#i think i lost the train of thought somewhere along the way

[thoseboysinblue]

Lucky #7

Mason Mount x reader

You unexpectedly bump into Mason in Manchester after moving back home from London.

Word Count: 5900+

Requested: No

Warnings: Swearing

A/N: This was based on a dream I had. Thanks to @neverinadream as always for helping me flesh things out. Feedback always appreciated.

"Come on, Beck," you plead with your younger brother to hurry so that you can get him dropped off where he needs to be for training, "you're going to be late."

"I'm not," he rolls his eyes at you as he trails along behind you. He throws a haphazard "bye" over his shoulder as he enters the locker room to finish getting ready for training.

"Bye then," you sigh as you turn around realizing you've gotten yourself a little lost at the Carrington training grounds. You clutch onto the forms your parents asked you to drop off as you search through your messages for the name of the person you were supposed to leave them with.

"Finally," you say quietly to yourself once you find it, bumping into someone as soon as you look up.

"Y/N?" Mason chuckles as he realizes who just nearly ran him over.

"Mase, hey, sorry, I wasn't paying attention to where I was going," you shake your head at him.

"It's no problem, what are you doing here? You ok? You seem a bit frazzled," he looks at you warmly, giving you a grin that shows off his perfectly placed dimples, his brown eyes dancing playfully.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just taking care of my brother while my parents are out of town and need to turn some things into one of the administrators. I think I'm a little lost, though," you sigh as you look around.

"Maybe I can help," he smiles, glancing at the time before ushering you towards the administrative suite.

"That's sweet of you, but I'm sure you've got somewhere else to be," you offer him a smile.

"Nah, I'm good," he shrugs at you.

"I didn't realize you had a brother playing for the academy. Are you just here while your parents are out of town?" he makes small talk as he guides you through the hallways.

"Yeah, he plays for the under 13s and I moved back from London last week actually, it's a long story though," you shake your head.

"I've got time," he grins as he nudges you playfully with his elbow.

"Well, I took a new job working with the city's development department. I thought I had an apartment lined up but that fell through so now I'm living with my parents until I can figure something else out."

"That wasn't that long of a story," he chuckles, "and actually, I almost forgot you were from here."

You roll your eyes playfully at him, "well, I almost forgot you live here now," you grin.

"That hurts," he grins at you. "Here we are," he stops in front of a set of glass doors and tilts his head towards them.

"Thank you," you smile up at him as he nods before moving out of the way.

"Hey, Mase?"

"Yeah?" he turns back to face you.

"Glad to see you back out there," you grin at him.

"I'm glad to be back," he rubs his hand over the back of his neck. "Will I be seeing you around then?" he looks at you, his eyes full of hope.

"Yeah, I guess you will," you smile softly at him.

"It's good to see you," he says as he pulls you into a brief hug.

"It's good to see you too. But go, I know you've got somewhere else to be, I'll be fine now," you shove him away as he lets out a hearty laugh.

You met Mason a few years ago after becoming friends with Ben Chilwell's younger sister. She had introduced you to several of his Chelsea teammates while you were living in London and while you would occasionally swap likes on social media or chat briefly through story replies, you considered most of them friendly acquaintances more than actual friends.

You bump into Mason a couple more times over the next few days of shuttling your brother to and from training.

One afternoon as you are watching him play in an academy match against another academy team you notice several of the first team players coming over to give their support. A couple of them make their way to the sideline, while a few others take seats among the small crowd of family members. Mason glances around, a smile flashing across his face as he spots you and comes over to sit next to you.

"How are you?" he grins as he offers you one of the two hot chocolates he's holding.

"I'm good, thanks for this," you smile as you take a sip.

"No problem, thought you might be out here, and it's gotten chilly again," he says as he bumps his knee against yours and hands you the hoodie he had draped over his arm.

"I'm good Mase, you can wear it," you grin at him. "I'm a northern girl, the cold and drizzle don't bother me as much as I'm sure they bother you."

"Ok there, Elsa," he chuckles as he runs his fingers over the goosebumps that have formed on your arms, "I know you can be stubborn, but you don't have to be cold. And I've got on two layers as it is."

You shake your head in defeat, handing him your drink as you pull the hoodie over your head, thanking him again when you are instantly warmer.

"Elsa huh?" you grin at him.

"I take my uncle duties very seriously. I'm a whiz at all things princess related," he smiles as he hands your hot chocolate back to you.

"I bet you are," you chuckle.

"Which one's your brother?" he says as he turns his attention back towards the match.

"Number 7," you point towards him as he makes a perfect pass to one of the attacking players.

"'That's a good number," he chuckles as he applauds the barely off target shot taken.

"Well his name is Beck, short for Beckham, so..." you trail off, "my dad's a massive supporter of the club," you shrug.

You continue making small talk as you watch the rest of the match, Mason never failing to keep you entertained. The unintentional and glancing touches shared between you becoming more and more intentional as you spend more time together.

When your brother scores the match winning goal in the final seconds the two of you jump to your feet, cheering loudly before he wraps his arms around you and pulls you into a hug, lifting you off the ground.

Once he steadies you back on your feet, the two of you exchange a shy smile while his hand settles over your hip and he gives you a slight squeeze.

You follow him down to the sideline as he chats with some of the other first team guys while you all wait for the academy players to come over.

Your brother makes his way over to you and you quickly hug him and congratulate him on his goal and the win before he spots the first team players and moves on to talk to them.

Mason gives him a fist bump and congratulates him as well before your brother asks if he can get a picture with him.

"Tell you what, I'll take a picture with you, if you'll sign that jersey and give it to me," he nods.

"Really, you want my jersey?" your brother is genuinely surprised by his request.

"Yeah mate, I think it will be worth something someday," he smiles at him. Your heart can't help but flutter at their interaction.

"Y/N, will you take picture of us?" Mason smiles over at you.

"Wait, you know my sister?" he asks out of confusion.

"Yeah, we were friends in London" they both turn to smile at you for the picture.

You take their picture and the two of them chat for a few more minutes, Mason introducing him to the other guys before reminding him he wanted his jersey.

Once Beck leaves to go get his things, Mason turns his attention back to you.

"Will you send me that picture?" he asks.

"Sure," you nod before opening your phone and handing it to him.

"If I scroll through these pics will I find something naughty?" he wiggles his eyebrows at you.

"No," you blush slightly as you smack him playfully on the arm.

"I keep those in a hidden folder, protected by facial recognition," you chuckle at him.

"That's a shame," he grins as he passes your phone back to you having sent the photo to himself.

He walks the two of you to your car, telling you to drive safely and wishing you a good night before you leave.

Once you are home and settled into bed you notice a message from an unknown number, but when you open it you see the previously sent picture of your brother and Mason.

Unknown: had fun hanging out earlier. x Y/N: If you wanted my number you could've just asked. Didn't have to be sneaky by sending yourself a picture. xx Mase: 😎 Mase: Also took a quick selfie you can save as my contact pic xx Y/N: You're actually ridiculous. You know that right? x Mase: Me? Ridiculous? Never 🤭 Y/N: Thanks for what you did with Beck earlier. He didn't shut up about it the whole way home. x Mase: it's nothing, I remember being an academy kid and hanging on every word from those first team guys. Y/N: Well, it honestly made his day. He's already set that pic as his background on his phone 🙃 Mase: I wanted to ask earlier, but I lost my nerve.... Y/N: You? Shy? Am i hallucinating? x Mase: Would you like to go to dinner tomorrow? Y/N: oh. Mase: I'll take that as a no? Y/N: no Mase: now I want to crawl under a rock Y/N: Mase, no, that's not what I meant. Mase: oh? Y/N: I can't go to dinner because I have Beck still. But you could join us for dinner if you want to. Mase: Oh 😅 that sounds good. Y/N: Not used to rejection huh? Mase: Shut it. I was bricking it. Y/N: is 7 good? Mase: 7 is perfect 😉 Y/N: I'm gonna let that slide x Mase: It's a date then xx Mase: Shit. not a date date. Mase: is it a date? Mase: Fuck me, I'm losing it over here Y/N: You ok there? Mase: I don't think so 😅 Y/N: Mase, I'll see you at 7. For dinner. With my brother. For our not a date date 😉 Mase: Kill me now please Y/N: Nah, I think I'll let you suffer a little more. x Mase: Good night, y/n. I'll see you tomorrow. xx Y/N: Night, Mase. Sweet dreams xx

The next day Mason spots you as you are picking Beck up from training and jogs over to speak to the two of you briefly.

"So, I'll see you around 7 then?" he asks flashing a shy smile towards you when you nod.

"I'll send you the address," you grin at him, your cheeks slightly flushed.

Once you're settled in the car and on the way home, your brother begins questioning you.

"Mason is coming to our house?"

"Yes," you nod, "for dinner."

"Mason Mount is coming to eat dinner at our house?" he looks at you dumbfounded.

"Yes, Beck," you chuckle, "we're friends remember?"

"Yeah, but I didn't know you were like friends friends with him. You never even told us you knew him," you can actually see the wheels turning in his brain.

"I told you I knew some of the Chelsea guys through Alex," you say as you continue driving.

"Well, yeah, but not like, come over to our house to eat dinner friends," he still keeps pushing.

"Beck, it's not a big deal, but I need you to be respectful of his privacy and don't go blabbing around that he's coming over, ok?" you speak sternly, suddenly feeling the need to protect Mason.

"I won't. But I can hang out with you right?" He gives you his best puppy dog eyes.

"Yes, of course," you grin at him.

Once you're home you check to make sure you have everything you need for dinner and you realize you forgot to pick up some bread.

Y/N: I hate to do this, but is there any chance you could stop to grab some bread on your way here? Mase: Sure. Anything in particular? Y/N: Not really, just meant to grab some French bread or something like that to toast up. Oh and I'm out of beer if you want any. Mase: Got it. See you soon xx Y/N: See you soon xx

Butterflies flutter in your chest at the fact that he seems genuinely excited to be coming over.

You head to your room and change into something a little nicer, brushing through your hair and placing a few loose curls before lightly touching up your makeup and spritzing on your favorite perfume.

You want to look nice, but not too over the top since you're just staying in for dinner.

You make your way to the kitchen and start pulling out everything you'll need and begin prepping a few things, turning on some soft music to drown out the silence.

A few minutes before seven, Mason rings the doorbell and Beck bounds down the stairs and eagerly opens the door.

"Hey," Mason smiles at you as he follows Beck into the kitchen. He sits a bag down on the counter, pulling out the bread you'd asked for, along with some beer and a bottle of wine, and a small bouquet of flowers.

"For you," he holds the flowers out towards you, a slight blush creeping up onto his cheeks.

"Thank you, Mason," you smile, also blushing slightly as you take them from him and grab a vase to put them in.

Your brother chats with Mason for a few minutes before leaving to go play video games until dinner is ready.

"What can I help with?" Mason asks as he slides his hand around your waist and gives you a light squeeze.

"Hmmm, chopping or stirring?" you grin up at him.

"I'll take over chopping," he smiles as he slides his hand over yours, taking the knife from you.

You dump the veggies you've already chopped into a pan to start sautéing them before you start slicing the bread he brought and placing it on a tray to go into the oven.

You hear Mason take in a sharp breath and drop the knife one counter. Just as you look over to check on him you he pulls his finger to his mouth.

"Did you cut yourself?" you knit your eyebrows in concern as he nods in response.

"Let me see it," you pull his hand away from his face so that you can get a good look at it.

"It's not too bad," you whisper as you wrap a towel over it and grab a bandage and ointment.

You clean the small cut and bandage it up for him as he watches you carefully.

"There, good as new," you place a kiss over the bandage without thinking. The slight brush of your lips on Mason's skin sending both of your minds racing.

"Thank you," he says, barely above a whisper as you look up to be met with a pair of chocolate brown eyes and a faint smile dancing on his lips.

You watch as his eyes flick between your eyes and your lips, his tongue running along his bottom lip as his hand comes up to graze your jaw. He leans in barely as if he's considering kissing you until you both hear Beck coming back down the stairs causing you to take a step back and Mason to drop his hand away from you.

"How much longer until dinner?" Beck asks, not even realizing he just interrupted an almost kiss.

"Um, twenty minutes," you glance up at him before glancing towards Mason and noticing the faint smile still playing on his features.

He really is gorgeous, you think to yourself before shaking your head to clear your thoughts.

Satisfied with your answer Beck returns upstairs, once again leaving you and Mason alone.

"I'll finish these," you say quietly as you pick the knife up and finish chopping vegetables while Mason takes over stirring.

You continue chatting while you finish dinner, Mason bumping his hip against yours and finding subtle ways to touch you the whole time.

While you are waiting the last few minutes for the chicken you placed in the oven to finish he grabs your hand and twirls you around, both of you laughing as you dance playfully.

During dinner, your brother peppers Mason with questions about football and training and getting into the first team. You smile over at him as he continues answering question after question graciously.

You and Mason clean up the kitchen while Beck takes a shower. You grab some sweets you'd bought earlier and settle onto the couch to watch a movie. You sit next to him but leave a respectable amount of distance between you. Unhappy with how far you are from him Mason pulls your legs over his lap and inches a bit closer to you.

Every now and then it seems like he's considering kissing you, but he never musters up the courage, settling for absentmindedly drawing shapes over your legs.

Beck joins you again about midway through the movie, knitting his eyebrows at how close you and Mason seem to be sitting.

You get up to go to the kitchen to grab some more popcorn and drinks. As you are returning to the living room, you overhear you brother questioning Mason.

"Do you like my sister?" he asks.

"Well, yeah, we're friends, I like hanging out with her," Mason answers quietly.

"No, do you like like her?" Beck keeps pushing.

"Oh, well, um" Mason starts, "I mean yeah, we've known each other for a bit, I guess, I don't know her super well, but I'd like to change that," he blushes slightly.

Your brother eyes him up and gives him a stern look, "don't hurt her or I'll have to step up my brotherly duties."

"Got it, mate," he chuckles quietly.

You walk back in trying not grin about the conversation you just heard, taking your seat next to Mason.

He throws his arm over the back of the couch, not necessarily around you, but giving you a little more space to lean into him a bit, your side barely grazing against his as you offer him some popcorn.

You watch tv a bit longer before Beck heads up to bed leaving you and Mason alone again but not before saying "remember what we talked about."

"What was that about?" a flicker of a smile dances over your lips as you look at a seemingly nervous Mason.

"Just doing what I would've done with my sisters," he chuckles.

"Oh," you arch your eyebrows at him before letting out a giggle and a yawn.

"It's getting late, I should probably head out," Mason says barely above a whisper as he drops his hand over your shoulder and traces a few circles with his thumb.

"Ok," you whisper back, leaning into him a bit more.

You walk him to the front door and join him just outside.

"Thank you for dinner," he flashes a smile at you.

"No problem, glad you could join us," you grin as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and leans down to press a gentle kiss to your cheek.

"Goodnight, y/n" he whispers sending a shiver down your spine.

"Goodnight, Mase," you breathe out.

He turns to leave and makes his way down the few steps.

"Hey, Mason," you say, before thinking.

"Yeah," he turns around to face you.

"Beck is leaving around lunch tomorrow for a few away games, I have to drop him off at the training ground," you say nervously, "I'll um, I'll have the house to myself a couple of days if you want to hang out again."

"I'd like that," he grins, "a lot actually."

"Ok then" you smile back at him.

"Ok," he closes the distance between you, kissing you again on the cheek, "I'll see you soon."

"See you soon," you push up on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

The next day you are standing with Beck and a few of his teammates as they wait to load onto the bus when Mason wanders over.

"Hey guys, good luck over the next few days, I know you will do well," he gives them a few fist bumps and takes a few pictures with them.

"Y/N," he turns his attention to you, "Could you give me a ride home? I rode over with Licha but he's staying for a while longer," he trails off.

"Sure, Mason," you smile at him.

After checking in with your brother for a final time to make sure he has everything he needs, you and Mason make your way over to your car.

"Hope that was convincing enough," he chuckles as he opens your car door.

You glance over to see your brother and his friends watching the two of you before they get onto the bus.

"Yeah, I'm not so sure," you giggle back as he sits in your passenger seat.

You chat as you make the drive to your house, every now and then glancing over to find Mason staring at you.

"What?" you let out a quiet laugh.

"Nothing," he blushes. "Do you remember when we first met?" he asks somewhat out of the blue.

"Um, yeah, I think it was Ben's birthday a few years ago," you shrug.

"Yeah, I think you're right," he nods, "why didn't you ever seem to want to hang out with any of us?" he knits his eyebrows.

"Oh, well, it wasn't that I didn't like hanging out with you, it's more that I was focused on school. And while Alex was used to hanging around footballers, I was a bit more intimidated by it all," you look over to him as you stop for a traffic light. "Besides you seemed to have plenty of other entertainment so I didn't figure I would be missed."

He nods again, his expression softening. "And what about now, still not sure about hanging out with footballers?

"I kind of prefer to think of you as a friend of a friend rather than Mason Mount, the footballer," you blush slightly, "hope that's ok?"

"Yeah, I think I prefer that too," he smiles, "but surely I'm not just a friend of a friend."

"Are you not?" you glance over at him, a flicker of a smile on your lips.

"No, we've sent each other messages, you've cooked me dinner, I'd say we can count each other as proper friends at this point," he winks at you.

"And for the record, I did miss you when you weren't around, I've always liked talking to you, even if it was only briefly," he nods towards the light that has turned green.

You focus your attention back on the road as he turns on some music.

You both hum along for the remainder of the drive sharing brief glances at one another.

Once you've made it to your house, Mason hops out and opens the door for you and follows you up to the front door. His hand settles gently over the small of your back as you unlock the door.

You stop once inside the door and both of you kick your shoes off, Mason immediately pulling you into a hug and burying his face into your hair.

"I've been wanting to do that since I saw you earlier," he grins shyly at you when you lean back slightly.

"So what do you want to do?" he asks quietly, his thumbs drawing circles over your hips.

"Are you hungry?" you study his face, noticing the slight freckles you've never quite noticed before.

"Always," he chuckles.

