised her mother I would keep her safe and now a fucking group of nomadic vampires is hunting her and Isabella.

Three vampires aren’t really much when it comes to my family of seven, but seeing as I’m the only one trained to… deal with the dispatching of vampires besides Carlisle, the odds aren’t great that we all come out of this unscathed.

And Y/n. This fragile human that already means so much to me is caught in the middle, caught up in my dangerous world. I told her that nothing and no one touches her and I meant it. If I can be sure of one thing, I know I can do this for her.

Slamming on the breaks as the Jeep slides into the garage, I grab Y/n’s hand as she meets me behind the vehicle. I tried to soothe her worry after we left her house, but I obeyed her request to stop. I almost feel useless - not being allowed to do what I do best and fix emotions, but I know her sense of autonomy shouldn’t be infringed upon if I want her to let me in. I slam the button to shut the garage door to shield us from potential prying eyes and make my way across the enclosed space.

“What now?” Y/n asks me as I throw her bag in the trunk of Carlisle’s Mercedes.

“I stay with you, no matter what. You and Isabella, I can protect the both of you.” I turn and meet her gaze, resting a hand on her cheek in reassurance. “You are mine to protect and I take that charge very seriously.” My words snatch her breath, so I give her a half-smile.

“After… everything, you’re not opposed to violence, Hale?”

“For you? Violence is my middle name, darlin’.” Before I could comment on the shudder the wracks through her and the arousal trickling into her scent and emotions, my family rejoins us in the garage.

Snatching the keys to the Mercedes Emmett tosses my way, I seperate myself from Y/n.

“I’ve had to fight our kind before,” I hesitate choosing my words, glancing at Y/n, “We’re not easy to kill.”

“But not impossible.” My brother responds.

“I don’t relish the thought of killing another creature, even a sadistic one like James.” Carlisle laments.

“What if he kills one of us first?” Rose questions harshly from her seat on the counter.

“I’m going to run Bella south and lead the tracker away from here-“ but Carlisle stops Edward before he could finish.

“No, Edward. James knows you’d never leave Bella. He’ll follow you.” My adoptive father glances at me, “Jasper-“

“I’m not leaving her.” I level my gaze on Carlisle and boost my words with my power, “None of you are trained like me, I stay with what he wants - the girls.”

“I’ll go with them, Jasper and I will drive them south.” Alice pipes up, “I’ll keep her safe, Edward.”

“Can you keep your thoughts to yourself?” I can feel Alice’s hesitation in what I feel is her confidence in the outcome of all this.

I will that emotion away immediately, nothing will hinder a positive outcome in this scenario. Y/n and Isabella will make it through this unscathed and James will die, end of story. Nothing threatens what’s mine or my family’s and lives, nothing.

#bless-my-demons #redamancy series #twilight #jasper hale x reader #twilight fanfiction #jasper hale #jasper whitlock hale #jasper hale fanfiction #jasper whitlock #jasper hale x female!reader #female reader insert #romance

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lakesbian · 6 months

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okay so first thing i like about interlude 3. in the part of the arc prior to it, we see taylor being severely mistreated by an adult PRT member--which pushes her to rob the bank with Great Gusto, wherein she contributes to beating up a lot of largely faceless wards. the sole exception to the lack of characterization the kid cops heroes receive in the pre-interlude chapters is glory girl, who spends a decent portion of the bank robbery trying to lord herodom's perceived wealth and prestige over the undersiders:

“I helped Aegis out of a jam on my way in, so he’s keeping your little friends busy. You should also know that the Protectorate is on their way from a wine and dine with Brockton Bay’s finest at the Augustus Country Club. Can’t speak for them, but I know I’d be royally pissed if some little snots dragged me away from a chance to have the club’s chocolate mousse.”

& tattletale simultaneously reaffirms & puts down this image she wants to present by mockingly calling her "prom queen" &c. and then in interlude 3, when we finally see the personalities behind the masks for the wards, miss militia comes in and says it outright:

“She was kind enough to volunteer to come here and patch you guys up,” Miss Militia told the young heroes, “Can’t send you home with horrible injuries and hundreds of bug bites, can we? That would give away the show.”

the prestige, the purported invincibility and success of being a young hero--it's all a show covering for the fact that they're fundamentally overworked, systematically manipulated child soldiers, being regularly thrown into life-threatening situations & used as weapons to beat down on other systematically abused children (like the undersiders). which goes So well with how a critical turning point in the prior chapter is victoria presenting herself as invincible, only to be deeply wounded by tattletale correctly observing that she isn't.

and letting people see past the facade is something the PRT/herodom at large considers to be worth a chewing out--piggot is mad that glory girl was called because she caused property damage, and property damage is bad for PR. she's less concerned with aegis standing there with a punctured lung than she is the bad PR of kid win not filling out paperwork properly before using a new weapon. and yes, obviously, aegis can't die from a punctured lung or having his retina detached or his ribs snapped--but the image of a teenage boy standing there half torn to shreds while the director reams them all for not being the perfect child soldiers is viscerally grim. miss militia doesn't say "we can't send you home with horrible injuries because that would suck and be unhealthy for you," she says "we can't send you home with horrible injuries because that would give away the show." bleak!

#wormtime 2 #wormtime 2 arc 3 #wormblr #parahumans

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piratefishmama · 1 year

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Forgiven Not Forgotten | Part 2

Out of the estimated 10 to 15,000 people in Hawkins Indiana, several hundred left just after the earthquake, a handful of families left during the serial killings to protect their families, and the rest?

Those remaining amounted up to about three hospitals worth. Four maximum. Whatever terrors had wrought through Hawkins during those two years of radio silence… had decimated the population.

So when the Harringtons got the call, when Steve’s croaky voice filled that speaker, and told them exactly where he was, which hospital they’d been taken to, they hadn’t wasted a single second, they jumped into the car, and broke several speed laws to get there.

The sight that greeted them on the other side of those double doors would be forever seared into their minds.

Families they’d known, broken, missing members neither Lynda or John wanted to assume about, were they alive, being treated in one of the rooms, or were they lost, neither wanted to know, so they pushed through, eyes roaming those waiting to be seen or waiting for news on friends and family until someone familiar appeared.

Lynda spotted her first, her legs pulled up on the chair, arms tucked around her knees, surrounded by a small hoard of younger teens, all supporting various non-life threatening injuries and scars they probably didn’t want to speak about.

It was like they’d come from a warzone, clothes torn, patched up by rags tied in places to cover skin, dirty skin, hair matted, clinging to each other, haunted. Nothing life threatening, it looked like they were all just… waiting.

Waiting for people who knew them to turn up for them.

“Robin!!” Lynda gasped, loud enough to catch the girls attention, her head snapping up, eyes wide as the parents rushed forward, Robin rose to her feet, stumbled almost just in time to be gathered up into Lynda’s arms, much to her surprise. She didn’t fight it though, no… instead she melted into it, as though it was the first physical contact she’d had that didn’t involve fighting for her life in two whole years. “Where—where are your parents, Robin?”

“T-They… I don’t know, they got out… I think… but I—I haven’t seen them, I think people are still learning that they can come back, if they even want to come back, I mean… there isn’t much left back there for anyone to come back to—Steve! Steve you want—you want Steve right?” The other kids seemed to have perked up, watching the interaction in confusion.

“Where is he, Robin?” Robin looked to John, her gaze a mixture of uncertainty and hesitance. “Please… we know he’s here, he called us, sounded—”

“He’s been in and out, worlds best babysitter took a beating from something… big, protecting these idiots.” They hadn’t been made to sign anything yet, but it was hard to explain what exactly had come for them in the end without sounding like she should be in a hug me jacket getting thrown into a rubber room. “C’mon, I’ll take you to him.”

“Robin? Who’s—” one of the kids started to rise from his seat, or… not a kid, probably closer to a young adult at that point, forced to grow up far too quickly.

“Steve’s parents.”

“Holy shit, they exist?” Both parents cast similar frowns in the boys direction for that little quip “—sorry It’s just… I’ve known him for years and never met you, doesn’t even—”

“That’s enough Dustin” Robin cut him off, sharply but not unkindly. “You don’t know everything, just drop it. C’mon, this way.” She seemed to be walking on a limp, but she was walking, leading them down a corridor until she made it to a door left slightly ajar, the one opposite it flanked on either side by a pair of soldiers. The Harringtons assumed she’d be leading them to the other. But no. She stopped outside of the one closed too and looked at the pair like they’d personally offended her.

They didn’t even try and stop her when she grabbed the handle, instead stepping a little further apart to allow her and her guests to enter with her, John closed the door behind him.

The room was quiet, mostly, save for a radio playing quietly by the window, a genre that no-one would ever assume could be played quietly, and the steady beep of life saving machines. It wasn’t a large room, only big enough for a single bed, the machines, some room to walk around, and a couple of chairs, private, but it housed two people anyway. One on the bed, hooked up to all those machines, skin pale, scarred, his hair long and messy in a way Lynda would probably guess he’d had curls at one point.

Not anymore, it was just a matted mess by that point, one of his hands resting in the linens, handcuffs on his wrist linking him to the bed, the other wrapped in someone else’s grip.

That someone else… the other—

“Steven?” His head snapped up at his father’s voice, hand swiftly withdrawing from the man’s in the bed, his hair had been cut short, possibly to the scalp for convenience, the lengths seemingly only just growing back, he had scars around his neck from what looked like barbs, scars down his arms, both old and new, bruising, treated injuries that'd likely looked way worse when he was admitted.

another round of injuries his parents figured he'd struggle to tell them about.

He rose to his feet, he looked… thin beneath the hospital garbs they’d put him in. Thinner than he should have been, he’d always been broad but now… it was as though he hadn’t had a decent meal in two years. Likely living off of whatever they could scrounge together.

“Stevie, my baby…” Lynda’s voice sounded more like a pained whine, but it was the only warning Steve got before his mother lurched forward and wrapped him up in a fierce hug, adjusting only when her son winced and hissed in pain “you—you were s-supposed to—you were supposed to call to—to contact us, you—”

“I know… I know I—we got cut off, that call, it was the last one any of us could make, those bastards cut us off when they realised it wasn’t gonna be like the times before.” It wasn’t going to be a quick one and done. That the thing they were dealing with was much bigger than just one evil.

It was a whole hoard of evil. Not just Henry. Henry had back up in the form of a gigantic evil cloud, monsters of all shapes and sizes, and an arsenal of loved ones to use as his own personal puppets to terrorize and destroy the people left behind. Eddie being the only one actually there.

“The times before?” John’s voice had his son looking up from the hug his mother had trapped him in. His eyes seemed to dip “Steven… please…”

Steve shook his head, he couldn’t, not there anyway. “I’m fine though,” he’d change the subject instead, a regular instance in the Harrington household, hide the truth and mask it with an “I‘m fine” “bit banged up, but I’ll live…” he released the hold on his mother, even if she didn’t want to let go just yet.

“Who’s this…?” And they let it happen. Every time they let it happen, let the subject go, let it switch to something new, John would allow it for now, but… once out of there, once the dust settled, they’d be having that talk. For now, he was okay with letting the subject change. Aiming it instead at the elephant in the room.

The unconscious man in the bed his son had been holding onto moments ago. That ember, that tiny spark in his son, perhaps… perhaps it was still there.

“Eddie… he uh… he helped, at the end… he—we wouldn’t be alive without him… we thought—we thought he was dead for months but… he wasn’t.” Another touchy subject, but at least that one his son was willing to talk about.

“The handcuffs?”

“Police still think he killed a bunch of kids before the earthquake, the handcuffs are a ‘precaution’ apparently, as if he’s going anywhere.” The serial killer. Eddie Munson. Lynda’s head snapped to the man, eyes wide “he didn’t!” Steve was quick to assure her “It looked bad, it did, it looked like he did it, but he didn’t, he wouldn’t he—he’s good… he’s good. He saved us.”

“Saved you? How?”

“It’s hard to explain…”

Robin on the other hand, didn’t care quite as much as their son did when it came to hiding the facts. “Evil guy, Henry Creel, actual culprit in the Creel murders of ’59 and actual serial killer, we thought Eddie died before the earthquake cause he basically got ate alive by a bunch of evil bats, but Henry was using him as a henchman of sorts, kept him alive to use against us cause we all felt guilty over it which… y’know, fair, he didn’t have to stay involved but he did, and he got ate of course, we felt guilty. I dunno how, but he snapped out of it at like… the last minute, and bought us enough time to take him down, now he’s just…” she motioned to the bed, the steady beep of the monitor going off rhythmically. “We got him out this time though.”

“…What?” Both Harringtons asked in unison.

“Robin” Steve hissed.

“What? Jeez, they haven’t made us sign anything yet.”

“…Sign something? What do you mean sign something?” Lynda looked between them, the two young adults clearly exhausted. “Steven? What have you signed?”

“NDA’s mom, each time, they’ve forced us to sign these Non-Disclosur—”

“Who?”

“Y’know… the government?”

There was something distinctly satisfying about watching a 5’4" woman demolishing a government agent. Something almost the entirety of the Party managed to witness when someone from said government finally decided to grace them with their presence to sign those pretty shut your mouth documents they were so fond of dolling out.

John Harrington watched with what could only be described as a dopey grin on his face as he leaned in to whoever was closest, this being one very tired Mike Wheeler, to say “You know she majored in Contract Law back in the day? Minor in Ethics too. God look at her go.” Totally and completely smitten over his own wife’s rage.

Apparently forcing minors to sign NDA’s, while technically legal for them to scribble on the dotted line, couldn’t actually be held up anywhere in court due to age and how dare they force children, not just her OWN but other children to sign that shit without a parent or legal guardian present.

It ended with her loudly declaring that “NOBODY in this hallway will be signing your goddamn papers, and as for the previous ones? You’ll be hearing from our lawyers.” Then, on her heel she turned, and returned to the group, leaving a stunned government agent floundering in the hallway having clearly expected an easy ride. “Everyone, get your things, you’re coming home with us.” Too revved up to stop just yet.