"I was thinking I would make a sandwich, would you like one?" you smile up at him as he continues running his fingers along your sides.

"I would love one," he grins.

You move to the kitchen, Mason following closely behind you as you pull out a few things to make a sandwich for the two of you.

"So I have some unpacking I need to do, living out of boxes is driving me mad," you roll your eyes, "would you mind hanging out with me while I do that, I know it doesn't sound thrilling but..."you trail off.

"Sounds perfect," he smiles, reaching over to give your hand a reassuring squeeze.

After you've eaten, Mason follows you up to your room. He glances around, taking in the various things you have hanging on the walls, studying a few of the pictures as well, including one of you and him alongside Ben and Alex after a Chelsea match.

"You've been United fan for a while then?" he says as he studies a picture of you as a young girl.

"Yeah, my dad is a supporter of the club, he was close with some of the higher ups when I was younger," you grin at the picture he's studying of you with David Beckham and your dad.

"That was his last match for United," you smile, remembering the day fondly, "I've still got that jersey."

"I was at that match, too," he smiles sitting the picture back on your desk, "you sure you don't have the wrong number 7 in your room?" he chuckles.

You shake your head, "David is far too old for me," you grin.

"David is it?" he arches an eyebrow.

"Yes, he and my dad were actually pretty good friends, he's practically like an uncle to me," you laugh quietly.

"Well that's a relief" he grins.

"I've never had a guy in here before," you look around nervously.

"Really?" he knits his eyebrows.

"Yep, my parents had a strict no boys upstairs rule when I lived here. But I guess once you've lived on your own for a while those rules kind of go out the window," you shrug.

"Well I'm honored, maybe I'm the lucky #7" he smirks. He plops down on the bed, making himself comfortable as you turn on football and drop the remote beside him.

Mason watches football while the two of you chat and you work on unpacking some of your things.

"How long do you think you'll live here?" he asks.

"I'm hoping not too long, just need to find another apartment that hopefully won't fall through at the last minute," you smile at him.

"I don't mind helping you look for a place," he smiles.

"No offense, Mase, but we don't exactly have the same budget," you giggle.

"Doesn't mean I can't help you find something though," he shrugs, "just let me know and I can make some calls, ok?"

"Ok" you nod.

As you finish unpacking what you'll need to get by until you can move into your own place you notice Mason has gone quiet. You glance over to see that he's dozed off.

You smile to yourself, admiring the peaceful look on his face while he sleeps. Quietly, you tiptoe over to the bed and pull a blanket over him. Before you can turn to move away from the bed he grabs your wrist and tugs you onto the bed with him, sitting up slightly and pulling you so that you are straddling him.

You gasp at the suddenness of his movements before settling your hands over his shoulders and then around the back of his neck, your fingers playing with the short hairs on the nape of his neck.

He smirks as he settles his hands over your hips, "I've been wondering when I would get some attention."

"I'm sorry I've neglected you," you giggle.

His eyes continue burning into yours and you find yourself staring at him completely mesmerized.

He glances from your eyes to your lips and back to your eyes again, shifting slightly closer to you.

"You should do it," you whisper.

"Do what?" he arches an eyebrow at you.

"What you're thinking about doing," you study him intently, nervously biting your bottom lip.

He flashes a smile at you before digging his fingers into your sides tickling you.

You let out a squeal of laughter as he continues and flips the two of you over so that he is hovering over you, your fingertips gripping his shoulders.

He brushes your hair out of your face, tracing your jawline with his fingers.

"I really like your smile," he breathes out quietly causing you to blush slightly and a smile to creep over your features.

"Yeah, that one," he smiles back at you, licking his lips lightly before brushing them delicately against yours.

When you react by kissing him back, he sighs softly against your lips.

He kisses you slowly and gently, until you're both smiling against one another's lips.

"You're right, I had been thinking about doing that," he blushes when you nod in agreement.

You pull him in for another kiss, a bit more heat behind it as he runs his tongue along the seam of your lips, moaning quietly when you part them for him and allow him to dip his tongue into your mouth.

The way he kisses you is needy and desperate yet somehow slow and patient like he's savoring every single second of it.

When you break apart naturally, both of you are out of breath as he rests his forehead against yours and you take each other in.

He moves to lay down next to you and you turn on your side to face him while his fingers still trace your jawline and down your neck to your collarbone.

"You're good at that," you whisper quietly.

He bites his lower lip to hide his smile, "yeah?"

You nod in agreement, "you're very good with your tongue," you say before blushing when you realize how that sounds.

He arches an eyebrow, trying to hide a chuckle.

"I mean..." you trail off and close your eyes, clearly flustered, "not like that, I didn't mean it like that," you blush even harder.

He leans over and kisses you again, chuckling quietly as you slip your fingers into his hair and deepen the kiss.

"You're good with your tongue too," he pinches your side lightly as you shake your head.

"Mase," you whisper quietly as he studies your features, realizing just how pretty you are, "what is this?" you ask biting your lip.

He looks at you and blinks a couple of times.

"I'm not trying to have a 'what are we' conversation after a couple of kisses, I'm not silly enough to think this makes me your girlfriend or anything..." you start to ramble. "I just like to be honest and want to make sure we're on the same page here, are you just lonely and needing some affection? I'm not really the friends with benefits type, and if you want to see other people that's fine, I just need to kind of know, what just happened so that I'm not blindsided by anything."

He places a finger over your lips quietening your rambling thoughts before pressing his lips to yours again gently.

"I'm not expecting friends with benefits, y/n, and honestly I wasn't expecting this, but I'm not just lonely and looking for attention or anything. And I'm not seeing anyone else," he reassures you.

"I um, I'd like to just kind of see where things go if you're ok with it. I always wished when we were in London that I could get to know you better but for one reason or another we never really had that opportunity, but we do now." He smiles softly at you.

"Ok," you whisper, "but just be honest with me no matter what. If you're not feeling it then tell me, and if you want to see someone else, just give me a heads up so I don't find out elsewhere, please."

"Yeah, I can do that," he smiles before kissing you again knowing he has no intention of looking for anyone else.

"Tell me something," he says quietly.

"Anything," you whisper back.

"You and Christian seemed to always gravitate towards one another, anything ever happen there?" he asks, "it wouldn't make much difference now, Ben and I just always wondered, and he doesn't kiss and tell," he rolls his eyes playfully.

You let out a small laugh, "Christian and I are both introverts, we'd end up together when we were tired of people-ing, mostly we could just stand there in silence and no one would bother us if we were standing there together. And no, nothing ever happened there, when we did talk, it was usually about you and taking bets on the parade of girls trying to get your attention," you grin.

"Is that so?" He raises his eyebrows.

"Mmm-hmmm, we had your type nailed down to an artform," you nod.

"And what is that exactly?" he quizzes you.

"Someone outgoing, but quieter than you," you giggle, "and more of the naturally pretty type, a little curvy, but natural curves," you shrug, "how'd we do?"

He rolls his eyes, "you introverts just sit around figuring people out huh?" He laughs.

"Am I going to overwhelm you with my extroverted-ness?" he asks earnestly.

"No, not at all, it's good for me, forces me outside of my own head," you grin.

"That's good," he smiles, "I am serious about wanting to see where this goes between us, if you can overlook me being a footballer," he winks.

"Yeah, I guess I can try to overlook that one tiny thing," you grin.

The two of you continue talking and cuddling as you turn on a movie and order pizza to be delivered.

After you've eaten, you settle back in the bed and turn on another movie.

"It's late, do you want me to call for a car to take me home so that you don't have to drive me?" he asks kissing the top of your head as you snuggle against his chest.

"Did you leave an overnight bag in my car earlier?" you turn to look up at him.

"I have my training bag, with some extra clothes and kit for tomorrow," he yawns.

"Then, I think you should go get it," you smile before kissing his chest.

"You're really going to break all your parents rules aren't you?" he chuckles.

"Not all of them," you wink.

You take the opportunity to change into pajamas while he's gone to get his bag. He joins you in the bathroom while you're brushing your teeth and doing your skincare.

As you settle into bed, he takes off his shirt and joggers, leaving him in just his boxers before climbing back into the bed and sliding under the covers.

You can't help but stare at him as he does, admiring his impeccably toned body.

"I might take that back about that one rule," you giggle when he raises his eyebrows.

"As much as I would love to defile you in your childhood bedroom, I'm gonna save that for another night," he grins before pulling you in for a kiss.

"Night, y/n," he whispers against your lips.

"Night, Mase," you sigh as he pulls you against his chest.

@neverinadream @chilwellspulisic @pulisicsgirl @lovelynikol16 @swimmingismywholelife @xjval

[demonbloodenthusiast]

91w deancas is so delusional cause they been making heart eyes at each other since day fucking one, calling the other sweatheart, thinking of kissing the other innocently just for the sake of the other being kissed, because they deserve that softness in the midst of all the chaos around them and the minute they actually get to it (motherfucking 200 pages in mind you) they try so hard to revert it back into something purely phisical with no emotions involved AND THEY KNOW THAT IT'S MORE BUT IF THEY BOTTLE IT UP AND IGNORE IT THEN ALL THE REVERENCE OF MOST OF THEIR LOOKS AND TOUCHES WILL JUST DISAPPEAR which is the epitome of the dilusional repressed gay way of doing anything

[cowlovely]

ummmmmmm. ELMAX !!!!!! and jopper. and byler.

OMG so many!! and such different opinions on all oh this is gonna be fun >:)

okay to start off! elmax!! i am very much on the level with you for this one, they kind of fall in this limbo of “friends, but there’s potential for something more there”. i’m so much of a capital L lumax enjoyer that i have no real desire for this to be canon, but as someone who experienced more than one homoerotic besties relationship growing up (as i said on your ribs amv—everyone stream btw) i am very drawn to them. i haven’t personally read any fics with them as a focus, but i would definitely not be opposed! i just don’t tend to seek out the ones that center the teen relationships :)

jopper!! some COMPLICATED feelings on this one, man, even i wasn’t expecting it!

i was fully fully on board for jopper in season one and hopper was probably my absolute favorite character, and then they introduced bobby in s2 and it tripped me up because i LOVED him and his relationship with joyce :( but at the end of the season i was still in for jopper!! and then s3 came and almost entirely ruined my enjoyment of both the ship and hopper’s character as a whole. s4 definitely redeemed them for me, but i definitely was not as excited at them getting together as i would have once been. still think they’re great overall though <3

byler….byler byler byler…..

okay so. even MORE complicated feelings here, probably my most complicated feelings about a st ship and also my most controversial (with my mutuals at least, not the fandom at large)

i’d classify myself as a byler enjoyer, but not so much a byler shipper, if that makes sense. i think the relationship has a really interesting and layered dynamic, and i think mike in particular is a character with a lot of potential that the writers just aren’t really tapping into. i have no real feelings about it going canon—if it does it does (not betting on this in any way though) and if it doesn’t it doesn’t—i’ll be fine either way. i kind of prefer it unrequited though, or requited but unspoken, because i think mike would have to do some serious growth and unpacking to be anywhere near a good boyfriend to will

i’m also simultaneously a straight and gay mike truther (and also occasionally transfem). don’t ask how. this is what i mean by him having untapped potential, there are too many things going on there and none of them are being explored!

[munch-mumbles]

i think a lot of my daily distress boils down to wanting to be creative but just. Not being

[gutsby]

Benign

Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Marrying a former Soviet sleeper agent was your first mistake. Letting curiosity get the better of you and saying his trigger words before sex was your second.

Warnings: 18+. DUBCON - Bucky is partly brainwashed; R is reluctant at first. Reliving past trauma (i.e., grief, prior HYDRA captivity). Rough, unprotected p-in-v.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Marrying into the mob meant one of two things: turning a blind eye to your husband’s crimes or taking them up as your own. Most of the women who had gone before you chose the former, leading lives of willful ignorance while their spouses cut deals, shed blood, stole guns, and submitted only to the laws of secrecy and discretion.

You, unlike those wives, hadn’t had the luxury of choice.

Your life, unlike theirs, had been sold to a man you didn’t know, by a father you couldn’t stand, and now your dad was dead, and this man—your husband—was to blame.

The least Bucky could do was fuck you hard to say sorry.

But no, ever since the Winter Soldier had reared its ugly head that dreadful night in Madripoor two weeks prior, your husband hadn’t laid one finger on your body that was not soft, sweet, and sickeningly apologetic to you. He seemed almost scared to initiate sex, and when he did, couldn’t help but act like a touch might break you.

After all, one almost had. Those hands he’d hear you beg and plead to put on you now were the very same ones he’d used to kill dozens, if not hundreds, including blood of your own blood. To the world, Bucky’s reputation commanded fear. To his wife, now, he felt duly obliged to prove he was more—that you were safe with him, not from him. He’d carted you off to every GP, hematologist, nutritionist, and grief specialist lauded among Brooklyn’s elite to make that happen. Fast. Frankly, these days, the thought of fucking was the furthest thing from his mind.

Unbeknownst to Bucky, somewhere along the spectrum of grief, you’d already come to settle comfortably at the ‘Need-to-be-fucked-until-I-can-no-longer-think-or-feel’ phase, and every bone in your body was crying out for respite in the form of ruthless, mind-numbing sex. It didn’t make sense. You hardly knew what to do with it. You should have lashed out, shut down, cried rivers and lakes of tears for that integral part of family that had been lost, but for whatever reason, you had to go numb.

You wanted to do something really, really fucking dumb.

Remorseful as he was, Bucky and his explanations for who or what the Winter Soldier was had been sparse. He’d told you that he had once been held in captivity by HYDRA, had his brain re-wired some way to make him a merciless Soviet sleeper agent, and that the night in Madripoor was the first in ages he had been ‘activated.’ How did activation happen? Of course, he wouldn’t tell.

But Steve would.

Steve had told you everything you wanted to know about your soldat, describing in painstaking detail how he worked, trained, operated, and could be called to action. You were almost certain Rogers had said it all as a way to assure you that it wasn’t Bucky who’d killed your father—it was someone inside him. You were more than positive Steve had never intended for you to use his intel like this.

You hadn’t believed him. Couldn’t believe him. How the fuck could someone sever all ties to their conscious mind and just transform anew into a killer? You got to be hell-bent on knowing for certain whether it’d been Bucky or him, it, whatever the hell the Winter Solider was, and on knowing it now. If your husband was faking it all and simply using this persona to justify the killing, that would be it. Trust gone, marriage over. If he wasn’t, well…you hadn’t gotten that far into your own line of thinking.

“Tell me what you want, doll,” Bucky said, pulling you back to the present.

He shifted gently against you, cotton trousers raising the friction a little as he slotted between your legs. He was still dressed head-to-toe from his meeting that morning.

“I want you to fuck me. Make me cum. Please.”

You were bare, save for one small scrap of linen and lace that somehow passed as a nightie. Your gaze was soft.

Bucky didn’t want to say no, but he also felt too guilty to say yes. The way you were watching him now, eyes so helpless and pleading, body writhing for contact, he knew you didn’t want his touch so much as needed it. Desperately. Couldn’t bear to be burdened with grief so you brushed it aside, to the furthest recesses of your mind until all that was left was desire. Starvation, really.

He could satiate you for now, but that hunger might not ever leave. The corners of his lips twitched into a frown.

“Gentle?” he mumbled.

“Rough,” you countered.

“Baby—”

“I really don’t need another fucking lecture on death, Bucky. I know I’m not myself right now, but I can still make these decisions, okay? Don’t talk to me like I can’t.”

Anger flashed in your eyes for a second, then indignation, then nothing. Without much energy left, you pushed him away. Flopped back on the bed and, seeming to sink into yourself, heaved a low, feeble sigh.

“I know. Hey,” Bucky leaned over to press a touch to your tummy, and it made you want to hurl, “I’m sorry.”

You turned onto your side.

“You still don’t remember what happened?”

The question came suddenly, almost from somewhere outside your body, it seemed. For the hundredth time.

“No,” Bucky answered, for what felt like the thousandth.

“This Winter Soldier—”

“He isn’t me.”

“You didn’t know?”

“Couldn’t know. Wasn’t…programmed for it.”

Bucky was watching you now, eyes as contrite as they’d ever been while you rehashed this subject to the brink of tears. He never could stay composed when he saw you cry.

“Baby…” he started, arms reaching out for you.

Eyes still filling with tears, you shook your head and swatted him off. You sat up, and your brows pinched together in a look he couldn’t read. Contemplating.

At last, you made up your mind.

You would try something new—and really, really stupid:

“Zhelaniye.”

“What?”

Bucky’s own expression contorted with uncertainty.

“—semnadtsat, rzhaviy, rasvet—”

He heard that. He immediately wished he hadn’t.

“Wait—”

You were curious. You had no idea what you were doing.

“Baby, baby, stop—”

“—pech, devyat—”

You were speaking so fast, surely it wouldn’t work like that. Either way, he had to stop you. He seized your arms, giving a sharp, deliberate shake, pupils blown to the size of saucers in his eyes. There wasn’t much time.

“Don’t—”

“—adin—”

No time at all.

“—dothisdon’tfuckingdothishoneyplease.”

Losing himself already. Feeling it stir inside his mind.

“—dobroserdechniy—”

‘Kind-hearted.’ ‘Benign’. You truly had no clue what these words were liable to do, much less what they meant.

Having enunciated this last part, you swallowed. Took the tip of your tongue and rolled it left-to-right across the backs of your teeth, waiting for your speech to take effect like some magical performance before your eyes.

It hadn’t, it seemed. You blinked. He blinked. You sat in a protracted silence for what seemed like seventeen years, and presently, your stomach began to churn. Nothing happened—you’d been right about this fuckery all along.

Then you remembered one last word of the sequence.

Faintly, you said:

“Soldat.”

The man above you straightened. Sitting. Stiff. Still perched by your legs at a comfortable distance but regarding you now with a pointed stare. Expectancy made manifest in a simple, sharp glare from his eyes to yours.

“...Bucky?”

The look on his face grew even harder. For a time, he persisted in that strange and silent grimace, and just when you started to suspect he was faking this whole demeanor of deadened stoicism, you heard a voice. Clawing out of his throat but sounding nothing like him:

“Who the hell is Bucky?”