“Excuse me, why would we go with you? Ain’t you ever heard of stranger danger, ma’am?”

“Erica Sinclair, I held you when you were just 3 months old and I bought you and your brother your first strollers, now get your backside out to that car this instant.” Erica shut up, momentarily subdued, but she did have to wonder when exactly her parents had met the Harringtons, later, questions for later. Maybe when she and her brother found their parents. “We have a house with two bathrooms and enough food to feed an army, let’s go.” Not quite the six bathroom four bedroom estate they’d had in Hawkins but…

They weren’t going back there. Nobody was going back there.

The modest two bed close by would do as home base for now, even if it wasn’t quite big enough to hold everyone, they’d make do. John stepped forward to add, “we have a working phone too, get you in touch with the people you need to be in touch with, and we’ll let the front desk know to inform anyone who comes looking where you’ve gone. It’ll be okay, let’s get you out of here and cleaned up.”

“Mom… I’m not leaving Eddie, we’re not… not again, he’s—he’s all on his own I—I can’t.”

“Honey…” Lynda started, but… that little boy they’d long since watched withdraw into himself, he was just… there, for the briefest of moments, showing himself, his emotions, raw, and tired, but it was enough, her son was in there, clawing back to the surface, she wasn’t about to ruin it now. “How about we go home, we get you all cleaned up, get you something to eat, and then we come back and figure out what to do about Eddie, how’s that sound?”

“We have plenty of world class lawyers on our side, Son, we’ll get him out of here in no time, just… let’s get you cleaned up first, Okay? The house is only half an hour away.” Close, they’d be close, the hesitation on all of their faces though, this poor boy, whoever he was… they all hesitated to leave him, there was a lot of love in that hallway, each one as determined as the last to stay with their friend.

“…Alright shitheads, to the car.” Not a single one of those kids argued, Steve was in charge, but Mike and Lucas both hung back.

“I’m gonna stay with the Byers, Nance, Holly, and my mom are with them so—”

“An I’m gonna stick with Max until her mom gets here.” Doctors said she could wake up at any time after her brain activity kicked back up when the dust settled… when Henry died. He wanted to be there when she did. “I’ll be fine though, promise.”

And when Lynda stepped forward to hand Mike a little card with a number scribbled on it, saying “This is our home number, If anything changes with your friend, Eddie while we’re gone, call us, okay? We’ll be right back here in a flash.” She caught the faint smile on her sons face in her peripheral vision.

Baby steps.

Part 4

#PirateWrites #ForgivenNotForgottenFiclet #Steddie #Post!S5 #Mentions of Kas Eddie #Hurt/Comfort #Miscommunication

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carionto · 7 months

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Blot out the Sun

It's hard to comprehend the true scale of Human engineering. Even if you see one of their capital ships as it gets bigger on approach and does not stop getting bigger until you can no longer see one end to the other. It's like trying to grasp how large a city is - you've been on the street level and you've seen it from a bird's eye view, but that never gives you an idea of how precisely big it is. It just is.

Which presents a unique problem, because unlike practically everyone else in the Galaxy, ALL human space ships (and even most space stations) are capable and often prefer to land directly on planets instead of shuttling. When there is an atmosphere, the sheer displacement of one such vessel can cause days worth of chaotic weather patterns and even seismic activity should they decide to land. As in proper land land, as in - landing struts skyscrapers touching the physical ground.

The simple act of a Dreadnought coming to a halt above the surface of a populated planet is considered an act of war.

Suffice to say, nearly everyone has banned Human ships with a displacement of over 200'000 tons from landing, and nothing over 2.5 million tons can even enter the upper atmosphere layers of their planets at all.

Given how chaotic Earth's weather is already, (and the things they're willing to do to it) Humans don't have much problem with that.

It is quite a spectacular event, however, when on a sunny day, all of a sudden a huge form begins to take shape far above the few clouds there are. Millions of tiny lights blinking away on this gigantic dark metal body. Hobbyist astronomers and enthusiast engineers all look through their telescopes, identifying individual markings, hatches, docking ports, weapons, anything and everything of note and not.

Then it flares up.

A fireball streaming gently down towards your world. It is already as big as the sun in the sky, and nearly as bright, but you know it is dozens of kilometers away still.

The heat from the breaking sequence dies down. A shadow begins to loom along the horizon. Slowly, ominously. Still so far away, yet it dwarfs and snuffs out whatever cloud coverage there was, the heat pushing the water along the sides of the behemoth and further up.

The wind is picking up. It's getting warmer.

And darker.

It was day time, now it is beneath the belly of the beast time.

It comes to a halt, only one kilometer above the ground, two hundred and twenty meters from the tip of the tallest building. You can barely see the edge of the horizon - it is just a thin strip of hazy blue, everything else is metallic darkness illuminated by the lights from the city and the massive ship itself.

Then they descend. Hundreds of small ships, all uniform in core design, yet individually decorated and no two are truly alike. Troop transports. They land everywhere.

In unison, the landing bays open and out step the soldiers.

In their off duty clothing with bags and backpacks and suitcases.

It's mandatory leave and we're in Neo Las Vegas, and the city paid to put on a show like no other. Have fun boys and girls, the night will never end!

#humans are space orcs #humans are space australians #humans are space oddities #humans are deathworlders #humanity fuck yeah #carionto #so this took a random turn #i didn't expect that #and i'm the author

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rxgerthatt · 1 year

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save me darling, for you are my salvation

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings : 18+/smut/creeps/ no minors!

Summary : you own a cafe. Bucky’s trying to work through his shit.

A/N : two in one day? Aren’t you lucky.

When Bucky met you he was a changed man.

As changed as an ex assassin with a metal arm and superhuman strength could be.

Gone were the days of mission reports and masked, grime slicked faces. No more soviet slugs, no more murdering innocents. I’m James Buchanan Barnes, I’m no longer the Winter Soldier and you are part of my efforts to get my life back together.

Or something like that.

He’d taken up therapy. Once a week for one hour, unpacking decades worth of baggage he kept locked away in the folds of his mind. He’d come to your cafe after every session - 2pm on the dot - and not because the coffee was good.

Nah, he came because of you.

The bright eyed girl. Bouncing hair and gleaming smile. In another life he would have had no issue asking you out, but a hundred years of trauma has an affect on his confidence. You were like a soothing balm over his mind. After an hour of facing demons with gaping mouths, drooling nothing but trauma over his shoulder - seeing your smile made them shrivel into the darkness once more.

“Hey Bucky,” you beam, joyful, full of light and he wonders how you do it. “The usual?”

“Hey,” he sits at the counter. “Please doll.”

You sit your book down, get to work on making him a black coffee - one sugar because he needed the lift up.

You place it in front of him with a grin, “one black with sugar.”

He thanks you, “what you reading today?”

You push your book across the counter, bent corners, pages dog eared and he could tell it was well loved. A Time to Kill.

“You seen the movie?” You ask him, leaning your head in your hands and looking up at him through your lashes and fuck - if he hadn’t dreamed of that in another context.

Bucky shakes his head, takes a sip and watches as you think through what you say next.

“I’ve got it on DVD, you could borrow it or…” you trail off for a moment, before - fuck it. “You could come round? Only if you want.”

Your cute. Cheeks blushed pink, big eyes sparkling and how could he ever say no to you? His candle in the dark, warped reality of his life.

“Tonight?” He finds himself asking.

—

Your apartment is what he expects it to be - immaculate.

A humble one bedroom with eggshell painted walls and dark oak furniture. You open the door to him with a smile, ushering him inside. You’ve laid out snacks - popcorn, chips and these little jelly sweets in colour coordinated bowls.

He watches you as you load up the DVD player. It’s the first time he’s seen you out of uniform, short shorts and oversized graphic tee with these big fluffy slippers that look too big compared to your slender legs.

You have great legs.

“Never expected this to be your kinda film,” Bucky comments as you sit beside him, throwing him a blanket as you wrap yourself in your own.

“I find it best not to judge a book by its cover,” you reply with a smirk. “Who doesn’t love a good crime movie?”

You had a point.

As the movie played on you got closer, until his arm was resting on the sofa above you, two blankets down to one, your back pressed to his side and he was sure it was a good film - but he couldn’t concentrate. He just hoped you didn’t ask any questions about it.

He’d never been this close. To study the curl of your lashes as they kissed the tips of high cheekbones and the soft slope of your nose and the freckle you had just below your ear. You were the prettiest thing he’d ever fucking seen.

You yawn softly as the credits roll. Bucky moves to stand up but you call his name.

“You can take the sofa,” you rub your hands together. “It’s late.”

He nods, feels his heart jump and he doesn’t miss the breath of relief you let out at his acceptance. Maybe you thought he didn’t want you - the furthest thing from the truth - but he knew his exterior was steely - maybe he could let you in.

You bring him pillows, make the sofa look like the comfiest bed in the world and before you retire to your room you kiss his cheek.

“G’night Bucky.”

He leaves before you wake up.

—

Bucky found out he was jealous on a Tuesday afternoon.

He never remembers feeling like this in the 40’s - that green brush of envy as a jock leaned across the counter waffling words he couldn’t hear. You carried on working, humming occasionally but never really listening.

Bucky gets closer and your eyes shift to him, face lighting and you greeted him with that smile that melted his vital organs.

“Hey doll, just the usual please.”

You nod, refusing his money as you get to work on his coffee, and he wonders if the fact you’d never taken a dime from him was a sign you liked him. He hoped it was.

You’re turned away when Bucky catches shit-house in the corner staring openly at your ass - no shame, licking his lips with a smile and Bucky felt the involuntary shift of his metal arm beneath his clothes.

Punk.

“What’s it gonna take babe?” The jock says to you as you turn to clean the counter. You cut a glance in his direction, scowl on your face that Bucky had never seen before because it was so unlike you - his girl with the blazing smile.

“I’m here everyday, won’t you let me take that pretty ass out on a date?” What a gentleman.

You openly bristle, place a bill in front of him with a scowl.

“And I tell you everyday Nathan, I’m not interested in dating,” you respond. “Cash or card?”

Bucky chuckles. He’d never seen that side to you. Fire burning your fingertips, tongue like a whip as you shot his advancements out of the air - bang, bang, bang.

Bullseye.

Nathan finally looks at Bucky then, an icy gaze with stormy blue eyes - enough to scare a cat - not a super soldier.

“You find that funny?” He barks.

Bucky takes a sip of his coffee, grins as he says, “yeah actually, I did.”

As expected, Nathan storms out after paying - men like him have worse bark than bite - and Bucky was well equipped to deal with both. Especially when it came to you.

You sigh, shoulders slumped and you continue to clean. Bucky wonders how often you deal with assholes like that - everyday by the sounds of things. He couldn’t blame a man for trying, you were the most beautiful girl Bucky had ever seen, and he’d been alive for over a century.

“So you’re not interested in dating?” Bucky earns a smile from you, a small chuckle in your throat that still sounds defeated.

You work your arm in circles, counter spotless as you say, “I’m holding out for someone special.”

“Do I know him?” Bucky asks.

“You know him pretty well,” you blush.

—

When he finds out John Walker is Captain America - he goes to you.

He shouldn’t. It’s 3am but he doesn’t know where else to go, saunters the streets and he lands at your door; rapping his knuckles on the wood. Heart on his sleeve, tears brushing his eyes because how could they replace him?

How could they ever replace Steve?

His best friend. His one tie to another life. The only man that deserved the title of Captain America - not some jumped up military man, brainwashed by governments who tell him he’s doing the ‘right thing.’ To see that shield on another man’s arm?

That fucking hurt.

You’re confused when you open the door, groomed by sleep and you’re even prettier when you’re not done up - messy hair, sleep hazed eyes.

“Your neighbour let me in I-“

You move to let him inside, not needing the explanation and Bucky knew he came to the right place. His one solace, his salvation - you.

“Are you okay Bucky?” You ask him and he breaks down.

You hold him as he cries, rub his back with tender hands; his rock against a moving tide. The ocean tried to wash him away but he clung onto you, and his head stayed above water.

He fills in the spots you’ve missed. The parts of his life he wanted to share but was worried they would scare you off. Holy fuck - he wasn’t joking when he said he was 106.

The metal arm mesmerises you. You turn his palm in your hand with a - “I thought you said you had poor circulation?”

You make him laugh. Brew him tea and listen to his queries and you do a better job than Raynor ever could because he just needed someone to hear him, to understand him.

The dark fog lifts with your head on his shoulder, his hand combing through your hair and he apologises for getting you out of your bed. You tell him to shut up.

Nothing else matters when he’s here with you. These fleeting moments where he thinks he could do life like this, a normal life, with you - the girl from the cafe that stopped his heart when he first saw you. You chase away the dark, cocoon him in this blissful period of you and him - that’s all that mattered.

“I’m off tomorrow,” you announce. “You’re welcome to stay.”

“Thank you doll,” he replies.

You take his hand, lead him to your room and it takes him by surprise because it’s a fucking mess and that’s unlike you. You scratch the nape of your neck with a giggle, apologising but he doesn’t know what for.

He sleeps with you tangled around him, the warmth of your body rocking him to a deep slumber; the smell of your hair like a wet finger to a match on his nerves.

Yeah - he could do life like this.

—

You’re the one who kisses him for the first time.

There’s a picnic basket - homemade sandwiches and fresh cream buns on a soft patchwork blanket. The sun pounds on your skin, spot of butter on your chin and he wipes it away with his thumb. You giggle and it lights a fire in his stomach that licks its way through his insides.

You’re so close.

Your lips are soft, your smell intoxicating and he needs to remind himself he’s in a fucking park, but it’s hard not to let himself be completely consumed by you.

Bit late for that pal.

There’s a soft hum in your chest that sends signals straight to his mind, makes him light headed and hazy as he strokes a hand across your cheek.