The words drove a fear to the greatest depths of your bones, and you hardly knew why. You stared back at the handsome, barren man still watching you with severity, and you couldn’t seem to find your husband anywhere.

“James?” You weren’t sure why you tried his name again. You just didn’t know what else to say.

The scowl seeped into his mouth, and he frowned.

“James,” he repeated, like the word was foreign to him.

You found yourself shuffling back on the bed just then—to what, you didn’t know. You just felt a gnawing need to put some space between you and this person, this glowering face, however you could. When he grabbed your ankle, you let out a startled sound, and when he followed you up on the bed, you did more than just whimper; you lifted your leg to knee him directly in the stomach. He caught it.

Then he stared again, expression bloodless and wan.

“You’re scaring me, Bucky.” Your voice trembled as you tried to free your leg from his fist—grip unusually strong.

The man paused another moment, if only to soak in your words and let his gaze trail over your face. Your exertions did not register. And, for the very first time, you felt as though you were something more like a plaything in your husband’s eyes—not a full-fledged human being but a system to be gamed. The feeling was so unsettling that you had to turn away.

Or try to, anyway.

Craning your neck just far enough to spy your phone on the nightstand, your first thought was Steve; he would know what to do. But before you could even think to twist and lift your body in that direction, you felt a hand yank you to the bed, flat on your back. You looked up at Bucky and found yourself caged between two arms. He lowered himself to his elbows, shifted his weight to one side, and seemed not to notice your movements at all when you tried to slide away. The man just splayed his hand across your stomach and pressed it firmly. Stay.

You weren’t one to shy away from a challenge—or keep hope alive against the odds. You put your hand over his.

“James—”

“Zhena.”

The abruptness of Bucky’s word stole the rest of yours. You cocked a brow and followed his gaze to your hand.

To the gaps between your fingers, then the touch that fanned across them to settle on one digit in particular.

Bucky thumbed at the diamond and smiled. He smiled.

“Zhena,” he repeated.

You blinked.

“I— you...gave me that, Bucky. You did.”

He hummed in acknowledgment.

Bucky stared at the ring for what could’ve been five seconds or several years, and then he did something unexpected. He shifted his touch to the bodice of your dress—again, if you could even call it that—and he began to tug at the satin bow situated between your breasts.

Of course, this nightie being designed for honeymoons and supremely easy access, it didn’t take much effort at all for the folds of your dress to come apart. Your breasts spilled out of the fabric without so much as a hint of protest, your torso was quick to become fully exposed, and suddenly, shortly, your hands were fumbling at your chest in an effort to regain some smidgen of modesty. Your husband just shook his head, following your hands.

“Moya zhena,” he said, a touch more emphasis and fervor to the first of the two words.

Now it was you who was shaking your head. Trying to pry his touch away as you slid up the bed. When he followed, you saw the icy expression had been supplanted by intrigue and, though you still felt ill at ease, you couldn’t deny you were curious to know what he was thinking. Who was thinking it? Soft, plush lips swiftly replaced his hands, and before you even knew what he was doing, Bucky, or someone, was latching onto your left breast. Using teeth to graze the hardened nub and send a ripple of thick, guilty pleasure coursing through you.

You whimpered. Bucky groaned.

Your fingers slotted through his hair with every intention of pushing him away, but when you tried, he just flicked his tongue and made another delicious sound against you.

You pushed with even more force, and he groaned again.

Not Bucky, not Bucky, not him, you have to—

“Stop!” you cried.

A set of soft, warm baby blues darted up to meet you.

Some flicker of recognition seemed to cross them, too.

“Honey?”

You almost lurched toward the sound. It was Bucky.

Suddenly, your hands were making fists in the collar of his crisp white button-up, and you were trying to yank him up. You murmured his name in disbelief, relief, and gathered him up in your arms to pull him in for a kiss.

The lips that met you were soft for a moment—just one.

Then the teeth reappeared. Harsh, jarring, biting. You jerked back at the sensation, and when you found his face again, it seemed your husband was lost to you all over. The eyes were attentive still—nowhere near as cold and aloof as they had been before—but they did not radiate the same warmth and admiration that Bucky’s always did. You almost couldn’t believe what you were seeing. He was gone, just like that, and there was nothing you could do to stop it from happening.

A broad palm cupped your cheek to bring you in for another kiss, and you weren’t sure if you should indulge. It didn’t seem you had much choice anyway, because the lips that were seeking yours were hungry. Starved. Searing into your mouth with a force you couldn’t refuse.

But something inside you wanted to find Bucky again.

Somewhere inside this stranger was lying dormant a trace of your husband; you’d seen it yourself, if only for a second. It made you curious. Where had he gone? What did he do when forced to retreat into this strange, preprogrammed being, and how could you get him back?

“Bucky,” you mumbled, more of a plea than a moan.

You were kissed harder than you had been in a long time. You didn’t have to think, or do, or breathe one puff of air that this man didn’t account for. His tongue wedged a gaping space in your wet, welcoming mouth for him to fill, and somehow, you didn’t feel the urge to protest. A familiarity in the way he kissed almost put you at ease, and when his body lifted slightly, yours lifted with it.

Before long, Bucky was sitting. Kneeling between your legs with an eye to your soft, shaking torso. You’d barely even come to notice just how hard you were breathing until you felt a palm on your stomach again. There was an oddly calming insinuation in that one simple touch.

And again, he smiled. Brighter than before.

“Nashe?” He sounded eager as he said it.

You peered up at him and raised an eyebrow in question. Perhaps you should’ve felt more exposed; after all, you were sitting half-naked with your husband’s assassin alter ego stroking your stomach and beaming over you, eyeing you expectantly, and you didn’t know what to say. Apart from the short set of words Steve had taught you, you were totally clueless to Russian, and you weren’t quite sure you were in a place to ask Bucky to translate.

When it seemed words might never come, the gleaming teeth above you were shrouded in a tighter, close-lipped smile, and Bucky nodded. Appearing to understand. Instead of forcing a response from you, he just let his hand migrate down your belly, fingers tracing the skin, then settle comfortably—momentarily—at the crest of your pubic bone. Then he pressed the heel of his palm into the place residing right below it, and without really meaning to, you moaned. A quiet maelstrom of pleasure circled low in your abdomen, threatening to draw noises from your throat you weren’t planning to make with every gentle gyration of Bucky’s lower hand.

You had to purse your lips to contain the sounds.

Again, he nodded.

“It’s okay,” he said, so quiet he almost couldn’t be heard.

He let the friction continue for a while like that: just palming you, watching you react to the simplest of motions against your swollen, aching clit and try not to writhe. At length, you squirmed a little bit. Bucky seemed to want to wait for something to happen, and when you bucked your hips, a look in his eye said that was enough.

He lowered himself between your legs. Shoulders bumping your thighs as he spread them apart, chest rising and falling in measured breaths, and lips smiling all the while. You sucked in a breath when his face came to rest just a few inches shy of your bare, aching warmth.

“Bucky?”

The man looked up at you and blinked.

“Yeah, honey?”

One thumb traced over the seam of your cunt, and your back nearly arched off the bed. There he was, again, gaze safe and secure to yours and hands moving in tandem as they always would. His tongue calmly followed suit. When you fisted his hair, he blinked once more and then directed his attention back to your wet, warm, velvety folds with a pointed look and a purpose.

The sound that escaped you next could hardly be classed as anything less than a scream, but the soft and unperturbed demeanor of the man between your legs showed he hadn’t noticed at all. He just sucked diligently—damn near dutifully—on your clit with a vigor you’d never felt, and when you yanked at his hair, he hummed.

It was like his lips had been trained for perfect suction; that was how well and thoroughly he descended upon your swollen little bud. An airtight kiss and a quick flick of his tongue, paired with his hot and heavy breaths fanning over your cunt, sent your senses into overdrive. Your toes curled inward, your throat let loose a gasp, and without fully realizing it, your walls were clamping down, pulsing and leaking out desire for more of this touch.

Then, without warning, Bucky brought a hand to the throbbing and slick cunt that was presently clenching around nothing, and he fed it two fingers. So forceful and deep he nearly buried his knuckles right along with them. Then he started scissoring those two fingers, sharply.

“Open, milaya,” he said. Again, it wasn’t entirely Bucky.

But you felt a faint remembrance there. You didn’t want him to stop. Maybe you were led astray by the gentle laps of his tongue or the prodding of his fingertips, or perhaps there was something stubbornly familiar about the way he was touching you now. You couldn’t tell.

All you knew was that both of your hands were holding tight to his head and begging him, wordlessly, for more.

Your moans rang all the way through the bedroom in your new, far-too-big penthouse apartment in Brooklyn, down the hall, reverberating through every inch of the space until all that could be heard were your sounds and his and the delectable little noises of your bodies working together. Bucky hadn’t even stirred to pleasure himself.

You wanted that part to change.

With your hip pinned to the mattress and Bucky’s tongue laving over your clit in ruthlessly quick movements, you probably would’ve liked to cum all over his mouth and fingers, but you wanted to see him pleased even more.

Just when he’d worked a third finger inside you and was driving you close to your peak, you pushed him away.

Bucky parted from your folds with a glistening chin and two furrowed eyebrows, clearly frustrated to have been torn from his mission before you reached completion, but you wouldn’t let that look linger for long. You used your leverage in his hair—however slight, comparatively, that grip might have been—to pull him up on the bed.

Bucky surprised you with just how swiftly he moved.

His steel-blue gaze was on yours in a second, equally penetrating and soft.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“Nothing—”

“My baby okay?”

He surprised you again; this time by how quick his demeanor was to shift the second he sensed something was wrong. Just like Bucky. It had to be him in there.

You nodded, still out of breath from the wonders he’d been working with his tongue. You squeezed his arm and tried to coax him toward you, to help him lower his body some, and when he seemed uncertain, you offered a smile. It’s okay to touch, you won’t break anything.

Bucky eyed you skeptically, but it was clear he was more wary of himself than of you. He glanced over your body, briefly to his, then slowly, apprehensively, sank down.

“Just fine,” you mumbled, hooking your legs around his back the second his chest was close enough to yours.

You felt an uptick in his heartbeat when your heels dug a little more firmly into the waistband of his pants. While your hands started working their way toward the front of that fabric, wedging clumsily between your bodies, his gaze flitted to yours, and his brows drew even tighter together. He didn’t try to stop you, but he certainly seemed confused as to why you wanted to include him so soon. Why you cared to show concern for him at all.

You noticed that then, and in just about every moment preceding, the man was taken aback by kindness.

Whether it was pulling him closer to you, tugging his pants down with a tender touch, running your fingers across the bulge in his boxers, or simply nodding your head and letting him know it was okay to touch you back, Bucky seemed unaccustomed to any care in this area.

When your fingers made it around his cock and started stroking him, gently, he just might’ve come apart.

His chest shuddered with the inhale of a short, strained breath, and his eyelids fluttered, as if meaning to close.

Bucky’s jaw clenched, and he started to shake his head.

“No, let me—”

“Let me,” you finished for him, wrist flicking back and forth quietly. You paused just to rub a quick touch between your folds, collect some arousal, then return to touching him when he met your eyes again and allowed you to continue. You skimmed his sensitive underside with your palm and let the warmth of him bleed into your fingertips as you worked him up to a comfortable pace.

Bucky rutted into your touch, probably harder than he meant to. Then he planted a hand beside your head and anchored his weight above you so that he was close enough to reach your lips—but he didn’t kiss you.

His expression hardened again, and he forcibly removed himself from the pulse of your fingers. He frowned.

“You want me to fuck you, no? Make you cum?”

He sounded irritated again.

Briefly, you recalled your words from earlier and nodded. It was true, you’d said it to him like that, and you’d meant it. You just couldn’t make sense of what he wanted now.

It seemed Bucky couldn’t wait to indulge you any longer. He fisted his cock in one hand, angled the head just outside of your cunt, and burst in with one thrust.

“Then let me,” he muttered, plunging down to the hilt.

The first go was rough, and the second was no kinder. Bucky’s face screwed up with indifference again, like he wanted to get something out of his brain and just do.

Like there was a task at hand that needed to be finished.

You couldn’t deny it felt fine at first. Fucking edifying after all those horrific thoughts had been eating away at your mind and rousing your own hunger for numbness. The drive of Bucky’s thick girth in and out, in and out repeatedly was no doubt capable of rendering you dumb. But being slammed into and taken so roughly was only good for you when you knew he was feeling good too.

This Bucky was back to being entirely flinty and lifeless—practically devoid of all emotion as he railed into you.

The back of your head was forced into the pillow with the weight of each thrust and Bucky’s thumb pushing into your chin—‘Better, milaya? Is this better for you?’—and frankly, you wanted to push him back and ask the same.

But you couldn’t. The pace he’d set was suffocating, and the stretch of his cock inside you was unusually tough.

Instead, you sank your nails into his arm and mumbled:

“Bucky.”

The man’s thrusts were both stabbing and rhythmic, sending a welt of pleasure blossoming up in your chest. You tried again:

“Bucky.”

He blinked.

And slowed.

“Bucky,” he mumbled back.

Seemingly mindless and mechanical, he snaked a hand behind your head to lift your face and tilt it toward the sight below: his cock splitting you open before him, parting your insides with an easy, welcome glide through the slick of your folds. You watched as your arousal enveloped him fully. Not a single inch of his rock-hard, throbbing shaft was spared; even his balls were soaked. They felt even heavier slapping your ass with each thrust.

“You remember?” you asked, hating how small you sounded.

The man’s nostrils flared, but he gave a curt nod. Expression taut and vigilant, as though anticipating something going wrong at any second. Still, he nodded.

“Years,” he answered.

“Years?”

Since he’d done this? Felt good? Become this way?

No, Bucky was activated in Madripoor just weeks ago. He didn’t look like he was ready to indulge in any ‘feel-good’ pleasure, and you weren’t sure when he’d last been with anyone else before you. Years could mean anything.

You chanced a few soft fingertips up to his cheeks, cupping either side of his clean-shaven face in an effort to anchor you both to one place. The pit of your stomach was reeling with warmth, and friction, and fullness. It took everything in you just to pull him in for a quick, grounding kiss before the feeling gave way to even more.

Bucky’s teeth nicked your bottom lip. He flinched back.

You ignored the sting and repeated his name, murmuring it carefully up to the seal of his mouth as if requesting entry with that word alone.

It seemed to work. Bucky kissed you back with a gentle, albeit guarded, sort of tenderness that made him soften. His thrusts weren’t as rough and punishing as they were before. The dull, throbbing ache between your legs transformed into something sweeter, and your body no longer had to brace itself against strokes that, to you, were nearly bruising and, to Bucky, were just necessary.

For once, your husband let out a soft grunt of pleasure.

“They never let us,” Bucky said as his teeth grit together, “It’s been years.”

“Since what?”

The face above you tempered more—this time with a trace of sadness behind it. He continued to rut into you, but now his thrusts were sloppy, and it seemed as though he were battling against his own pleasure with every motion. He lowered one hand between your legs and began to thumb at your clit, gaze torn from yours.

“Close now?” he muttered.

Ignoring the question you’d asked.

“Years since what?” you pressed anyway. The tiny ripples preceding bliss had already begun to stir inside you, maddeningly, with every flick of his thumb, but your curiosity to know the whole truth was stronger still.

Bucky’s hips were moving at a feverish pace now; his free hand made a fist in the sheets beside your head, and his chest heaved with a series of short, ragged breaths that were no doubt meant to mask his moans as well. Notwithstanding the burn you felt between your legs—he really was much rougher and stronger now, you saw—you cupped his cheek again to tilt his face toward yours.

What you saw made your stomach drop.

Your heart clenched like a fist within the confines of your ribcage, and there it was—that terrible ache you felt each time you saw something awful materialize before you.

Bucky’s eyes were wet with tears. He wouldn’t blink.

He tilted his head into your touch, as if for support, but really, the weight of it signaled to you that he just wanted to feel you. Be assured that you were there. His big, broad arms seemed suddenly unable to hold his weight, and then he sank into your frame with a grunt and another stuttered breath. Like he was ready to collapse.

“Don’t leave again,” he said quietly.

The pain in your chest elevated, in bloom.

“Bucky I didn’t— wasn’t—” you started to say.

The friction between your bodies was almost too much to bear. You couldn’t be sure if you were talking to your husband, soldat, or some strange, inconceivable mixture of the two, but you could tell that this one was desperate.

Pleading.

“I can’t lose you again.”

The head of his cock grazed your most sensitive spot inside, and a whine seeped out through your teeth. Bucky’s whole body was blanketing yours, torso flush with your front and hips working an erratic cadence as he got a glimpse of release himself. He groaned out in pleasure and begged you to stay. You promised that you would. Your legs were still wound around his sides, but both of your bodies were slick with a sheen of sweat; it was hard to hang on. Bucky’s hair was wild and pushed back from his face, but his eyes were clear when they finally met yours, and you heard him mumble again, ‘Please stay.’

You didn’t know what else to say but okay, baby, I will.

You swore you would stay, and in between oaths, your mouth was consumed by a barrage of kisses—Bucky got to feast with a full set of teeth again, primal as ever—and then your climax hit. Euphoria washed over you whole with a force you weren’t expecting to feel, and you couldn’t help but cry out and whine as waves of pleasure coursed straight from the innermost depths of your core.

Bucky’s hips collided with yours in two more stuttered thrusts, and when he bottomed out at the last, you felt a heavy spurt of warmth. A groan coiling out of his chest. Muscles growing lax and two sturdy arms coming to bracket your head as your husband’s whole body weight went folding into yours. You kissed some more, in between frenzied intakes of breaths and steadying moments where you were simply trying to ground your body and get your heart to slow down to a normal rate.

You held each other in silence for a while. Bucky’s head fell next to yours on the pillow when the last of his spend had been emptied, but otherwise, he didn’t stir. At some point, his hands slid behind your back, and the second he hugged you to him, you felt secure in that embrace.

You were probably as far as you’d ever been from understanding who the fuck your husband was, but all it seemed you were capable of feeling for now was pity.