For the first time he feels like a boy. He’s back in Brooklyn and if you’d been alive a hundred years ago he would’ve asked you to marry him because that’s how deep he’d drowned in you. Like a body of water, you flowed in waves. You pulled him into your current until all he could think of was you.

You giggle because he must look starstruck - blushed cheeks and blown out eyes, lips slightly parted because wow - you amazed him.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” Bucky says.

“Why didn’t you?” You quirk your head.

“Been out of the game doll,” he chuckles. “Not good with hints.”

“If I said I liked you would that make it easier?” Your eyes sparkle.

“Let’s go back to your apartment.”

You laugh.

—

You’re in his lap, legs spilling across his thighs as you straddle him and Bucky forgets how to breathe.

His hands are everywhere - your hair, your face, up your shirt. Your tits fit perfectly in his hands, but they sit even better on your chest - perked to attention and fuck - they didn’t make them like you in the 40’s.

Maybe you were the reason he survived. All the pain and torture to reach this moment with you. His girl.

You make work of his belt, slip out his cock into your hand before spitting on it. Bucky groans, lets his fingers mess the wetness beneath your panties before you slide onto him with a whine. You move with ease, up and down - Bucky feels like he’s dreaming; mind clouded with lust and all he could feel was you.

“Fuck,” you say when he hits a particularly nice spot deep inside you and he makes a point of rutting up into you to reach it over and over again because he won’t last long. Not with you.

He throws his head back, blows out a breath as he feels the heat starting in his toes. He holds you hip with his metal arm, pounding into you relentless when he feels your legs grow weak and you did so well for him.

You were so good for him.

You fall forward as your pussy squeezes his girth, head on his shoulder and he’s chasing his high before yours is even finished.

You kiss him lovingly, dropping beside him and he pulls a blanket over you. Bucky kisses the top of your head, the sounds of heavy breathing and rapid heart rate battering against his eardrums.

His mind is blank.

“That was…” you drift off.

“Fucking incredible,” he finishes.

—

He brings you roses on your birthday.

Walked miles around town to find the best of the best because you deserve nothing less and he knows that.

He spots you through the window, cleaning a table in the back corner and he has to stop to watch you in this candid moment. He couldn’t believe you would pick him. The fucked up soldier with the fucked up past.

I’m James Buchanan Barnes and I’m the luckiest guy on the planet.

You look up when he walks into the cafe, not shy as you walk towards him, kissing him softly.

“Happy birthday doll.”

You thank him, holding the roses like a new born child and he notices Nathan scowling in the corner as you prepare them in a vase.

“Thought you weren’t into dating?” Nathan spits at you.

You smile at him, before glancing at Bucky with a smirk.

“I’m into older guys.”

Oh - you’d pay for that.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #winter soldier #marvel #bucky x y/n #bucky imagine #bucky x you

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jewishvitya · 6 months

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This is so horrifying. Other news sources picked up on this, but this is the source that did the investigating. +972mag and Local Call are a publication run by Palestinian and Israeli journalists.

From the article:

Several of the sources confirmed that the Israeli army has files on the vast majority of potential targets in Gaza — including homes — which stipulate the number of civilians who are likely to be killed in an attack on a particular target. This number is calculated and known in advance to the army’s intelligence units, who also know shortly before carrying out an attack roughly how many civilians are certain to be killed.

In one case discussed by the sources, the Israeli military command knowingly approved the killing of hundreds of Palestinian civilians in an attempt to assassinate a single top Hamas military commander. “The numbers increased from dozens of civilian deaths [permitted] as collateral damage as part of an attack on a senior official in previous operations, to hundreds of civilian deaths as collateral damage,” said one source.

“Nothing happens by accident,” said another source. “When a 3-year-old girl is killed in a home in Gaza, it’s because someone in the army decided it wasn’t a big deal for her to be killed — that it was a price worth paying in order to hit [another] target. We are not Hamas. These are not random rockets. Everything is intentional. We know exactly how much collateral damage there is in every home.”

In the majority of cases, the sources added, military activity is not conducted from these targeted homes. “I remember thinking that it was like if [Palestinian militants] would bomb all the private residences of our families when [Israeli soldiers] go back to sleep at home on the weekend,” one source, who was critical of this practice, recalled.

In addition, there are apparently four kinds of targets. The first are "military targets such as armed militant cells, weapon warehouses, rocket launchers" etc. The second are underground targets, the tunnels, which harms whatever structure exists over them. The third are "power targets," and the fourth are the homes of suspected Hamas operatives, which can include their families.

The paragraph about "power targets":

The third is “power targets,” which includes high-rises and residential towers in the heart of cities, and public buildings such as universities, banks, and government offices. The idea behind hitting such targets, say three intelligence sources who were involved in planning or conducting strikes on power targets in the past, is that a deliberate attack on Palestinian society will exert “civil pressure” on Hamas.

And:

In the early stages of the current war, the Israeli army appears to have given particular attention to the third and fourth categories of targets. According to statements on Oct. 11 by the IDF Spokesperson, during the first five days of fighting, half of the targets bombed — 1,329 out of a total 2,687 — were deemed power targets.

“We are asked to look for high-rise buildings with half a floor that can be attributed to Hamas,” said one source who took part in previous Israeli offensives in Gaza. “Sometimes it is a militant group’s spokesperson’s office, or a point where operatives meet. I understood that the floor is an excuse that allows the army to cause a lot of destruction in Gaza. That is what they told us.

“If they would tell the whole world that the [Islamic Jihad] offices on the 10th floor are not important as a target, but that its existence is a justification to bring down the entire high-rise with the aim of pressuring civilian families who live in it in order to put pressure on terrorist organizations, this would itself be seen as terrorism. So they do not say it,” the source added.

A thing that I see all the time is people saying "how can you trust the number of casualties, they're coming from Hamas" but:

The figures provided by the Health Ministry and the Government Media Office — both of which fall under the auspices of the Hamas government — do not deviate significantly from Israeli estimates.

And apparently the estimates of Hamas operatives killed are between 1000 and 3000. According to the guardian, "the estimate from Israel’s military that it has killed between 1,000 and 2,000 Hamas fighters, relates only to the assault on Gaza, and not to any Hamas fighters killed during the initial attacks on Israel." According to these numbers, around 80-93% of the deaths were civilians. So these are the numbers if we trust the Israeli military as a source.

And I made this point before, so it's validating to see here:

“Hamas is everywhere in Gaza; there is no building that does not have something of Hamas in it, so if you want to find a way to turn a high-rise into a target, you will be able to do so,” said one former intelligence official.

#palestine

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makingfanfictionstosleep · 7 months

Text

My First But Not My Last.

Pairing : Gojo x Femreader, Geto x Femreader

Setting : Started from Pre-Cult Suguru Geto // Modified that Kenjaku will not totally take over Geto's subconscious later on // Girl bff Shoko, Mei Mei & Utahime, Strong sorcerer reader // Death, Murder Spree, Romance, Lemons

Rating : Mature || m i n o r s d o n o t i n t e r a c t

Part 1 : Love of my Life

Next >>

"Come on," you heard your boyfriend call you with his hand extended, waiting for you to grab it as he tapped his foot impatiently on the ground, "We got our room already & I am so beat up.

You sighed & flashed a shy smile as you took his overly large hand & allowed him to pull you as you trailed behind him, feeling tired from your mission.

"Yaga-sensei have done it this time," you complained, "He said it was an easy mission since we're both special grade sorcerers, but damn, even Satoru would have a difficult time to exorcise that. And it was even more difficult because you wanted that thing in your collection," you shuddered as you remembered Suguru turning the curse into a ball before swallowing it.

"But he got us a 5-star room so all is well," Suguru replied in his soft voice & you nodded in agreement as you both reached the door of your hotel room.

"Home sweet home," you said as you stepped into the room, as you felt Suguru's large arms wrap around your tiny waist, "Damn, Yaga-sensei had really done it this time," you said with a smile, feeling his nose nuzzle your neck.

"Suguru," you sighed, "I'm still icky. Can I at least take a bath first?"

"Can I join in?" he asked, his arms still around your waist, "Save water, shower together."

"I'd really want to shower alone this time," you plead, kissing his cheek, "Please?"

"Fine," he answered begrudgingly, letting you go reluctantly & you made your way to the shower.

15 minutes later, you stepped out, feeling fresh & happy that you have finally wahed the day off. You looked at your boyfriend, who was still sulking, giving him a kiss on the cheek, as he fought the smile forming on his lips. You found him adorable, like a big teddy bear.

You plopped yourself on the king size bed and burrowed under the sheets, turning the television on to watch news to kill time. There is still a mission that you & Geto have to finish but it requires investigation of some sort so maybe you can get some lead from the local news.

You sighed in contentment, enjoying the momentary peace & quiet that Jujutsu Sorcerers rarely experience due to the nature of the work. It's tiring, dangerous & very draining, money's worth it - sure, but sometimes you just want to run away & live a simple life. But then again, not everybody can see what you can see, do what you can do. You're not Gojo Satoru, the strongest sorcerer seen after hundreds of years, but you're also not weak being one of the few crowned as Special Grade Sorcerer. An elite soldier if compared to the normal military.

You heard the water stop & Suguru stepped out of the bathroom, only in his towel. You turned the television off & admired him in all his glory, to which he noticed (of course) & gave you a smirk as he dried his hair with another towel.

"Like what you see?" his baritone sent shicers down your spine & you raised an eyebrow, returning a seductive grin at him, making him chuckle at your reaction.

"If you're talking about the view from here, then yes I do like it," you answered as he made his way to the bed, "Maybe I like it more up close," pulling the towel off his body to reveal his thick member, making you lick your lips when you wrapped your tiny fingers on it.

"Baby don't tease me," Suguru grunted in satisfaction when you licked his length & took him in your mouth, his hand automatically gathering your long hair out of your face, "Such a good girl, taking all of it."

You moaned as his grip on your hair tightened while you bob your head up & down, your hands taking what your mouth can't reach, sloppy & gagging sounds coming from your mouth & throat, aiming to please the handsome man in front of you.

"F-uuck," Suguru moaned, both of his hands now on both sides of your head as he thrusted his hip, fucking your tiny mouth, making you gag at his size.

He is huge.

But you love it.

His breathing was erratic & you knew he was close, seconds later he came in your mouth & you took it all, making him curse at the beautiful sight of you swallowing all of it, "That's my good girl," he half hissed, half moaned while you made sure to take every drop he can offer.

You wiped your lips & grinned as him, gulping in front of him which turned him on even more. You took a bottle of water beside your bed & not even a second later, Suguru was pulling you on his lap.

"That was quite a show," he cooed, kissing your neck while he tugged the robe down your shoulders. Suguru loved your ass, but he think he was lucky that you were blessed with bith tits & ass.

He took his time pleasuring you, sucking your hardened nubs, his other hand gripping your ass, while your fingers are tangled his locks. "Suguru," you moaned when his fingers reached your wet folds, "Please.." You begged as he kissed your mouth hungrily.

"My baby wants to be fucked so bad," he mumbked against your lips, "Look at how wet you are," making you moan against his lips when he pushed a finger inside of you, his thumb pushing your clit.

"Baby please," you begged as he pumped his fingers inside your core, "Please, please, please."

You heard him chuckle deeply as you begged him. He may not look like it, but he loves to torture you like this. He loves to make you beg, make you moan his name make you ask for him to do make his way with you until you're in tears, your beautiful lips spilling curses, his name, asking him to make you cum over & over again.

"You ready, baby girl?" Suguru asked as he teased your entrance with his tip, making you bite your lip in anticipation as you nodded your head, your hooded eyes staring directly at his.

He pushed your legs apart while he slowly pushed inside your wet entrance, groaning on how tight you are.

"So fucking good," he said breathily as he pushed his entire length inside while all of your thoughts were thrown out of the window.

He made you cum multiple times that night in different positions he could think of.

And you slept like a baby, not caring for anything else because the love of your life has his strong arms wrapped around your body.

A/N : Typed on my phone. Gradually proofreading typos. Please bear with me.

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urdepressedslut · 11 months

Text

Stray ❝part eleven❞

♡ Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader/The Winter Soldier x Fem!Reader

♡ Summary: You run into a familiar face, who tries to convince you that you are truly a monster. The pieces are starting to come together, and the reveal is terrifying.

♡ Warnings: dark themes, violence, language, rituals, corpses, gore, heavy angst, vomiting, major injury to reader, drowning, suicide, dead birds, major death of character?

Part 12

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT | 18+ DARK CONTENT

You hadn’t given much thought to your future, simply taking baby steps through each day. You didn’t think you’d still be here, therefore you never had a reason to plan for a future. Although things changed, Bucky was a part of your life now. Life didn’t seem worth living when it was just you, but you found something— someone to live for.

You’d thought about it many of times, throughout the months you had known him. There were tiny glimpses, visions of what life could be like with the two of you.

Until you couldn’t visualize it.

The surprise attack from the sledgehammer had you crashing to the ground, your ears ringing, your vision blurry. You opened your mouth, trying to shout— voice anything. But your words were slurred, your tongue suddenly feeling like concrete. You were so out of it, your body was free of fear— just pure pain.

The vibrations from something being dropped near your head, had you jumping— reaction time sluggish.

You wanted to see who your attacker was, but halted your movements to turn and look— your vision in your right eye suddenly turning red. The porch in front of you drizzled crimson, the steady stream of blood flowing from you.

“Do not be frightened honey— embrace it.” A voice called from above you.

You moved ever so slowly, movement at a turtles pace. When you glanced up, all you could make out was a silhouette of a woman staring down at you, leaning on the handle of the sledgehammer.

“Embrace it. I know you feel it.”

You blinked with heavy eyelids, trying to understand the woman’s words.

“B-bu-bucky…” You slurred, making the woman mad.