Pity for the years he’d lost to captivity; pity for what was little more than mere existence under HYDRA’s thumb; pity for all the things you still didn’t know about his past.

You held Bucky tighter, and, flooded with this strange, grating emotion and an overwhelming sense of powerlessness, you wished you could protect him, too.

“James?” you mumbled into his hair.

Bucky didn’t respond.

You squeezed his shoulder. Still nothing.

Against your better judgment, you tried to shift yourself underneath his body. You figured you wouldn’t make it far at all, but at least he would be aware that you were trying to get up. Maybe even start to move with you.

He didn’t.

It took everything in you just to wedge an elbow back, struggle to prop yourself up against his weight, and when you were about to let out a huff of an exasperated laugh and tell him, Bucky, you’re crushing me, honey, could you please ease up a little, your request was answered before the words could even leave your mouth.

At the sound of two new muffled voices carrying up from the living room and what appeared to be noises from shuffling feet, Bucky rose straight from the bed, off you.

Your gaze trailed his to the door, and you reached for him.

“Baby, it’s just—”

Bucky was back on his feet. Yanking his boxers and pants up his legs and buckling his belt in no time at all.

The movers. It’s just the movers bringing in furniture—

You moved your hand closer to your husband in the hopes of stalling his movements for half a second, but then a set of ruthless blue eyes had you pinned, quick:

“Stay.”

Your outstretched arm was taken up in a much stronger, stiffer one, and you were suddenly pulled over to Bucky.

But you knew from the eyes it wasn’t him at all.

And you weren’t so much being tugged toward him as you were being hauled to the floor. Thrown on your knees beside the bed, next to Bucky. He was about to leave.

Without thinking, you reached for one of the legs of his trousers and sank your nails into the fabric to hold him in place, to tell him again that there was nothing to see out there but the people you knew, no threat outside at all. But Bucky was deaf to your pleas, it seemed. He shrugged you off easily and made a move for his gun, expression blank, stolid, calm, hardened. Decided.

You tried to rise to your feet but were stopped.

“STAY,” Bucky boomed again, this time an order that he didn’t even deign to complete with a look your way.

If he had—if he even possessed the ability to consider anything but the immediate task at hand—he would’ve seen his own hand knock you to the floor to keep you from standing. Might’ve caught a glimpse of the instant your head struck the edge of the nightstand before you hit the ground. Could’ve even made out the first traces of blood that came trickling out from above your temple. Would’ve seen you cower back, viscerally, out of fear.

But holding the side of your head and watching him leave, grim realization twisted at the pit of your stomach, and you knew the man wouldn’t have stopped if he had.

If your soldat’s objective was to protect you from any harm lurking outside that door, real or illusory, nothing you were capable of doing now could stop that. At expense to yourself, at expense to him, at expense to whatever lives stood between the Winter Soldier and that unwavering, hardwired goal, he still would not ever stop.

Thinking of new, innocent lives in the balance, now, you scrambled for your phone the next second to call Steve.

You tried him once. Twice. A third time crawling on your knees, then standing, then staggering over to the door and pulling the phone from your ear just to send a string of texts to your friend while the thing continued to ring.

SOS

Need help

Pick up please

Bucky’s stuck and he’s

About to hurt people here

A crash sounded outside. You hurried to the door. Your hand closed around the knob and tried to turn it. The handle turned freely, but something behind it was refusing to let you leave the room. You pressed again.

“Bucky!”

Your cry was useless in the face of the barricade outside.

You pushed your shoulder and, behind it, the whole force of your weight against it anyway, trying to get out.

The line went dead. You tried again.

Now with your phone to one ear and the bedroom door taking the brunt of your hits from the other, bleeding side of your body, you scarcely heard much of anything else. The ring started. Stopped. Began again when you pressed a shaky finger to Steve’s contact name, and continued in a cycle for some time while you tried to force whatever was on the other side of the door away.

The second a voice broke through the haze of your frantic, half-crazed state of consciousness, you cried:

“STEVE!”

“Mrs. Barnes?”

You were shocked to hear a woman on the other end. Your pulse was still racing, shoulder aching from the impact of each desperate push you’d been forcing against the door, and then you stopped. Another loud something sounded down the hallway, further away, but you were too startled and unnerved to take any note of it.

You started to ask, ‘Where’s Steve?’ when the voice continued:

“This is Mrs. Barnes?”

“Yes,” you answered woodenly.

You held the phone as close to your ear as you could, but still, the woman’s words were coming in and out in bursts. You must’ve mistakenly accepted the call when trying to reach Steve—you couldn’t think right now; could barely retract the phone far enough to see a strange number displayed on the screen. You swallowed.

“—from Lenox Hill Hospital at Northwell Health—”

The high-rise medical center on the Upper East Side you’d visited that week. Bucky had wanted you tested for nutritional deficiencies and anemia, of all fucking things.

“—if you had a moment or two to chat and maybe—”

No, you needed Steve, not this outpatient courtesy call.

You would’ve liked to hang up. Should’ve hung up. In fact, your fingers were practically itching to hit the button the whole time the nurse was speaking to you, but something in you just couldn’t be persuaded to do it. It took several more seconds before your senses began to creep back, and by then, when you were about to drop the call, you heard a phrase that stopped you on a dime.

“—but the doctor advises prenatal vitamins—”

“What?” you snapped, far more harshly than you meant.

The nurse paused a beat, whether from incredulity at how rude you’d just sounded or to consider something. When she resumed, she sounded a little more guarded.

“Yes…Dr. Watkins did reach out to you about your bloodwork from your last visit, didn’t she? I thought—”

“No,” you said, rushed and painfully brusque, again. You tried to rein in your tone some before continuing, “She didn’t—didn’t reach out about anything. What vitamins?”

Another pause.

“Prenatals.”

You hated that she gave you another second to chew on that word before taking a breath and pressing on.

“I’m terribly, terribly sorry to be the one to spring that on you, Mrs. Barnes—I thought you knew…um—” The nurse was sheepish now, almost embarrassed to be speaking, “—you’re about…three weeks along in your pregnancy.”

Three weeks along.

Advised prenatal vitamins.

For the child growing inside of you.

A rivulet of blood trickled into your left eye.

Your whole body was apt to convulse, but it didn’t.

You hung up.

—

Taglist: (please lmk if I missed anyone! I can only tag 50 at a time so will continue in a separate post) @vicmc624 @she-could-never @mcira @kentokaze @identity2212 @unaxv, @buchi91, @ordelixx @stinkerbelle007 @opibarnes @wilsons-striped-ties @desigirlxx @pono-pura-vida @geminiflanagansblog @buggy14 @sky-full-0f-fl0wers @buckysdoll1520 @armystay89 @minimarvelingmarvel @kunakizen @ghostiebby06 @blackhawkfanatic @dameron-grantspector @sushiseoks @deansapplepie @mrsjoequinn @gyokujyn @lunaroserites @first-edition @kaybaby2494, @jaggedsi @excusememrbarnes @daisychainsoflove @mostlymarvelgirl @diannana @shawnberry @yujyujj @urmomsalex @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @athenabarnes @christinabae @sluttylittlewaistenthusiast @wintrsoldrluvr @bethbunnyy @i-heart-smut @aagn360 @dahliawolfe @fantasyfootballchampion @lilyevanstan1325 @kandis-mom @thealyrs

[peachesofteal]

Dead Disco / Chapter 10

Dead Disco masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 3.1k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ no smut but this fic contains mature themes. Relationship issues, anxiety, self loathing, crying. Angst. Brief mention of asshole ex. Eating related issues. Mention of prescription medication, mental illness and depressive/manic episodes. Pre established throuple. Darling is her/your own tag/warning. Excessive internal monologue. You held onto the hot pan too long, and now you’ve been burnt.

"Look at me." 

"I can't." You keep your eyes clenched tight, so tight it hurts, lungs burning inside your chest. 

"Yes you can, darling. Just open your eyes." Simon's voice is soft, an entreating melody, grit and gravel smoothed out with the gentleness of his words. You get lost in it, the soft murmuring, the easy request, and when you open your eyes, he's still right in front of you, thick palm on the back of your neck, Johnny by his side. "Good girl." 

"I'm sorry." You whisper, and Johnny's brows crease, his fingers brushing along your cheek. 

"Ye dinnae have anything to be sorry for, darling. Ye never do." 

"I didn't-" you gasp for a breath, and Johnny shifts, moving so that you're in front of him, sat between his legs, back against his chest. His hand holds yours, nestling above your breastbone. 

"Breathe with me. Ye can do it." 

"I didn't- I wanted to be better. Be different. I didn't want you to see." You try to explain, try to make sense of it for them. Simon's fingers intertwine with Johnny's, his other hand still firm on the back of your neck, your body cradled between them, in the space that once never existed, a space that now feels like it's been carved out just for you. Johnny pushes closer, holding you tight, and Simon leans forward, forehead touching yours, voice barely a murmur. 

"We've always seen you, darling." 

The floor is a fairly comfortable spot to lay.

It’s comfortable enough, you suppose, as you lay on your back with your eyes fixed on a spot along the ten-foot-high ceiling. Maybe you could paint the ceiling. With clouds. Or a night sky. That might be cool. 

Voices vibrate through the flat, locked door the only thing separating you from them, Johnny’s tone pitching with increasing anxiety, Simon’s cadence soothing, and calm.

He’s calling your name. Calling you darling. Calling you anything to try to get you to come to the door.

You’re overreacting. 

You’re a fool. 

You close your eyes. A night sky might be cool. You could do a lot with the stars, or maybe even the milky way. Get some greens and greys and cobalt in there. Make it look like a long exposure photo. And the moon, you could certainly paint the moon. You’d have to find a ladder tall enough though. And you’d probably need help. You haven’t painted from a ladder in years, not since you did that one mural for- 

“Darling.” It’s Simon. Again. And again, and again, again. Darling, darling, darling. “It’s getting late. Will you open the door?" You keep your eyes closed, but for a minute, your mind fractures, splitting in two, confusing emotions and thoughts bubbling up to the surface.

Don’t think about it. Don’t. 

“No.” You croak out in a whisper. It’s quiet, but he hears it. You know he does.

“Please. I need to know you’re alright, at least.”

You held onto the hot pan too long, and now you’ve been burnt. 

It’s late. The streets are probably mostly empty. You could run down them, if you wanted. You could take a train anywhere. You could take a plane, even, go on a vacation. Go somewhere nice. Go somewhere tropical, maybe get a cute rental, spend some time in the sun or by the oc- 

The thoughts are rapid fire. They spill over, trying to patch up the expanding wound in your heart. They grow and twist, convincing you it’s a good idea, the best idea, to just slip away for a little bit. To go somewhere you don't have feel this, where you don't have to know this as well as you do. 

Don’t think about it. Pack it up. Put it away. 

Johnny’s eyes haven’t left your face. His fingers stroke from the crown of your head and hairline to your temple, your cheek. He’s staring at you like you’re something precious, like you’re a piece of gold, something marvelous he’s never seen before.

“What is it?” You ask, half asleep, drowsy in the bed. You’re still wrapped in a post orgasm haze, cocooned in the soft and sweet of their attention, affection, and Johnny only smiles, leaning forward to press his lips to your forehead. 

“Ye’re so special to us. Ah love ye. Did ye know that?” You shrug, ducking your face away, pressing it into his shoulder to avoid his eyes. 

A wave of longing crashes over you. It swells in your heart until tears prick in your eyes, and you take a deep breath to steady yourself. 

It’s so much. So much more than you ever imagined. So much more than you ever thought you could have. 

“She doesn’t.” Simon says over your shoulder. His hand sits on your waist, the touch firm. Grounding. Like a tether to their world. Their love. You turn, nose pointing up towards the ceiling, looking at him through your peripheral, your fingers intertwined with Johnny’s, holding onto them both. Seeing them both. 

“Tell me again.” 

The TV in the living room is on.

You can hear it’s faint murmur, some movie playing on low volume, the guys undoubtedly sitting stiff on the couch, waiting for you to appear.

You stare at the dark, nearly blackened trees that you’ve painted onto canvas, long, broad brushstrokes taking up too much space, bark texturized to appear burnt, nearly dead, forest scourged by a disease or fire, you’re unsure.

“It starts to chafe us.” Us. Us, he said. Us. Him and Johnny. Right?

“It doesn’t seem fair.”

You’re unsure of everything right now. Unsure about how you should feel. Unsure about what’s happening inside your head.

“-sometimes I worry… about it being the right thing…” The more you think about it, the more you start to lose your grasp. Were those his exact words? Did he mean something else?

For the first time in a long time, you think about one of your ex's. You think about a person who made you feel so small, so much like a burden, a horrible, unwanted responsibility, all the time. You'll never have what regular people have, he said. No one will ever be able to put up with this fucking circus. No one will want this. 

Was he right? 

You should have gotten out. The sentiment replays over and over in between your ears, the awful, miserable doubt and fear and sadness picking away at you until you can feel yourself starting to compartmentalize it all, trying to sort it into neat little bins, trying to keep the weight that is sinking to the bottom of your soul from drowning you, trying to build a wall around your heart.

It’s not conscious. It’s like you’re not even in the driver’s seat anymore, not feeling the full effect of your emotions, not letting it in.

It’s how you felt, when you packed your bags the last time. How you felt when you checked into the hotel, like you were on autopilot. Buried beneath a mountain of feelings but enclosed in a glass cage, segregated from it all.

You should have gotten out. 

“I said I was listening.” 

“But I don’t want ye to listen. I want ye to talk, darling. I want ye to tell us how ye’re feeling. We can’t do this if ye’re not able to communicate.” Johnny’s voice is steady, but there’s a hint of anger behind it, a small flare just starting to light. It makes you angry, that he’s getting angry, and it churns in your stomach until you’re biting out a retort. 

“I communicate just fine!” 

“Do ye?” He snaps, exasperated, your head jolting backwards with wide eyes. “Because from where I’m standin’ it feels like ye’re trying to be stubborn on purpose. Like a child.” 

“A child? You’re calling ME a child?” The air in their apartment is suddenly paper thin, and you hold your breath as Johnny watches you with that same, unchanged, irritated expression. 

“Alright. This is over. We’re taking a break from this conversation.” Simon tells you both, fingers sliding over your shoulder, the touch meant to comfort, reassure, but you jerk away. 

You eye your purse, your keys on the counter. 

“I’m just gonna go home.” 

“No.” He rebukes, and Johnny pales. 

“No, darling. Ye just got here, and we missed ye so, so much. I’m sorry, I dinnae mean-” Johnny pleads, crestfallen, and it makes you feel worse. Like you’re failing him. Like you’re failing at this. Like you’re not good enough for it, for them. “Please?” He adds, and you wilt, silence falling over the three of you again, awkward and wrong. 

“It’s alright.” Simon says. “If you want to go. I’ll take you home.” 

“I can get home on my own.” You try not look at him, finding mundane details in the floor, the sink to stare at instead of their faces, resisting eye contact until Simon steps directly back into your line of sight. 

“I’ll take you.” He steps closer, and like there is a magnet pulling you into his orbit, you respond, tilting your face backwards, letting him see everything. The tears. The anger and sadness. The confusion. He’s intentional with his movements, letting you anticipate everything, the movement of his hand, the bend of his body as his lips come down to press against your forehead. “Tomorrow, alright?” He asks and tells with the words, seeking permission, giving command. Tomorrow, you’ll talk. Tomorrow, you’ll get it sorted. Tomorrow, you and Johnny will apologize. And you’ll try again. Like you always do. 

You nod, because the promise of tomorrow, the assurance that this hasn’t all come crashing down, is the only way any of you will be able to sleep tonight. 

“Tomorrow.”

They both straighten on the couch when the door clicks open.

“Hey.” Johnny says softly, hopefully, and Simon says nothing, just watches you like you’re a wounded animal that might try to flee at any moment. On edge. Vigilant.

Your mind turns, but nothing comes out of your mouth. No response. No acknowledgement. Just empty silence that feels like a thousand pounds, all laying on top of the three of you. Suffocating you. Killing you.

You beeline for the bedroom.

Running away. You’re running away. Are you really going to run away? 

The memory of the hotel haunts you, the awful, empty pit in your stomach that could have swallowed you whole, the dark curtains and dark room enveloping you in a never-ending spiral.

All you wanted was to be found. All you wanted was to be home, with them.

All you wanted was your home, the one you built, made, suffered for, with them. The one that you carved out inside your own bones to hold space for two others, not just one. The home that you completely changed your life for, the love that you believed would see you through it all. 

The love that was always them first. The love that you barged in on, knocked walls down, forced yourself inside of. The love that they held for one another, before they ever held it for you. 

Your head feels like it's underwater. 

Did you make a mistake? Should you have sent them away that time? Should you have fought yourself harder?

The bed calls to you. It begs you to lay down in it, to burrow yourself beneath it's soft sheets, curl up on top of it's ridiculous mattress. Get lost in it. Be found in it. Let your boys curl themselves around you in it, let them kiss you softly and make you promises about how much they love you, or how they understand the way you feel.

If you close your eyes, you can almost see the future. Minutes would pass before Johnny crept inside the door, scoping it out. Doing the recon. Looking for you. His heart would soar when he saw you in the bed, his fears allayed, and he'd hold you so tight you'd think you were suffocating. 

If you were lucky, Simon would come and turn your brain off. Johnny would pass you to him and he'd bring your deepest insecurities, your worries to light, dragging them out to be exorcised and vanquished, by the only men capable of doing so. 

Is that what you want? 

Should you have gotten out? 

“There she is.” Johnny coos above you, warm palm cradling your cheek. You blink, fog encasing your mind struggling to clear, and you push yourself up onto your elbows. 

“What-“

“Happened?” Simon finishes from where he kneels next to the couch, concerned eyes trained on yours, not missing a beat. 

You blink. What did happen? Did- 

“When was the last time ye ate something, darling?” Johnny asks, not unkindly, palm at your back to relieve the pressure from your elbows, moving you into a sitting position so he can take the spot on the couch behind you, effectively wrapping you up in his arms as Simon settles on the other side. 