You heard a tsk from above, the sound of movement but you were too tired to care. It was only until you felt a hand tangle itself in your hair that you perked up— adrenaline pulsing through you. The last of your energy being used to free yourself of this woman’s grasp.

You felt yourself be dragged down the porch stairs, through the grass. The harsh tugging at your scalp causing you to whine, even more pain being registered.

“Silence! You have caused enough havoc within this family! Be a good girl and embrace it!” The voice spat, tightening their fingers even harsher in your hair.

This family? The words triggered something in you, and suddenly you were hyper aware. You couldn’t recognize the voice— yet it sounded so…

The feeling of tiny objects passed by your skin, your eyes straining to focus on your dragging legs. You were shocked to see the ground covered in dead birds, the fields littered with hundreds of them. Suddenly— It all came back to you.

The thuds against the house— the birds smashing into the windows. But why?

“Quit dragging your feet. They’re waiting for you.” The mystery woman hissed.

You were in and out, the feeling of being dragged drowning out— along with your vision darkening. The blood had covered the entire right side of your face, your eye drowning in the red. Your head pounded, the throb from the hit causing your head to lull to the side.

A light slapping to your blood free cheek had you snapping back to reality momentarily.

“Don’t go yet. Stay awake.” The woman told you, her face blurry when you tried to sneak a peek at her.

You could only make out her silhouette, but her figure seemed familiar— her voice even sparked the same déjà vu feeling.

You were dropped harshly to the ground, the fingers releasing your scalp. A burning agony left in its place. You could hear the familiar flowing water of the river, the comforting smell of the water was suddenly not welcome. You cracked your left eye open as wide as you could, straining to focus on your surroundings. Just barely, you could make out that you were indeed— by the river, but why? Who was this woman?

Sluggishly turning your head towards the woman’s direction, you were shocked to find out that the mystery woman was the lady that had visited the other night. What was her name again? Donna.

Your face paled, swallowing through a tight throat as you came to terms with who your captor was. Donna caught your stare, kneeling down to your crumpled form.

“I know you’re scared and confused right now, but it’s all going to make sense soon. Just hang on a little more my sweet niece.” She said softly.

My sweet niece.

You felt like you had to throw up, the bile rushing up and before you could stop it— you were emptying your breakfast to your right, chunks coating the grass. You opened your mouth to question her, but you couldn’t form any words. You slurred and cried, your head feeling like it was going to split, the pain and information you had just received— too much.

Donna took in your shocked state, lifting her hand free of the sledgehammer to pet your cheek.

“I know, I know,” She cooed falsely, “My sister was a fucking idiot. Hiding you from us— keeping you for herself. Selfish cunt.”

You shook your head in denial, your whole body shaking in shock. Donna ignored your distraught state, continuing her rambling.

“It wasn’t supposed to be this way, she should’ve still been here… but perhaps she misjudged you.” She explained so casually, but nothing was making sense to you.

The sound of multiple footsteps alerted you to glance around, your eyes going wider in pure fear— watching a group of people in black cloaks circle around you and Donna. Glancing to Donna for help, you found her calm.

“Good. We mustn’t waste anymore time. She’s losing consciousness fast— we must do it now.” Donna announced, signaling to two people behind you.

You struggled in the two pairs of hands, attempting to scream, cry for help— for Bucky.

You were too out of it, too weakened to make any loud enough call for help. You fought against their grip as they pinned your legs down, holding your ankles together. Tying a wire connected to a bag, around you. They dropped your legs, easily grabbing ahold of your wrists, tying them together with the same type of wire.

You were bound, throbbing in excruciating pain and losing hope for help to arrive. Your mind couldn’t focus on the circle of chanting people, nor Donna who held a menacing look. Your mind could only wander to Bucky, remembering the image you so desperately burned into your brain. Wishing for anything to see him again.

Donna walked up to you, glaring down at you with disgust.

“Your Mother was stupid. But… she was my sister. You took her from me.” She spat, tears glossing over her crazed eyes. “Now you’ll die with her— and you’ll come back as your true form— who you’re meant to be.”

“No…” You slurred out, feeling two pairs of hands grab your arms, pulling you back towards the edge of the river.

The hands dropped you by the edge, walking back into their formation within the circle. She kneeled again, grabbing your chin in a harsh grip.

“I’ve been watching you this entire time. You and that vile man.” She hissed, watching you tense up at the mention of him. “You think he loves you? Aw honey, even if he did— once he sees who you truly are… He’ll be running for the hills, damning you to hell.”

You let out a whimper, her grip bruising. The mention of Bucky being disgusted by you was enough to bring tears to your eyes. You couldn’t live with that— without him.

“You’ve been so close this entire time. You are a monster honey—” You let out a cry at her words, sobbing defeatedly, “Shh— honey it’s okay. You’ll see soon enough, you’re going to be so powerful. You’ll feel like a monster at first, but then you’ll feel like a god.”

You thrashed in her hold, slurring out incoherently, begging for someone— something to save you from this nightmare. Your panic caused birds to drop dead suddenly, all around the circle. The light thuds of the dead birds hitting the ground, your tears only flowing faster at the horrific sight.

“See!” She shouted at you, motioning her hands towards the dead birds, staring at them like they were Christmas lights, “This is only the beginning of what you’re capable of. The birds honey— it was always you.”

You cried harder, all those dead birds you witnessed. Possibly mothers trying to fly back to their nest of babies. Babies that will now starve because of you— monster. You felt the dark, insanity flowing through your veins. Maybe Donna was right?

No... don't think that.

“Yes… all that pain and agony you feel,” She cooed, spurring on your cries, “It will vanish, soon you’ll feel nothing but power. You just gotta embrace it, don’t fight who you are.”

She begged you, her eyes bloodshot as she held your hysterical state. She felt satisfied, your cries something of her dreams.

“And him…?” She whispered sharply, your cries pausing at the mention of Bucky. “You’ll forget all about him… but I assure you that will make him hating you— that much easier.”

She released your chin, letting you curl up in a ball— sobbing painfully. She stared down at you once more, before making her way to walk around the inner circle.

“In death, comes power! For we, will be immortal!” She shouted amongst the people circling you both.

She glared at the people surrounding her, giving them a knowing look, watching the circle of cloaks connect hand in hand.

“In death, comes power! For we, will be immortal!” Her and the group of people chanted.

You watched as Donna chanted, walking over to the two corpses laying on top of the grass— ones that you had not seen until now. Though they had been there the whole time, it’s like you had forced yourself not to see them. But as you made eye contact with your Mother’s lifeless, decaying body— you could suddenly smell the rotting flesh in the air.

There was something so skin crawling about staring someone in the eyes, knowing they’d never look away from you. The cloudy white haze over her eyes, her skin covered in dirt and red. It was a violent image of what you had done.

You screamed in horror, closing your eyes in fear of the haunting image before you. You gagged and choked on the vile smell of the air— dry heaving as you had already emptied your stomach.

It’s all in your head. It’s all in your head.

You tried to force yourself to wake up, this nightmare had gone on too long. Your heart beat rapidly, your pulse pounding in your ears. You waited, shaking with dread— Bucky would wake you up any second now.