Shame curdles your stomach, hot embarrassment flaring in your veins. You avoid peering over Simon’s shoulder at the disarray of your kitchen, wincing when you realize he’s sitting on a pile of your dirty clothes. 

“I had breakfast.” You whisper, but Simon shakes his head. 

“When?”

“Yesterday.” You try to adjust, to sit more upright, but the sudden movement has your head spinning, and your palm covers your eyes, little groan in your throat. 

“Easy.” Johnny soothes. Your water bottle is in his hand, and he unscrews the lid for you, lifting it to your lips. “Slow sips, darling. Not too much.” 

It’s easier this way, you realize. Easier to do what’s being asked of you, easier to listen than to think. After a few sips, Johnny pulls the bottle away, and wide fingers stroke your cheek. 

“This is what you were talking about. A few weeks ago.” Simon murmurs, concentrating all his focus, all his attention, on you, fingers still caressing your skin gently. Lovingly. 

“I didn’t mean for it to get so bad this time. I… usually have a better handle on myself.” You try to lie, but Simon cocks his head. 

“Do you?” His fingers hold up the scrap of paper, the one with your note to yourself scrawled across it. 

‘You HAVE to, or you’ll regret it.’ 

You bite your lip, but Simon’s thumb presses into it, rolling it out from beneath your teeth, as Johnny rubs your arm, lips soft against your temple. 

“I’m going to take you home. To ours.” Simon tells you slowly, each word deliberate “Johnny is going to clean up your apartment and pack you a few things for the rest of the week.” When you don’t answer, brain slow to catch up, Johnny murmurs in your hair. 

“You have to agree, darling.” Simon watches, silent for a moment before he answers the unspoken question, still cradling your face with one hand. 

“You can trust us.” 

“Where are ye going?” Johnny asks when you appear from the bedroom, hesitant steps keeping him far enough from your body, desperation written all over his face.

“Out.” Your answer is short, sufficient. It feels like it’s coming from another person. You still think you might be underwater.

“Out? No… we need to talk and-“

“I don’t want to talk. To either of you.”

“Darling. Stop.” Simon tries to cut you off, but you turn sharply, away from them both, backpack swinging on your back.

“Ye canae run away from this, from us.” Johnny pleads. “We need to talk about it. Communicate. Like we promised.”

“Like we promised?” You hiss, sizzle of anger breaking through the ice that’s frozen in your veins. “The promise that we made to always tell each other how we’re feeling, the one that he can’t honor?” You jerk your thumb towards Simon, who tries to take a step towards you, only for you to retreat. “Don’t corner me!” you snap, and against your attempt at control, your voice breaks, sob welling in your chest.

Don’t think about it. 

Don’t think about it. 

“It’s alright.” His hands are palms out, cautious. It’s supposed to make him look like he’s not a threat, make him seem harmless. But he’s not harmless. This gaping hole in your heart says so. “We don’t want you to leave.” He implores. “Please. I- let me explain.”

“There’s no need. Everything is pretty clear.”

“No, it’s not.” Johnny argues. “Just, let Simon at least tell-“

“Tell me what? Tell me how it’s not fair? Does it chafe you too, Johnny? You also thinking what’s the right thing? Because it’s an us thing, right? You and him. It’s an us and me. It’s the us that I suffer for.” Your voice crests, and Johnny flinches.

“I made a mistake.” Simon whispers. “Don’t let my stupidity make you question your place in this relationship. We love you, darling. I love you.” Tears burn at the back of your eyes, and you feel the horror of the truth, the confusion about your love for them, their love for you, searing together into a snarled mess.

“If I left you, the both of you, at the end of the day, you’d still have each other. You’d still be together, and I would have nothing!”

“That’s not true. We canae exist without ye.” Johnny sounds broken, hopeless, but you blow by it, dancing around Simon to pull your prescription bottles from the kitchen cabinet by the sink.

“If I died tomorrow-“

“Do not say that.” Simon cuts you off. “Don’t ever say that.” His knuckles are white at the edge of the countertop, expression stricken, and Johnny looks horrified. They both watch you like they’re afraid of what you might say next, what you might do, and nausea pools saliva on the back of your tongue.

Don’t think about it. 

You close your eyes, and search for that underwater feeling. That untouchable feeling, the boxes being packed away in your mind, and try to cling to it, try to shut up the incessant stream of doubt and loathing and everything going wrong inside your head.

They don’t need you. They have each other. 

You chafe them.

Don’t think about it.

“I need…” You trail off, trying to take a deep breath. Trying to organize your thoughts. Trying to hear yourself through the noise of everything else, through the searing pain that’s ripping through your heart.

“It’s alright, darling.” Simon murmurs, encouraging you. “Tell us what you need. Whatever it is.” Johnny’s face has shifted from despondent to hopeful, eyes wide and locked onto yours, while Simon waits, his normal steadfast and patient demeanor nowhere to be found, instead he’s more anxious, more nervous than you’ve ever seen.

You close your eyes again. Your voice shakes when you finally speak.

“I need a break.”

[jasmines-library]

Hi. Um... i have been craving angst

👀 and my angsty mind has been making up... scenarios, but like would love them typed out so i can read 💀 i live your work, p.s. <3

anyways, would like to ask for something along these lines:

reader is a batsibling

is kidnapped

fam cant find her for a few days and is panicked

they find her somewhere, blindfolded and tied up, on the ground and caked in blood

they get her some med stuff and whatever

and they're like how did this happen so they somehow get cctv or duke uses his powers or something and finds out that they've been beaten for info

and they get like really angry and all that jazz

:D rest up to you!

would be great if you did it 🥺

but i understand if it's too much

love youuuu 💖/platonic ehe

okay, i will excuse myself from your asks now. byeee

Loaded Silence

hello hello! Thanks for requesting. This was super angsty, but as you put I crave it too... ❤️

Warnings: Kidnapping, Torture (not very graphic), fear, medical scenes.

Word Count: 1.5k

⛤ BATFAM MASTERLIST ⛤

It had happened unexpectedly. You were there one second and gone the next. In a blink of an eye. Nothing more nothing less. That was all it took for you to slip away. Damian could have sworn he was only gone for a minute. To stretch his legs and grab something to eat. But that was all it took for them to sneak in. Quiet as a mouse they crept in, splitting through the open window at the back of the room. Leaving it open had been a careless mistake, but who was to think that you would have been taken in the safety of your own home? 

They grabbed you roughly from behind. A set of rough hands pinning you to the sofa, clamped tightly over your mouth as another worked to tie a heavy bandage around your eyes. You had squirmed feebly trying to gain some leverage. Your training desperately tried to kick in but at that moment, you were not a vigilante. You were Y/N Wayne: A citizen, child to the wealthiest man in Gotham and utterly fucked. 

You had no choice after that than to allow them to drag you downtown, you had kicked and cried blindly, desperate for one of your brothers to chase after you. But whoever was gripping you tight enough to bruise was clearly experienced and you knew that they stood no chance so unexpectedly. 

When they tossed you down on the ground, you thought it would offer some relief. The room was dank, dusty and smelt of water rot and mould. This was the part where they would send a ransom note to Bruce and he and your brothers would come charging in sooner or later. But you had never been more wrong. 

“We know who you are, Wayne.” A voice spoke. Feminine but not soft spoken. Threatening. “Or would you prefer Raven?”

Your stomach dropped as bile burned the back of your throat. You knew you could fight now, but you were defenceless weaponless with your hands and feet bound together. 

“The fuck do you want?” You spat, though the effect of the venom in your words was lost for you looked so helpless. 

“Bold of you to speak to me that way, given your predicament.” The woman chuckled, prodding you with her foot. “You’re here as a sort of…payment.”  She mused. “I suppose you could call it that.”

“What?” 

“My husband.” She started, moving away from you. You could hear her pacing around the room but you  could only conjure up images in your mind. “Leader of the greatest crime suricate in Gotham. And now, he’s dead. Rotting in some coffin in the ground, thanks to your father.” 

She moved closer again. Her heels clattered against the floor. 

“He took away the only thing that ever mattered to me!” She gripped your wrist, lifting you up off the floor and leaning into your face. “So now, I’m going to take away one of his toys until someone tells me how to get him out! His precious little girl. Oh how I can’t wait to see the look on all of their faces when they see you. That is of course…after we have a little fun.”

~

There was still no sign of you. And it felt as if they had searched every inch of the city. The high and the low but still nothing. No one had slept much in the three days you had been missing. Their nights were either spent searching for you on patrol or laying awake staring blankly at the ceiling as their minds conjured up the worst. None of them said it outloud but the possibility that you were dead loomed over them. But no one ever said anything. They just continued to search in silence. It seemed like Babs and Tim hadn’t torn their eyes away from the screens since Damian came barging into the room three days ago, doubled over and panting as he revealed the news. The only time they ever moved was to head to the bathroom or to make another mug of lukewarm coffee. 

The rest of the family were out on patrol. That was what they were calling it anyway. Really they were looking for you. And still there had been no sign until Dick stumbled upon a window. It was low down to his feet covered by concrete as though the building had just sunk into the concrete. And when he tried to peer inside, it seemed to be covered by something on the inside. 

It could have been nothing.

But Dick was desperate. 

He called over the other vigilantes with a signal on his com. They all came tricking over towards him silently through the city. Some bubbling with hope and anticipation, but all dreading the worst. 

Moving around the back of the house, Dick pushed open the door. 

~

You had never been more scared in your entire life. Everything ached, burned or stung. From what you could feel there didn’t seem to be a single inch of your skin that wasn’t covered in blood. It clung sticky to your skin, cracking every time you managed to bring yourself to shift against the floor.

She had continued her onslaught for hours, trying to force answers that she knew you would never be able to give her from your chapped lips. She would leave every once in a while, returning silently to catch you off guard with another round of pain. You couldn’t see her: the blindfold still remained firmly around your eyes, so you had to anticipate when she would return as you cowered against the back wall in a pool of your own blood. You were unsure how long it had been since she tossed you into the room. Without the relief of sunlight, your woozy mind had lost track of time. 

And then a pair of hands gripped your shoulders. And you screamed, trying to recoil away from them. You didn’t make it far. Your body was too weak.

“No! No please! No more!” You begged, tears dribbling down your cheeks to mingle among the dirt and blood. “I already told you I-I don’t know anything! Please!”

“Woah, woah.” It was Dick’s voice that broke through to you, though they had all called out to you. It was him who had reached out to you in the first place, hesitant that the smallest touch would break you. As soon as they were met with resistance they knew you were here. And they fought as fast as they could to get to you. Praying that they wouldn’t find you as you had. Sprawled out across the floor in a pool of your own blood as you struggled to breathe. “It’s us.”

“We’re here, Kid.” Jason leaned forwards to remove the blindfold from your eyes as Dick tried to support you in his arms. You squiremed weakly, still untrusting. But the minute the blindfold was off and you had finished adjusting to the onslaught of light. You broke.

You collapsed into Dicks arms, sobbing and shaking. He cupped the back of your head with his hands and held you, giving Jason and Duke a nervous glance. Your blood had already begun to stain the front of his suit as you whimpered in his arms, clinging to him tightly. 

When he tried to shift you, you let out a sob and clung to him tighter. He wasn’t sure if it was because he had hurt you or because you were scared he was going to leave you. Probably both.

“Y/N?” Jason whispered, moving to crouch by your side. “ We’re here now. We’re going to get you home okay? Can you tell us what happened?”

You shook your head and buried your face into Dicks chest trying to block out the pain.

Eyes turned to Duke who watched you with sad eyes. They observed as he surveyed the room, taking in the horrors that the light revealed. And he couldn’t help the gasp that slipped out of his lips. 

He paled at what he saw. Winced at the way your face contorted with pain as the woman towered over you, tossing you about the room like a ragdoll and slashing you with various tools as she screamed at you. He saw how she would catch you off guard by sneaking up on you in the dark as some cruel game to satisfy her sick amusement. He felt sick. 

In the time it took for him to see the echo of your agonies, Dick had managed to coax enough for him to stand so they could bring you out of the room and get you urgently to medical attention. 

The two looked at him expectantly. And once he had managed to stutter out what he had seen, Jason was tensely clenching his jaw and fists. 

Someone was going to bleed tonight. He was going to make sure of that.

Taglist:

@aestheticdaisies

@hell-o-kittys

@xxrougefangxx

@mamapucket

@hearts4robs

@harleycao

[downwiththemutantnjnjaturtles]

Leonardo's First Love—Splinter's Talk

When Leo realized his heart was being divided, he felt afraid. 

His attention had always been captured by his family and his mission—he knew what it was like to love them. But never had he thought his love was going to be snatched up, split, and taken almost wholly by someone of the race that thought they were monsters. 

When Leo noticed the pull towards something else, something new, he pushed himself away. 

He found himself tonight an observer to soft skin, a vulnerable but inviting form that seemed to master existing as is without striving for status-quo. And it was entrancing, desirable; sparked sensations in him he had put under wraps years ago as a teen. Useless instinct. Basic drive. He had more to expect from the world, and expected more, he did…but every night, went back to the same old scenario. Her. 

"Get out of my head," he groaned as he laid up in the quiet lair when he was supposed to be resting, lost in thought. Smooth curves. A small stature against his. Hands, running down—he paused. Somewhere in the middle of a fantasy, he'd heard the words "I love you". That brought him back to the fact that it wasn't just desire. For that there were things he felt embarrassed to indulge in sometimes; but it didn't help anymore. Because those people in the screens, the words on a page of an R-rated book, were not her. Couldn't be, even if he tried. He wanted to know for just a moment what it was like to be human. To have that possibility of love there for the taking. And to never go for it, with all the permission those men had just for being human, he was disgusted. Feeling bitter over that fact sent his mind into overdrive—because he would feel even worse if some man did go for it with her. Like a walking contradiction, he was fighting with himself every step of the way. From she should stay away, to she should be with me. 

He got up to practice some forms. Maybe do maintenance on his flexibility. Sharpen his katanas. Anything to stop thinking and start doing. Somewhere during his steady training, he heard Master Splinter enter. 

"What is the matter, my son?" asked Splinter. He always knew even when his more stoic child Leonardo was troubled. 

"What's the matter? Nothing's the matter. I'm fine," Leo replied, balancing on one leg. "[Y/N] should head home, it's almost time for patrol." 

Splinter sat cross-legged down on a cushion with a slight smile. "So quick to mention [Y/N], even when you're preoccupied," he commented, "I told her she was welcome to stay whenever she liked. To repay for her generosity." That generosity being, stocking their fridge with things they couldn't get a hold of, to help out the heroes of New York. Something along the lines of making sure they were eating right for all they did. 

Leo paused, "What? I'm not quick, I was just saying…Splinter, it's weird having someone around now." 

"Does not have to be 'weird'," Splinter said. Leo felt his black eyes on him even when turned around. He was flustered, still going through the smooth motions of his kata. "Tell me what is really going on, Leonardo. I know you have something on your mind." 

Giving up his rotations, Leo slumped a little as he stepped off of the pedestal, setting his katanas down as he faced his father. "I don't know what's up with me, Master. I just don't get it." 

Splinter gave a knowing hum. Still, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "It seems like you've been quite bothered over [Y/N], my son."

He knew he couldn't hide anything from Splinter. There was no point in deflecting longer; he was only embarrassing himself. Finally, he admitted, "I can't…you know the way it is, Master, it'll never work. She's cool with us, but she's a human. And I'm a mutant." He sat down before his father on a plain mat. 

"Yes, a very beautiful human, too," the old rat mused, gently stroking the longer hairs of his chin. Leo flinched and opened his mouth to switch the focus of the conversation, but Splinter beat him to it. "Surely a woman like that would not ever spend money on, cook for, and give quite undivided attention to such a mutant when he's training. You are correct, my son, it's over." 

Leo's face flushed cold, blood rushing to his cheeks as he listened to his father. "Master Splinter! I'm being serious!" he fussed as he leaned forward onto his palms. "I don't know what to do, I—" 

"—want to stop feeling this way, yes, I know," Splinter finished for him. "Oh, young love." 

It was quiet for more than a moment. Leo's face softened, his blue eyes studying his father's as he gave Leo a look of acknowledgement. He gathered the courage stuck in his gut fluttering about his stomach, mind bouncing between [Y/N] and what his dad was saying. "I made myself stop thinking about love and stuff a long time ago. Mikey's always going on about it. I know Raph wants to be accepted more than anything, and Donnie, he's got his secrets. I'm supposed to be the example. I was supposed to show them we can live and not care. That our lives are worthwhile even without humans being involved. But now…" 

Splinter raised a brow at him. 

"I'm in love," Leo said. "And—and want it so badly." 

Splinter reached forward to place a hand on his shoulder. As soon as [Y/N] had entered their lives, he knew this day was going to come for one of his sons. It was inevitable, he thought. "Welcome to manhood, my son, this was fated to happen at some point. I've only been waiting since she arrived." 

Leo felt exposed. He felt unsure, and that uncertainty was driving him insane. He was always steadfast in his approach. Knowing he was a fish out of water in this situation disarmed him. 

"Master Splinter, what do I do? Tell me." 

Splinter's idle smile left as the tone turned  more serious suddenly, adding to Leo's growing discomfort. "You must understand that having [Y/N] means that your burden will grow. Not only will it be your brothers you will have to protect, but her, as well. It is your job to defend her from anything that could put her in harm's way. She is not built to fight like you. She is vulnerable, and being affiliated to us will only add to the dangers already present in this world. That is what you must come to terms with. But you must not ignore your heart, either." 

Having another body to look after. He contemplated that before answering. When he thought about defending her, it did not feel like an added chore. He wanted to. What was he so strong for if not to also protect the woman he loved? And what he had said before…could she have felt the same way? 

"You've prepared me more than enough to be able to handle another person, Master." 

He wanted nothing more than to hold her. That was something he could not deny. He enjoyed being an observer to a way of life so different from his; femininity, not always being the one taking care of others. He loved his family, but at times, leading was tiring. He wanted to forget about it for just a little bit, maybe lay down, be with someone he didn't have to "manage".