Please. God please.

You opened your eyes, the scenery unchanged, the corpses, the cloaks, the horrid stench. This was real life, and you couldn’t fully believe what was happening.

You were frozen in fear, not realizing the cloaked person next to you, grabbing the bag— and throwing it into the river. Your body was being pulled into the water, the bag weighing you down into the deep depths of the river. The coldness of the water shocked you, your limbs struggling to free themselves from the wiring.

You watched as the light above the water faded farther and farther away, the colder the water got as you sank deeper. You held your breath, your lungs already burning— not able to get a good breath before your plunge.

This was it.

You hadn’t given your future much thought, until you were almost positive that you weren’t going to have one. Almost in a flash, you could see a timeline of what if’s and maybe’s. All events beautiful and perfect— all that were with Bucky.

Until you couldn’t visualize it.

Your lungs ached, and you couldn’t help yourself from gulping for air— only to inhale the river water. Choking and spluttering until you felt your lungs fill up. Your vision went black, and the last thing you could sense— was a muffled whisper through the water.

Death.

Moments earlier…

Bucky walked out of the bathroom, ears picking up the sound of the floorboards creaking from upstairs. Almost instantly, his body was stiff— his being defensive, alert.

He crept up the stairs, ignoring the kitchen as he didn’t want to make you panic. He’d rather deal with the dangers, not wanting to risk putting you in harms way.

Just barely, he could hear the faintest heartbeat. With careful steps he approached the room the rhythm was coming from, rolling up his sleeves in preparation.

The room he came to realize, was yours. Almost instantly he felt angered. Pushing the door open, his breathing stopped for a moment, the sight of a clothed man’s back— staring out the window.

Bucky chose to stay silent, creeping up to the man as long as he didn’t spot him. Choke him, just enough to knock him out— Bucky decided. He didn’t want to kill, that wasn’t him anymore. But quickly, the thought passed over his mind— he’d kill for you. He’d do just about anything for you.

“I know who you are.” The man spoke eerily, making Bucky stop in his tracks.

Bucky stayed silent, as the man turned around slowly facing him.

“You should’ve seen our reactions, when we found out The Winter Soldier was staying with our niece.” He laughed out, his whole demeanor unstable.

Niece? This man was your family?

Bucky winced at the title, forcing himself not to believe anything this man says. His name was Bucky, he wasn’t The Winter Soldier— at least that’s what you’d tell him.

“So naive that girl.” He muttered, and Bucky immediately felt angered with the way he spoke about you. “Opening her home up to a killer.”

Bucky still wasn’t sure what he should say, his mind was consumed with you. His instincts telling him to run and find you. But he couldn’t leave this man unattended. He feared for just a second he wasn’t watching, the man would hurt you.

The man squinted his eyes at Bucky’s silence.

“You don’t know what she is. If you were smart, you’d run.” He warned, watching Bucky’s fist clench tightly.

“Leave her alone.” Bucky spoke finally, his words harsh and intimidating.

The man smiled, finally getting a reaction out of Bucky. He only had minutes left.

“You don’t know the truth about her, do you?” The man questioned, genuinely curious.

“I know her family is fucking crazy.” Bucky spat.

“No! You don’t know the truth. She’s stronger than she knows, she’s powerful— but pathetic and weak. Afraid to embrace who she truly is.” The man told Bucky, who listened with a confused expression.

“Her Mother knew she was different the second she was born. Birds crashed into the hospital windows as her Mother was giving the final push. Sound familiar?” Bucky listened with bated breath, remembering the same birds all too well. “There was this… darkness that followed her. Her grandmother told us the gods had gifted us. That the day would come where (Y/n) would gift us enteral life.”

Bucky couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He thought he was the only weird thing around— now he was hearing this man ramble about how you were some kind of goddess? He didn’t want to believe it, he didn’t want you to have this burden. You deserved to live a simple, happy life.

“(Y/n)’s Mother was a selfish pig, stealing the gift away— keeping it all for herself. But we saw how that ended up.” He laughed darkly.

Bucky winced at the mention of you being a gift— an object for their satisfaction. They didn’t care about you, or your well being. You were simply a pawn, something to use for their own doing. You were more alike than you would’ve ever guessed. Bucky’s heart ached for you, knowing you deserved far better than this.

“Why are you telling me all this?” Bucky whispered, afraid of the answer.

“I didn’t need to… I just needed to distract you.” He said mischievously, making Bucky’s heart drop.

“What did you—”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re too late.” The man spoke lastly, turning quickly towards the window.

The man ran threw, shattering on impact— falling from the height head first. Bucky flinched from the sound of the mans bones crushing, the sound of flesh tearing from impact.

Bucky didn't dare risk a glance out the window, instead he raced out of your room. He flew down the stairs, calling out for you.

"(Y/n)! You okay?!" Bucky called out, his heart dropping at the sight of the empty kitchen.

He checked the whole bottom floor, not sensing your heartbeat anywhere, which only made him panic. He walked outside, trying to ignore the dead birds everywhere. He stopped and stared down at the large blood puddle on the porch, hoping to god it wasn't yours.

Your piercing scream in the distance had Bucky's body stiffening up, the tune haunting. His stomach turned, bile threatening to rise at the sound. He immediately started sprinting through the fields, towards the river where your scream came from. The sky was turning dark, the clouds shifting into the start of an angry storm. The air felt thick, the wind biting his cheeks with its coolness.

His enhanced speed led him towards the river with swiftness, the closer he approached, the more he could make out a mass of people. All dressed darkly, in such a formation it caused fear to rush through his veins. He skidded to a stop, staring at the ground that was littered with bleeding out corpses. There wasn't a single beating heart, the skin of everyone paling to a lifeless shade.

Relief flowed through him for a quick second, but was replaced by the panic in which he couldn't find you anywhere. You didn't exist amongst the bodies, you were gone.

Bucky had thought he'd experienced true, raw fear before. The panic that paralyzed his whole being, his veins filling with ice as he lost control of his body. He thought he'd known what true fear felt like.

That was until he heard the sound of water splashing. Slowly he lifted his head towards the bank, and what he saw was something so horrifically haunting, he was sure he'd never be able to erase the image form his brain.

He looked closer and realized, it was you. But he couldn't find himself to be relived, only afraid.

TAGLIST: @zonkie-bee @tortilla-maria1 @lizslibrary @sebastians-love @xiaosluvr @navs-bhat @ragingrainbowshipl @delicatecapnerd @buckybarnesandmarvel @viperchick47 @hunitweet @vixi-3303 @buckyb-stan @happinessinthebeing @mirtaqueen @blog-the-lilly @sebstanwhore @chayceschultz @hereticdance

A/N: I bet y'all have a lot of questions LMAOOO! let me know what you think of this chap, I know its a lot to digest

#bucky barnes #the winter soldier #marvel cinematic universe #reader insert #sebastian stan #buckybarnes #heavy angst #bucky barnes angst #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #mini series #stray series #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction

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