Splinter would have been lying to have said he wasn't surprised at all. But he knew his sons, inside and out—Leonardo had iron will. 

"It is your choice, Leonardo," Splinter said amiably. 

His choice? He wanted to laugh. There almost wasn't a choice. He felt like every road led back to her. It was either face his fears, or stay awake every night plagued with the possibilities of what could be. And he didn't handle fear well. It twisted his stomach and ate him up inside when he felt uncertain, afraid. God, one word is all I need from her. Just one "yes". One touch. One kiss.  He wanted to feel her hands explore his plastron, run along the edge of his shell. Love what made him, him. 

Overcoming the hesitance he felt, he let out a deep breath, committing to a final answer. " I don't know how, but...I want to try. I can't let this go. There has to be a reason all of this happened. If everything that's happened to us up until now has been destiny...I can believe it for this, too. Thank you, master."

Just felt like writing our leader in blue having a talk with his father 😌 Going to make this a little mini series for all the boys!

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-down AU Part 20

Part 1 Part 19

Steve’s shirt is wet where Eddie’s face is pushed into it, and Will’s hand is clutching his arm tight enough to hurt. Steve wants to sink into it. But the door's still open, and Wayne’s shotgun is lost in the woods somewhere. He hopes the man won't be too mad.

"Okay, okay," Steve says, taking two shuffling steps forward. "Let go of me."

The arms encircling his waist drop him instantly. His own weight settles back into his heels at the same instant the vertigo hits. A small hand clutches his elbow, keeping him upright with a grunt of strain.

"Shit, Harrington, sorry," Eddie says, voice warbling. "What do you need? What do I do?"

"Just–" he closes his eyes, listing sideways. He's so tired. "The door, Eddie."

The door closes with a quiet creak, lock sliding home with a metallic snick!

It's a tissue paper door, Steve knows it's a tissue paper door, but his legs go out anyway, finally safe enough to drop. Eddie catches him, hands clutching hips as he practically drags him to the couch.

"You're okay," Eddie says. "You're okay, right?"

Steve nods. His forehead lances with pain every time he grimaces, and his cheek throbs. The wound on his shoulder has definitely reopened, and something unpleasant had happened to his ribs when he'd fallen in the woods. But he’s fine.

Will interrupts the conversation by dumping the remains of the Munson's medicine cabinet on the coffee table.

"You're bleeding," he says.

"Shit, right," Eddie replies, rifling through the contents. It's slim pickings, but Eddie plucks up a few bandages and gets to work.

His mouth is a moue of concentration as he combs Steve's hair off his forehead and puts bandages across the entirety of the laceration before blessedly leaving it alone once he reaches the hairline.

Eddie's prodding the bruise on Steve's cheek hard enough to feel the bone, when Will asks, "My Mom?"

"She's fine, Byers." He tries to smile, but loses the will halfway through, closing his eyes.

Will bursts into tears. "Thank you," he says.

Steve flops his hand forward. Will takes it. Steve doesn’t realize how cold his fingers are until Will’s warmth starts leeching into him.

"Your Mom's a badass, baby Byers," Eddie says. "She was always going to be fine."

Steve hums his agreement, too tired to vocalize. There, sitting up on Eddie's ratty couch, covered in dirt and blood, Steve falls asleep with Eddie's palm cupping his cheek and Will’s hand in his.

He's not sure how long he sleeps, but when he awakens, Eddie's sitting with his back to the couch. His hair's plastered to his head with grease and grime, and he's starting to smell a little. Steve wants to cry at the sight of him.

"Eddie?" he asks.

Eddie turns to him, a finger to his lips as he gestures his head toward where Will's sleeping in the recliner across the room.

"Back with me, big boy?" Eddie whispers.

Steve nods. "Did you guys make it out okay?"

Eddie scoffs. "We were fine, man." His eyes well, a few tears running down his cheeks. He swipes them away impatiently. "We thought you were dead."

Steve feels small, his voice comes out even smaller. "I'm sorry."

Eddie turns back around, back pressing into the couch, eyes trained on the door. Steve reaches his fingers out, rubbing back and forth slowly, consolingly. "Thanks for coming back."

Steve's breath hitches. It wasn't a sure thing. The line between Steve coming back and Eddie finding Steve's body decomposing in the Byers' driveway was razor thin. He should know - it's painted along his forehead in claw marks, painted in the way his vision is still a little red with the blood that had dripped into his eyes.

"Anytime," Steve says. Does it count as a lie when he really wants to mean it?

"Good, because we're like, out of water, dude," Eddie laughs. "The kid's the only one smart enough not to forget his backpack.”

"Fuck!" Steve says, a little too loudly. Will stirs, then settles. "Not the quarry again."

Eddie laughs, but not like he thinks it’s funny. “Yeah, man. I’m with ya, but there’s the kid to think about now.”

They both look over at Will. His face is smushed into the back of the chair, knees curled up to his chest beneath the blanket Eddie must’ve given him, like even in sleep, he’s doing everything he can to make himself a smaller target. Something unfamiliar in Steve’s gut wrenches.

He doesn’t want to go back there, maybe ever, but especially not right now. Right now, the thought of crossing the threshold out into the wider world makes ants crawl under his skin.

The Demogorgon’s claws are still parting his skin like butter every time he moves wrong. They’d moved through him as easily as Steve’s Father’s knife had while he’d skinned the deer, Steve standing beside him as he tries his best not to cry.

Steve doesn’t want to be the deer. But the shotgun is gone, and so the hunter must become the hunted.

“I lost the gun,” Steve says.

Eddie’s shoulder slump, Steve’s hand falls, settling in the crack between the couch and the middle of his back, stuck there when Eddie leans back into it. “I figured,” he sighs, sounding disappointed, like maybe there’d still been a glimmer of hope that Steve had just snuffed out.

Silence descends. It feels like the force of gravity kicked up a notch, the way the quiet fogs over him and pushes him down down down. The silence drowns, let’s the Demogorgon prowl through his mind. Eddie Munson throws him a brick disguised as a life preserver.

“I saw your shoulder,” he says, barely audible.

“Oh.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Eddie asks, turning around completely, back to the door. His eyes are wide. Steve can’t read his face at all.

“What’s there to do?”

Eddie sighs. “Nothing, maybe,” he says, spinning his rings on his fingers nervously. “I cleaned it up as best I could, but that’s bad, man. We’ve gotta get you out of here.”

Steve’s eyes flit over to where Will’s still sleeping, but Eddie’s eyes stay planted firmly on his face. He doesn’t answer, what’s there to say? There’s no way out of here.

“Let’s just get water so we can stay alive, just a little bit longer,” Eddie says when it becomes clear that Steve has nothing left to say.

Steve nods, asking, “should we bring the kid?”

Eddie opens his mouth to respond, but Will beats him to it. “I’m not a kid,” he says, clearly still half a sleep with the way his words are slurring together. “I’m coming.”

“He’s right,” Eddie says. “I mean, not about the kid thing, he’s definitely an infant, but we can’t leave him unprotected.”

“Hey,” Will mumbles, burrowing into the chair further and falling back asleep, clearly reassured that he won’t be left behind.

“We can’t keep him safe,” Steve whispers.

Eddie reaches out, pats his knee. Steve misses the warmth when he pulls it back.

“We’ll do what we can.”

Steve doesn’t want to go back out there. They’re safe in here, hidden away. But he will. Because Eddie asked, and Will needs him. That’s more than he’s had in a while.

He hopes it’s enough.

Part 21

[al-of-the-stars]

"Lily of the Valley"

Lute x GN Angel Reader

Synopsis: After being saved from a near-death encounter, you slowly fall in love with Lute, the very same angel who had rescued you. Little do you know, she harbors the same feelings for you.

A/n: I honestly had this idea in a dream and when I remembered it, my first thought was "holy shit I GOTTA write this" Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy!

You never had much of a relationship with Lute. Sure, you were pretty good acquaintances but there wasn’t much more to it than that. You both worked for the exorcist army but she was on the battlefield while you were on the sidelines as a strategist, planning the exterminators' next move. That was until one extermination. While you were lost in your own plans, your eyes practically glued to the map in your hands,you failed to notice the demon behind you holding an angelic weapon. Just when the sinner was about to stab you, you felt another presence nearby. When you turned around, you saw none other than the lieutenant of the exorcists herself, covered in splashes of crimson. Your eyes went wide and you felt golden blood rush to your face, though you couldn't tell if it was from the near-death experience you just had or how attractive Lute looked while killing that unholy soul. You thought it was most likely the latter. “Are you alright? You aren't hurt anywhere, are you?” Those words snapped you out of your train of thought.

“Oh I think I'm fine, thank you,”

“It's not a problem, I'm glad you're okay,” You could have sworn you saw the face on her mask turn into a smile, but you didn't have enough time to comprehend anything as she dashed off flying. Since that day, you grew much closer. During training, you couldn't help but take glances at her. Unbeknownst to you due to the limited expression of her mask, she was doing the same. When you looked her way, she would try extra hard to impress you. All the other exorcists noticed and attempted to wingman her in their spare time.

“Just tell them already!”

“What's the worst that could happen?”

“They look at you like a lovesick anime schoolgirl, there is no way they don't like you back,” After practice, you two would usually visit a cafe and just chat; your company was the highlight of her day. This became routine and slowly, your relationship and feelings grew more and more until it became unbearable to hold it in. Lute finally got sick of those outings being just a hangout between two friends, she was sick of looking at you and wishing she could just grab your waist and pull you in for a kiss, she was sick of pretending she didn't love you. Another day of training passed by and as you walked out the door of the cafe, Lute handed you an envelope.

“Open this when you get home,” She instructed. The walk back to your house felt like forever and the curiosity was practically killing you. The moment you walked through the door, you opened the neatly sealed envelope.

“Dear Y/n,

I was originally going to write a poem to explain how I felt but I'm not too great with metaphors or meanings, so I'll be straightforward with you like always. I love you. I can't help but admire you when you do the most regular things. I have fallen in love with everything about you, your smile, your eyes, your voice. If you feel the same, next time we visit somewhere after practice, I hope it can be a date.

-Lute”

Along with the letter, there was a flower. More specifically, it was a lily of the valley, a flower that represents love and sincerity. You picked up the lily and put it in a vase with water. Who knew the stone-cold lieutenant had a heart of gold?

[yzashaven]

HI HI HI MAY I REQUEST THAT U WRITE MENTALLY ILL USER X SCARA DOCTOR:33 LIKE USER IS OBSESSED WITH HIM AND HE FINDS IT ADORABLE!

FEATURING ! doctor!scaramouche x mentally ill!fem!reader

CONTENTS ! reader admitted in a psychiatric hospital, attached reader, reader wears hospital gown, cunnilingus, fingering, use of darling/dear, clit and nipple stimulation, teasing, orgasm denial, neck biting

NOTE ! first of all, I'M SO SO SORRY that this took so long 😭 i loved your request and had a few ideas but couldn't find a way to write it so i had like 5 drafts for this in my notes app lmao anyway, i do hope this turned out alright and you still enjoy it even if it's really messy and is honestly a hard read for me. i'll probably redo this in the future !

a psychiatric hospital. the place where you've been spending most of your days lately. you can't remember why or when exactly you got brought here but that doesn't really matter. and now you're sitting on the edge of your bed, lost in thought as you stare at the man sitting ahead of you, doctor scaramouche. he's been responsible for treating you since the start and seems to be quite fond of you. "hey... are you listening?" your train of thought ends as you hear the sound of fingers snapping right in front of your face. apologizing briefly to him, "you have to listen carefully." he shakes his head before writing something down on a clipboard. "now... where were weㅡ" he's so charming that you can't look anywhere else, looking at him with love in your eyes. "how have you been feeling? i haven't recorded any odd or weird activity from you recently... and that's a good thing, surely you'll be out of here in no time." he smiles gently at you. no way he just said that! you didn't wanna leave and go somewhere he wasn't at.

"do i have to leave?" you asked him sadly, despite knowing the answer already. "of course you have to, darling." oh the way he'd call you by petnames never failed to make your heart race, even the sound of his voice that makes your cheeks blush cherry red. "but i don't want to! i wanna stay here with you." your words caught him off guard, earning a dark chuckle from the man. "and why is that?" "because i like you, you're here..." your face drops, looking down at the floor as reality hits you. he chuckles some more, leaving the clipboard on the bedside table nearby before making his way closer to you. scaramouche's fingers make their way under your chin to lift your face up, resulting in having eye contact between you both. "you wanna stay with me?" he says while seemingly laughing slightly, sharp eyes piercing through yours as he looks down at you. "don't be so obsessive and attached. it's time for you to go home." "scara, no... my home is where you're at~" you're practically pleading at him now to let you stay. "it's doctor scaramouche to you, darling."

"but i do think that i'll grant you permission for informalities with me." he smiles at you gently. "now... how about i give you something to remember me by, would you like that?" his fingers leave your face to step back a bit and discard his white coat as he speaks in a slightly stern yet soft tone. "come on now, get comfortable. i'll make sure you have a good time." your cheeks flush a light red as he smirks at you. making your way to the middle of the bed and sitting down comfortably as you watch him place the coat down on the chair, his slightly tight undershirt accentuating the body features on his torso.

he takes your chin in between his fingers once more before lowering himself down to eye-level and indulging you in a soft kiss, pushing you down on the bed in the process. his hand find its way along your cheek, collarbone and down to your thighs, fingers slipping under the silk white hospital gown with featherlight touches. scaramouche kneels down beside the bed and in front of you on the floor, pulling you closer by the thighs, his face only mere inches away from your heating core. "just enjoy the ride and let me do all the work, alright, darling?" he whispers seductively, constantly rubbing your inner thigh delicately, to which you let out a nearly inaudible whimper while nodding obediently.

with you watching him intently, he finally pushes away the fabric of the gown out of the way and up to your hips, granting access to your nearly soaked panties. he begins by spreading your thighs gently before teasing your slit over the cloth with a finger, dragging along the area. as you let out a soft sigh, he took it as a sign to keep going, leaning in to plant soft kisses on your clit. pulling the garments aside to reveal your glistening hole, he looks up at you with a sly smirk and teases your cunt by adding a finger and softly kisses your clit again. your fingers hurry to pull on his indigo locks in an attempt to pull him even closer. chuckling darkly, he adds another finger, two digits slowly thrusting in and out of your drenched pussy as his tongue skillfully dances with your clit, sending shiver up your spine.

as his tongue continues to stimulate your sensitive bud, his hands make their way up to fully remove the white hospital gown from your body. delicate touches against your soft skin that leave goosebumps at where they made contact. scaramouche gets up from his knees to take into sight of your helpless form on the bed; hair slightly scattered on the sheets, eyes looking at him with desperateness, body exposed to be completely at his mercy. with a long sigh in pleasure his hands went up to grope at your chest from beneath the bra before ripping it off eventually. fingers crawling back inside your tight hole while his lips attach to your nipple, lightly nibbling on the perked up area along with licking and sucking on it every now and then, sending shockwaves of pleasure throughout your body.

maintaining eye contact with you, his starts to rub your clit in slow circular motions, smiling as he watches your face contort to one of pleasure and pure ecstacy. eyeing your neck for a second, scaramouche then kisses your neck trying to find your so called sweet spot. smirking against your skin upon hearing you moan as a confirmation of finding the said area, to which he bites on it, causing your body to jolt slightly with a rather loud moan. slowly lapping at the teeth marks left as his digits pick up a faster pace. feeling your climax upcoming, you tell him so, ready to finally be able to cum on his fingers and coat them in your essence. yet he doesn't allow you to, curling them at an angle one last time, only to pull apart sooner later. moving back to observe your figure once more.

although no matter how much you kept begging for him to continue, he didn't. instead he began to get rid of his own clothes, claiming they were 'in the way of the real fun'. showing off his pretty erected cock as he pulled down his pants, stroking it slowly before pulling you closer once again. teasing your tight hole by lightly slapping his length on you and rubbing his tip along your soaking entrance. leaning in only to whisper a few words that sent you in an exhilarated state.

"i hope you're ready for me. 'cause we most definitely are not stopping."

[weird-is-life]

My saviour

Pairing: tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader

Summary: Peter saves you from guy, that keeps bothering you at a party

Warnings: use of y/n, mentions of alcohol, creep not taking a no for an answer, harassment...., mentions of partying, swear words

Words: 1k

You thought, that going to your first university party to a local club with your roommates would be a good idea. But being here now, shows you, that it really wasn't.

Your roommates have disappeared out of your sight and you can't seem to find them, no matter how hard you try.

And believe me, you try hard. Because there's this drunk guy following you around and no matter how you hard you try to get rid of him, he seems to not understand that you're not interested.

You start panicking. The creep is still a few steps behind you and you don't know what to do. You stop for a second, contemplating on whether you should just start screaming or just run away.

Your train of panicking thoughts gets interrupted, when a hand wraps around your wrist. It's a soft, a little calloused hand that holds your wrist gently. Still, you flinch hard and panic even more, thinking the creep is the one holding you.

You're wrong, fortunately.

"Hey, hey, hey, it's okay, it's okay, yeah? Just play along, okay?" The guy, or more like a boy your age holding your hand, whispers quickly to your ear.

You don't even have the time to respond or to get a better look at the boy, you just nod and swallow the lump in your throat, as the creep nears you.

The boy pulls you closer to him, putting his body in front of you.

"Can I help you?" the boy sternly snarls at the creep.

"No, I just want to talk to the chick behind you, so fuck off," the creep says back, words slurring from the alcohol.

"Oh, you mean my girlfriend?" the boy says, squeezing your hand in reassurance and you almost choke as he says it, you weren't expecting it.

"Your girlfriend? You're kidding right?" the creep chuckles dryly, clearly not believing a word the boy says.

"No, not kidding," even if you can't see the boy's face, you are 100 percent sure, that his glare must be deadly, " so you should fuck off, got it?"

When the creep doesn't immediately run away, the boy adds," get lost or I'll make you." Finally the creep gets some sense into his stupid head, when he understands, that he wouldn't stand a chance against the boy towering over him.

"Whatever," the creep mutters, turning around he starts to leave, swaying from one leg to another, drunkenly.

"Fucking dickhead," you hear the boy mutter under his breath angrily.

But as soon as he turns to look at you, there are no traces of anger on his face as he smiles softly at you.

"Sorry," he tells you," are you okay?"

You finally can get a better look at him and god, to say he's very good-looking would be an understatement. You think, he might be the cutest guy you've ever seen.

"I-I-I....I'm okay, " you let out a big sigh of relief, " thank you so so much. I didn't know what to do."

"Don't thank me, everybody would do the same," definitely not everybody, but you don't tell him that. You just give him a shy smile, you're still trying to calm your racing heart.

He kindly smiles back at you," are you sure, you're okay?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. Just a little shaken up, I guess, " you confess, fiddling with the sleeve of your t-shirt.

"Do you want me to call you somebody?" You shake your head as a no.

"Really?" he asks, trying to make sure, you're really okay.

"Yes, really. My roommates are here somewhere," you look around nervously, obviously they are still nowhere to be found and you don't feel like staying here alone again.

He can see your nervousness, he would be kind of bad at his job, if he didn't notice little things like this.

So he ask you sheepishly and too nicely, "would like to get a drink with me?" He blurts it out, but when he realises how it sounds. Like he's trying to take an advantage of the fact, that you should thank him for saving you in some way, which you definitely shouldn't. He would never, ever want you to be thankful for something like this.

"I'm sorry, I mean, just like to get a soda or something, just until we find your friends." Oh. He's definitely too nice, he's willing to stay with you however long you need, even if you've never seen each other before, just because you're anxious and worried.

"Y-you don't need too...." you mumble, you don't want to bother him any more. Even if you'd really like him to stay with you.

"I don't mind, like at all," he gives you another one of his soft, kind smiles, that has you nodding bashfully with a smile of your own.

"Okay, great. C'mon, I'll find us something, that hasn't been spiked with an alcohol yet," he chuckles, " Oh and I'm Peter by the way."

"I'm y/n, it's nice to meet you, Peter," you tell him. And Peter's sure, he's fucked, the minute his name leaves your mouth.

When you eventually find your roommates, you are sad to say goodbye to Peter. You exchange numbers, with Peter's promise of texting you.

Which he keeps, he texts straight away. The minute you get into the taxi to head home, your phone vibrates with a new notification. You smile stupidly at it for the rest of the ride home.

Peter, totally on accident (not really), bumps into the creep as he swings home, fully dressed in him Spiderman suit.

And he maybe, but only maybe, threatens the guy, saying, if he ever again bothered any girl or anybody else at all, the Spiderman would find him and he would make sure, that the guy would rot in a prison cell for a long, long time.

And Peter did it with a pleased, menacing smile, even if he knew, that the guy wouldn't even remember it in the morning......

[cookybananas]

This Wasn't The Plan (Former!Anakin Skywalker x Reader)

Angsty. Spoiler alert: main character dies

-

When an old friend reaches out to you asking for help, but the mission doesn't go as planned.

This is set 9 years after the events of Revenge of the Sith. Your former lover, Anakin Skywalker, has turned to the dark side and had become a Sith Lord by the name of Darth Vader. But you don't know that. You believed in Obi-Wan's lie that Anakin had died on Mustafar and that the Republic had fallen into the hands of the Sith Lord, Darth Sidious who had created the Empire. The hunt for surviving Jedi ensues. This forces you and Obi-Wan to go your separate ways and into hiding to protect yourselves from the inquisitors who are on the hunt for the both of you.

---

I packed some rations in my bag, the last thing I needed before heading out. I looked at my lightsaber that was on my bed, deciding if I should bring it or not. After putting some thought to it, I sigh to myself, clipping it to the belt of my old Jedi robe I was currently wearing. I set out to meet up with Obi Wan at the coordinates he had sent me. It had been 9 years since I had seen my good friend. I didn't think he would ever contact me again, especially through the force. But apparently this was an urgent matter.

Obi-Wan told me there wasn't much information given to him when he reached out to me. Apparently he had gotten a holographic message from an unknown individual, saying that there were some former Jedis needing our help on the planet of Kashyyyk. I was hesitant at first about the mission, but he convinced me to come along with him. Plus, it's not like I had anything better to do with my life. I was a scavenger, I tore apart ships and weapons from the Empire and resold the parts to make a living off of them. I didn't earn much, but it was enough to keep me alive.

The Jedi had fallen years ago from Order 66. My masters, my fellow Jedi who I had trained with, the younglings whom I taught, most of them didn't make it from the purge--they were all killed. Anakin, the love of my life was killed right before the Empire had rose to power, I lost my best friend; Padme. Obi-Wan and I had gone our separate ways and went into hiding. Just when we thought everything was going well at the time, that glory had dissolved as if it were nothing.

There have been many times I had cried myself to sleep at the thought of losing Anakin. Part of me still believes that he's alive somewhere in the star system and part of me wants to believe what Obi-Wan has told me; that Anakin is truly dead and that I need to move on to live for myself. As much as I wanted to reach out through the force to him, I couldn't. I was worried that an inquisitor was nearby and could sense me. Or worse, the belligerent Darth Vader who has been in a pursuit of killing Jedi since they had they had fallen. I had to close myself off the force many years ago. Now that Obi-Wan needs me, this puts the both of us at risk of falling into the hands of the Empire and Darth Vader.

-

"It's good to see you again my old friend." Obi-Wan said, embracing me into a tight hug, to which I happily returned. Obi-Wan aged quite a bit the last time I saw him. The wrinkles around his eyes were prominent now, his beard grown out and untamed.

"And you as well Obi. Maker...it's been so long." I said, getting a little teary-eyed at our little reunion. Obi-Wan looked at me with sad eyes, nodding in agreement.

"Well, we have a long way to Kashyyyk, that should give us time to catch up Y/N." He gave me a small smile, as we made our way into his small ship, setting course to Kashyyyk to help our Jedi brothers and sisters.

"Do you have a plan?" I spoke up, breaking the long period of silence between us. Obi-Wan scoffed at my question.

"Well of course I do Y/N, you didn't think I would go in blindly would you?" He replied, smiling to himself. I snorted at his response, reminding me the many memories I have of him, Anakin, and I back in the days of the Clone Wars. Anakin and I were the ones that would go guns-blazing in during missions. Obi-Wan would always be the person coming up with the plans beforehand, to which sometimes Anakin and I did follow, sometimes.

Obi-Wan runs over the plan with me. The coordinates that he was provided had given us a location at a base in the lush forests of Kashyyyk. Apparently that's where the Jedi are said to be located. Once we land, we would split up to find any remaining Jedi and relocate them back to Alderaan. Obi-Wan had been in touch with Bail Organa since the fall of the Republic and had informed him about this mission.

The ship lands on an empty landing pad that was located outside the entrance of what looked like an abandoned temple. Obi-Wan and I exit out the ship, taking a look around our surroundings.

"I've got a bad feeling about this" I spoke up, scanning the environment.

"Meet me back here in an hour. If you can find any Jedi, we'll relocate them to Alderaan." Obi-Wan said.

"Sounds good to me." I responded. We both make our way into the temple, going separate ways once we enter.

-

The Sith Lord stands tall as he gazes at the stars through the windows of the ship. He ponders to himself, when all of sudden he felt something in the force. Assuming that the presence was belonging to his former master, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Vader smiles to himself for being able to finally have Obi-Wan walk into his trap after what he had done to him all those years ago. But then he felt the pull become stronger and stronger by the moment. No... it can't be, the Sith Lord thinks to himself. It couldn't possibly be her. Y/N... You died 9 years ago. The remnants of your ship were in pieces when he had searched for you. You couldn't have survived the impact at the state of ship he found it in. When Anakin--Vader, had found the japor snippet that he had given you was on the ground, it pushed him further to believe that you had died on impact. He believed your clones got to you when Order 66 occurred. He blamed himself for causing your death. You deserved a better fate. But at the same time, he didn't want you to see what he had become.

Vader pushed his thoughts to the side. Still believing that you had died all those years ago.

-

A good amount of time had passed. I wasn't sure how long it had been but it surely has been over an hour. I hadn't seen any Jedi yet, yet alone any traces of any Jedi being here. Something isn't right, I know it isn't because the force has been trying to tell me something since we landed.

I felt another presence in the force. It didn't feel like it was Obi-Wan. I froze in place, hearing footsteps in the distance; becoming closer and closer to me. I turn around, igniting my lightsaber as I was met with an inquisitor standing behind me with their double-bladed lightsaber already ignited.

"Well, well, you're not definitely Kenobi. But I'll gladly take you in as well." The inquisitor said, stepping closer to me as I took a step back. I wasn't fit to fight them. It had been years since I last fought with my lightsaber. Without thinking, I immediately turned around and ran away from the inquisitor. I took out my comlink to get a hold of Obi-Wan as I ran to find the exit.

"OBI-WAN, IT'S A TRAP!!" I yelled into the comlink, but I was met with static in response. The connection wasn't strong, perhaps the inquisitors had intercepted our communication or the connection on Kashyyyk just wasn't as good.

I found myself in what looked like an abandoned throne room. I hid myself behind the throne, trying to catch my breath as I tried to disconnect my force signature so the inquisitor wouldn't find me as easily. I cursed myself for agreeing to come along with Obi-Wan on this fallacious mission.

As the footsteps of the inquisitor drew nearer and nearer to the room. I overheard the inquisitor's voice, as if they were talking to someone else. I peaked my head over the throne to see the inquisitor in the doorway talking to a holographic figure on their wrist.

"Lord Vader, it's important that you know that not only one Jedi has fallen into your trap but two." The inquisitor said boastfully, holding up a hologram of Lord Vader.

"Very well inquisitor. Locate them now. I will deal with Kenobi and his friend accordingly. I want them alive." Lord Vader's mechanical voice booming through the hologram.

"Yes my lord." The inquisitor turns off the hologram, scoffing to themselves and kicking a pebble off the ground. "Why do they matter to you this much?" the inquisitor says under his mouth.

I held my breath, hoping that the inquisitor doesn't walk into the room I'm in. When I don't see them in the door way I make a run towards the door, only to be stopped by the inquisitor.

"Nice try, but I have orders to follow Jedi scum." the inquisitor spat at me, blocking the doorway. I furrow my eyebrows, igniting my lightsaber again.

"You won't take me alive."

"I wish I didn't have to, but I have orders from Lord Vader himself." the inquisitors says before swinging their double-bladed lightsaber. Our lightsabers clashing with one another. I try catching my breath as I fight the inquisitor, but the 9 years without fighting, has made me lose some abilities in my Jedi skills.

"I see the years have not been kind to you. You're out of shape grandma." the inquisitor comments. I grunt in response and roundhouse kick the inquisitor, sending them flying across the room. The inquisitor gets back on their feet again and darts towards me.

Just when I think I can take them down, the inquisitor's blade makes contact with my shoulder. I cry out in pain as I'm thrown off balance. I step back, grasping my shoulder that was just cut. The cut was bright red and burning.

The inquisitor laughs at my pathetic state. Determined to take down this inquisitor, I run towards them with my saber. I was able to dodge their first swing, but on the second swing, the inquisitor's blade had found itself impaled through my stomach. I let out a gasp. The inquisitor looking surprised at themselves at what they did.

The inquisitor draws their blade back. My saber falls out of my hand and rolls away from me as my body hits the ground. I clutch the part of my stomach where I had been just stabbed.

I try to control my breathing as I watched as the inquisitor walk out the room without saying a word to me. The building starts rumbling, as if it was starting to crumble down.

Then next thing I know, I see Obi-Wan running into the room, running up to me.

"Y/N!" Obi-Wan kneels down and cradles me in his arms. He brushes a strand a hair away from my face, his hand now holding one of my hands.

"Y/N stay with me now. I'm gonna get you out of here." Obi-Wan looks at me and looks down at my wound. His eyes were filled with panic with the hole inside my stomach.

"O-Obi Wan, you have to go." I said weakly, looking at him.

"I won't leave you here Y/N." He responded, squeezing my hand and body tightly.

"Y-you'll die here." I said as the building starts to crumble piece by piece. Pieces of stone and debris falling from the ceiling.

"Don't say such nonsense, we have to go" He pleaded.

"Obi-Wan...My place is here.. and... he's here...I can sense him." I breathe out. The hole in my stomach making it harder for me to breathe.

Obi-Wan's eyes widen. He knew he was here as well. Obi-Wan was about to lift me off the ground until I spoke up.

"Leave me here Obi-Wan...Get out of here...S-save..your..self" I huffed out my last breath.

-

Your body goes limp in the arms of Obi-Wan. The last thing you saw was a dark figure, watching from the doorway before your body succumbed to your injury. Vader... You whispered under your final breath before dying in the arms of Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan lets out a strangled cry. He closes your eyelids as the feeling of guilt creeps up on him. But the mourning over his good friend was short-lived. Obi-Wan freezes in place as he feels Vader's presence nearby. When he looked up, he saw the Sith Lord standing by the doorway, menacingly. Obi-Wan, lays your body down on the cold stone floor, now towering over your body to square up with the Sith Lord.

Vader who had been watching the entire situation unravel, his breathing became heavier as he starts to hyperventilate. Causing the temple to shake even more, pieces of the temple fell down around them. He had felt you, he felt your pain. Your first cry was enough to have the Sith Lord come and look for you, but your second cry was enough for him to feel the amount pain you were in.

"What have you done?!" Vader's mechanical voice barked, echoing through the room.

"This was your doing Anakin!" His former master retorted. Vader slowly makes his way over to him, striding menacingly to where Obi-Wan and your lifeless body was.

Obi-Wan backs up away from Vader. Vader kneels next your body and touches the nape of your neck to find a pulse to confirm that you weren't dead, but it was too late. He clenched his fist and lets out a booming cry. Obi-Wan couldn't see it, but he was crying under the mask. The building continue to shake more under his agony.

"Leave. Now." He said, glancing back up at his former master. Obi-Wan was hesitant at first, but soon nodded in response and made his way out of the crumbling building towards his ship.

Vader scooped up your body and carried you bridal style out of the building, making sure to give you a proper burial once he landed on a planet worthy of your funeral. As he makes his way out, he and Obi Wan look at each other one last time before Obi-Wan takes off in his ship.

Vader boards his ship, laying your body down on the table. He takes off his helmet, revealing his long blonde locks and handsome face that were still in pristine condition. He examines your face for sometime. Forgetting how beautiful you were. The years have not been kind to you. He noticed how your cheekbones are more prominent now, perhaps due to lack of food and having to remain in hiding. He brushed your hair with his gloved hand and started whispering all the things he wanted to tell you. He wanted to start a family with you after the war was over, but it is far too late for that now. He wanted to raise his family on Naboo, or Alderaan. The life he dreamt with you, had diminished the day he founds the remains of your ship.

He started to feel guilty for being the reason of causing you a great deal of suffering and now, he was now the reason for your death. He sat next to your body and had held your left hand that still bore the wedding ring he made for you. You both had gotten secretly married on Naboo, just right after the Clone Wars had begun.

After a good amount of time had passed, Anakin--Vader had eventually gotten up from his seat and took off his cape to cover your body with it.

This wasn't how the mission was supposed to go. He didn't expect you to be here, let alone be alive. All he wanted was his revenge on Kenobi, but little did he know that you would be caught in the middle of it.

The guilt that Obi-Wan had felt was unbearable at first. He wished he didn't rope you into this mission. He didn't think for one second that this could have been a trap for himself and for the both of you. Obi-Wan lives out his days with a heavy heart for being the reason you died.

Vader spends the next several years alone, wondering about the day he will kick the bucket. It isn't until one day, a new hope emerges and relieves from him the dark side. Where he would redeem himself and be reunited with you as your force ghost had waited a long time for him to join you in the afterlife. Together, you both spend an eternity together without having to suffer ever again.

[hollandorks]

haven

battinson! bruce wayne x f! reader

interlude two

Summary: After the sudden deaths of your mother and grandmother, you’re forced to return home to Gotham…and to the man who broke your heart three years ago. Back in Bruce Wayne’s inescapable orbit, you vow to get to the bottom of your former best friend’s new cold personality. But Bruce’s secrets aren’t what you’re expecting. a

a/n: Another brief look into Bruce's mind...there will definitely be a couple more of these. And Bruce will get his own full chapter at the climax at the story. No I will not tell you more than that. Anyways thanks for the comments and feedback, they make me write faster!

Series Masterlist

word count: 1.1k

“I’m okay,” she said, but she wasn’t sure she was.

Bruce's POV

For most of the night, all of Bruce’s thoughts were some variation of oh fuck. 

First, it was because he was certain that at any moment, y/n would recognize him. That she would call him out on the mask, lying to her, everything. The more they talked, the more tightly wound he became. 

But at the same time, he…enjoyed it. She was more open with Batman than she was Bruce. Talking to each other like strangers erased their complicated, hurt-filled past in a way that was addicting. Bruce knew that the longer things went on, the worse it would be when she figured it out. 

Yet he couldn’t bring himself to tell her. 

Then, of course, the cursing in his mind changed the moment he realized she was in danger. That he had put her in danger by bringer her along. That panic was different, deeper, more crippling. 

Bruce thought he had known true fear.

He thought he had conquered fear. He had turned into an incarnation of it. 

But then, when Alfred was almost killed by the Riddler, all of that fear had come rushing back. 

And still it didn’t hold a candle to what he had felt when that man’s gun had been trained on y/n. Even with the Riddler terrorizing the city, even with Alfred almost dying, at least y/n had been safe in Bludhaven. 

Now that she was back in Gotham she was in danger. He had almost lost her. That fear was…unprecedented. It had nearly killed him, the sight of that gun pointed at her, the man’s intent to use it clear on his face. Like the world had stopped long enough to carve his lungs out of his chest. Long enough for him to imagine a world without her. 

Bruce didn’t care that his suit was bulletproof in those moments–he would have stepped in front of her anyways. 

The primal need to save her, to protect her, had been so strong he’d almost hit Gordon. And her new friend Martinez. He shot a glare to the man as he thought about the way he’d looked at y/n. Apparently, she texted him often. 

Bruce shifted his attention to y/n as Alfred hugged her, willing her to see him. To see him. To connect him to the Batman. He wanted her to know, even though it terrified him. Even though he didn’t know what she’d think, he suddenly ached for her to connect the pieces. After tonight, he didn’t want anything left between them. 

“I’m okay,” she said to Alfred, but he knew she wasn’t. He wished he could be the one to hold her. Batman might have been able to–she had seemed receptive enough to his touch in that alley. Leaned into it, even. But he knew it was because he hadn’t been himself. 

“Is there somewhere we can all talk?” Gordon asked. Alfred led them all into the sitting room, y/n trailing behind like a zombie. Bruce hesitated, wanting to stay back with her, imagined taking her hand and cupping her face to get a better look at the cut on her head in the light. 

Instead he sat as far away from her as he could, elbows on knees, hands clasped underneath his chin as he half-listened to ideas for security measures. 

He’d had to rush home to beat them there, to be able to change and wash his face and make it look like he’d been asleep. He’d explained, breathlessly, what happened to Alfred as the elevator rose to the top floor. They had barely stepped out of it when the other elevator opened. 

Alfred wanted to know, after asking if y/n was alright, if she had recognized him yet. 

Of course the answer was still no.

Alfred had sighed. Bruce heard their entire past arguments in that one sound. 

Two days before, when he’d gotten home, Alfred had been waiting. 

“She didn’t recognize me,” was the first thing Bruce said. A worry that was on both of their minds when Gordon had called. 

Alfred crossed his arms. He had left his cane leaning against a chair, too, likely to look more intimidating. 

“I know she didn’t, because she told me she was out with the Batman tonight.” Alfred’s foot tapped. “And if she had recognized you, I’m certain she would have come in with guns blazing, maybe even breathing fire.” 

Bruce paused. “...Right.” He wasn’t quite sure why Alfred was annoyed, then, if he knew y/n had been with him and hadn’t recognized him. Bruce started the ritual of shedding his armor while Alfred stewed. 

“The more time you spend with her, the worse it will be,” Alfred said after a long silence. “You know that, right?” 

Bruce shrugged but didn’t answer. 

“Why haven’t you told her?” 

“Because she hasn’t figured it out,” he said. He didn’t have any other good reason. Maybe because he liked spending time with her as two strangers. They had no past that way. Batman hadn’t broken her heart. Bruce had. She was easy with the vigilante, more open. More like herself than she was with Bruce. And Bruce missed her, the real her. Her humor, her smile, her laugh–things that only Batman got to see now. 

“Maybe she doesn’t want to,” he continued, voice soft as he placed the armor in its spot on a dummy. “Maybe I fucked her up so bad she can’t see me behind the mask.” 

Alfred’s silence was pointed. 

“This is the point where you’re supposed to argue,” Bruce said drily. 

“Nothing to argue with,” Alfred said, tone cold, and turned on his heel. 

Now, Alfred was giving him a pointed look across the sitting room. Bruce realized it had gone silent. Y/n was the only one not looking at him expectantly. A flush crawled up his neck at the sudden attention. 

“Sorry,” he said, but his voice was too low. Too close to Batman. He cleared his throat. “Not quite awake yet.” 

Y/n flinched. It was subtle, but it was still a flinch. Bruce’s eyebrows drew together as he wondered why she had reacted to strongly to his words. 

He had to tear his eyes away from her and refocus on the conversation about her security. Gordon said something about Bruce and Alfred being in danger, but the two of them exchanged a look, silently dismissing it out of hand. 

Bruce would do whatever it took to keep y/n safe. He had already taken four bullets for her, his chest aching, and he would take a thousand more, armor or no armor. 

She was safest in the tower with him, where he could keep her safe. Not that she knew it. Not that Gordon knew it either. 

But he and Alfred were her best bets. 

If only he could get her to stop running away from him.

Next Chapter

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[teyums]

Twin Flames

pairing: Ao’nung x fem!metkayina na’vi reader

contains: angst with underlying bittersweet fluff, slight infidelity, no smut but a very brief, vague rehashing of events. Ao’nung and reader are both 19. wc: 3,124

“Honestly I’m better as your boy, I’d be kinda shitty as ya man, let’s go back to only being friends. I’m sorry girl I hope you understand it’s just, I don’t wanna fall in love.” - KYLE

You and Ao’nung were written in the stars. Twin flames. A love so fierce among two souls that it’d be impractical to think you could come out unscathed. Like night and day, never one without the other, but never meant to be together.

He never intended to hurt you, really, he didn’t. But somewhere in all the gold that glittered and the feeling of something fresh and exciting, he simply lost sight and forgot what he really wanted.

Love and Ao’nung were two words that never should have been in the same sentence. You wished you had listened to those around you, to those who noticed the two of you growing far too close for the relationship to remain platonic.

You wished you had listened to those who recognized the familiar gleam he’d get in his eyes when he wanted something he knew he wasn’t supposed to have; to those who warned that he would break you into a million pieces like he did with the others. But what you felt in your heart and saw with your own two eyes, you couldn’t deny. He was different with you, you swear he was.

A friend was what you called each other. Bestfriends. Growing up in Awa’atlu, you were stuck to his side like glue as a child, always begging to go hunting with him and his friends. You wanted to go everywhere he went, do everything he did. Disgruntled and annoyed at first, a little Ao’nung had eventually taken a liking to you, much to his own surprise. And from then on, your presence in each other’s lives was as normal as breathing.

And somewhere along the line, Ao’nung had become gentle with you, contrary to his usual irreverent personality. He stopped treating you like you were just another one of his knuckle-headed friends, but instead something more than that. He found himself staring at you longer than he used to; captivated by the details about your features or personality that he never cared to relish on in the past.

The way your face would light up every time you heard his voice call for you. How you’d beam when you sat with him on the beach and raved about your day. He’d simply watch you, humming in response every now and then to let you know he was listening, on his face a smile so love-sickeningly drenched in admiration while you gesticulated animatedly.

He would have puked had someone held a mirror up to him to see his own besotted expression, but he loved how excited you were to talk to him about the smallest of things. How even while he’s studied the distinct map your starred freckles project along your body over and over again, for some reason, he still finds himself getting lost in them.

He doesn’t want to fall in love.

It’s what he tells himself every time a mention of your name has his ears perking attentively, listening in on the conversation regarding his newfound fascination. Every time a waft of your scent in the salt-laced breeze sends his mind reeling with thoughts he can’t seem to mute. But it’s too late.

Hell, how couldn’t he have fallen for you? You’re always perched on the dock outside his mauri before eclipse, swinging your legs as you patiently await his return from training so the two of you can spend some time alone before dinner.

Genuinely happy to see him regardless of how grumpy he can be, because you like him for him. And you’re completely unaware of how his mind battles with his heart as he admires you from afar, wondering how he’d let himself tumble face first into an irreversible fondness for you.

He doesn’t want to fall in love, but one can’t stop the inevitable.

Snarky teasing turned into transient observations that scarily resembled compliments. Chummy roughhousing morphed to playful touches to the most ticklish parts of you, just so he could hear your pretty laugh cascade through his ears like his own songcord. He had half the mind to add a bead, just for you.

And for a while, he felt it too, honestly he did. But Ao’nung wasn’t familiar with love, had pushed the thought of it away for so long that now he had no idea how it was supposed to happen. The things you were and weren’t supposed to do. He never knew that the fluttering feeling of butterflies swarming in his stomach were good, that he shouldn’t run from them, but embrace them.

Sure he’d grown up watching his parents display their affection to one another; grown up hearing the stories of an adamant, smitten Tonowari pining after a hard-to-get Ronal, despite her apparent aloofness. How he fell first and she fell even harder. But he never actually thought he would end up head over heels for a girl. It was usually the other way around, girls pining over him while he let the attention boost his ego.

He was a no strings kind of guy— utterly terrified by the thought of being responsible for breaking a girl’s heart. Breaking your heart, like he knew he would because he fucks everything up and he wanted no parts of it.

But he’s conflicted. Deep down he does want what his parents have. Someone to call his own, someone to come home to. Someone who means more than a stupid hookup that would leave him regretting his decision afterwards and wondering why the hell he went through with it. But like always with the metkayina boy, pride trumps what his heart already knows.

He’s well aware that it’s too good to be true. The thought that he could ever experience what it truly means to be happy, by letting himself be loved by you, is all that it will ever be. A thought. An unattainable aspiration. He knows you’re too good for him. Compassionate, thoughtful, kind. Everything he’ll never be, coupled with a heart much too pure to be polluted by his indecision.

But maybe, just maybe he could enjoy the reverie while it lingered, and pretend like he could really have you all to himself. Just for one night. Selfishly disregarding his issues with commitment, all he could think about while he laid in bed was how badly he wanted to see you, how badly he wanted to be with you.

Leading you on was the last thing on his mind that late night he’d snuck out from his Mauri and to yours, determinedly pitching small shells he’d collected on the way there between the flowing tulle curtains of your open window to get your attention.

And for some reason you couldn’t sleep, as if that was fate’s way of setting the two of you up for failure from the beginning. You’d already spent an hour staring up at the intricate weaving of your Mauri’s roof, wishing your eyelids would hurry up and become weighted, when the small disruption of something clattering against the floorboards had you sitting up almost instantly.

You smiled keenly, already having an idea of who it was. He told you he’d come for you later, sometime after eclipse, and he always kept his promises. At least, you thought he did.

The both of you waded by the shore beneath the light of the moon, legs brushing against the other from the effort of treading once you swam further out. Childishly splashing the other with small waves of cool, salty water and trying your best to keep your laughter quiet; the village long asleep but your hearts awake.

It was when he bundled you closer, when strong arms lagged through the calm waters to wind around your waist and pull you into him. That, was when you knew nothing would be the same.

You should have pulled away, should have called it a night before things could progress, like the voice in the back of your head was telling you to do. But just like always, those ocean eyes held you in a trance, a smug grin on his face in response to how deeply you blushed and it only made matters worse.

You wonder now if he knew what he was doing when he brought a hand up to caress your dampened cheek, his gaze undeniably tender when he told you he’d always thought you were the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.

You see now that you were stupid to fall for it. But in that fleeting moment, with your arms around his neck and your hearts beating as one, his lips moving against yours felt so right. It felt like that was where you were always meant to be, in his arms, pressed against the warmth of his skin as he set your soul ablaze.

You’d spent the rest of the night on the sand, the comfort of your bed long forgotten. He was all you needed. Entangled underneath the moonlight as you let him see so much farther into you than you had with anyone. He kissed broken promises upon your skin, lust-drunken words slurred from his mouth swaddled in the crook of your neck and you can’t believe you trusted him.

Your ability to see the good in everyone ultimately played the role in your downfall. You took pride in being someone who went off actions, and not words. Because it had never failed you before, but since then you’ve learned to never say never.

Curse your aching heart. You really should have listened when everyone told you to run, that behind all the kind gestures and longing glances and saccharine kisses to the forehead— it was all a game to him.

Things weren’t official with the two of you but you had planned to change that. Flung so deep into the intensity of your own feelings, everything about the way he treated you let you know that he must have felt the same.

Surely it’d be impossible to do all that the two of you had done with someone and not catch feelings. It’d be unimaginable to let someone peer so extensively into what makes you you, and somehow not fall in love with them.

“Meet me by the mangroves at noon, our spot.” You’d murmured between a parting kiss, just the day before, and he can’t believe he forgot.

He was enjoying his time with you too much to notice that he let things go on for too long, too busy reveling in the feeling of what it felt like to truly be loved. To be cared for.

He never intended for it to go this far, constantly having to remind himself to break the news to you that he wanted to remain friends, so he wouldn’t lose you all together. To let you go before he could do something to hurt you.

Ao’nung knew he was in too deep the moment he realized you were the last image playing behind his eyelids when he fell asleep, and the first thing he thought about when he woke up.

The idea of him loving someone so profoundly shocked him to his core, scared him into submitting back into his old habits. He needed to be with someone who couldn’t see him, someone who if he were to mess things up, the sight of them in fragments due to his actions wouldn’t cause him to endure that same agony. So subconsciously, he did what he always does when he has a good thing going for him. Fuck it up.

The sound of his laughter in the distance carried your feet along the buoyant netting that served as walkway between the homes of your village. A hopeful grin plastered on your face and a freshly woven armband clutched between your hands. A gift from him to you, and though not very traditional for you to give the first courting gift, nothing about your situation was, so you found it more than fitting.

The sight in front of you halted your movements, leaving your mind to try and make sense of the scene before your eyes could confirm what you feared to be true. What everyone had tried to warn you of.

The man who succeeded in making you feel a way no other had, stood a little ways in front of you, with a girl. Her back leaned against the rocks while she batted her lashes and gazed at him as if he’d hung the stars in the sky himself. The same way you’d found yourself doing every time he so much as looked in your direction.

A mere conversation between the two of them would never have been enough to upset you, you liked to think you were more secure than that. But you’d be lying to yourself if you claimed you didn’t see the way his hand cradled her cheek, and how his eyes flitted over her features, as if she were the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.

Your insecurities didn’t have much work to do, as it was the words that left his own mouth that confirmed your fears. The same thing he had confessed to you— all those nights ago when you laid intwined under the stars— he swore to her. With that same glint in his eye, that same longing look that you were foolish to ever believe would be reserved for you.

A fire surged up the column of your throat and a dreadful weight settled in the pit of your stomach that almost had your knees buckling. Your lips parted to speak, to ask him what the hell he was doing with her when he was supposed to have met you here.

But the words never came, they remained lodged between the confines of your heart-wrenched vocal cords. Your fist tightened around what would’ve been a lovely moment between the two of you, and the sound of it thumping against the ground, paired with the cloud of sand it brought up in its wake was enough to peel his attention from your giggling contender.

His startled, turned guilt-ridden expression would’ve rendered comical to you, but the rush of hot tears that bubbled over your waterline and stained your seafoam cheeks were far too impatient to wait for you to get a laugh in.

You staggered back with a denying shake of your head, a string of curses inaudible as you threw your hands up once he made a move to get to you. The girl he had been so enamored with just moments ago conveniently forgotten the second he witnessed your heart fall through your chest.

He called out for you in a panic, hurriedly sifted his hands through pale golden and swiftly scooped the disheveled accessory from the sand before his feet took off.

Ao’nung chased you through the village until he was nearly winded. Ignoring your hisses for him to leave you alone and brushing off the harsh shoves you sent to his chest as if they weren’t actually starting to hurt.

“Please, wait!” Another plea for you that went ignored, your ears only filled with the painful ringing of betrayal.

Blinded by the moisture in your eyes, you realized he’d cornered you. Chased you all the way to a secluded clearing behind the palm trees so you would stop running and just talk to him.

A strong hand gripped your forearm, turning you around rougher than intended to meet the frantic look in his eyes. “Please,” He implored breathlessly and his chest heaved from his efforts just moments earlier. “I never meant for it to go like this.”

You twirled from his grasp and swatted his hand away in the process, your face screwed up with hurt and he watched every conflicted emotion pass through your eyes at once. You didn’t even know how you were still standing.

“I gave myself to you!” Your voice wavered as you thrusted an accusatory finger to his chest. His lips moved, but no words left them as he clutched the forgotten gift in his hands. “I can’t believe I was so stupid.” You whisked your head away, shielding your face as another round of tears threatened to make themselves known, as if you weren’t embarrassed enough.

“I’m- I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking. I-“ His head dipped to the side to match his drooping shoulders, and you felt the rough pad of his thumb graze your cheekbone in an attempt to fix what was already broken. “Tahni, please, I was going to tell you. I swear-“

“You did this on purpose, didn’t you? Was this all some kind of sick game to you?” You choked out and backed away from his touch with your arms crossed over your chest, suddenly feeling exposed in front of the man who had already seen you so much barer than you stood now.

But with your feelings worn on your sleeves and so obviously unreciprocated, you felt more naked than you’d ever been regardless of the coverings you were wearing. Completely vulnerable in front of him, so naively gullible to think he’d ever put aside his immature desires and feel the same way you did.

“What- No! I’d- I’d never-“ He sputtered an answer vehemently, his expression almost wounded as he immediately denied your claim. “I just, I can’t give you what you need. You deserve better than me.” His hands found yours despite your efforts to avoid them, and he quickly realized why you didn’t want to be touched.

A stark contrast from your pained stature, the affliction he had caused, your body relaxed the second he touched you and your composure crumbled before him.

Sobs racked through your body and you weakly tugged your hands from his grasp to no avail, your words shaky as you begged for him to let you go. And without another thought he pulled you into his embrace, firmly caging you between the arms that once comforted you.

But they failed to replicate that same feeling, the image of what once was completely tarnished by his own actions. The words that left your lips were enough to make his eyes well with a wetness foreign to him. A deep-seated feeling he’d never forget. Remorse.

“You’re cruel, Ao’nung.”

The sound of your heart shattering drowned out his incessant, anguished apologies and your body slumped in his arms. You let him hold you, allowed your forehead to fall into the dip of his chest as large hands caressed into the curve between your trembly shoulders.

You mindlessly permitted his attempts to console you as you knew you would never let him close to you again. The two of you stood like that for a few minutes, until your weeping reduced to jagged inhales while you struggled to catch your breath.

“Did it mean anything to you at all? Any of it?” You squeaked hopelessly, and the sound of your broken voice sent daggers to the heart you were almost certain he didn’t have.

With his chin rested atop your head, his eyes squeezed shut and he exhaled unsteadily before he spoke.

“More than you know.”

part two

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[bibi-brains]

Stay

Dracule Mihawk x reader || wc: 790 || ao3 version

A/N: at first was writen for an oc but i also changed for reader insert

You waited at your seat as Perona floated through the tall stone walls of the living room disappearing seconds later to somewhere around the castle. Rising from your seat, you collected the empty tea cups that rested on the table in front of you, putting them on a silver tray and heading to the kitchen. You could feel Mihawk's amber eyes watching every gesture, those eyes burned into your heart and messed with your senses that could have you paralyzed like a small prey who ran away and stopped right in front of the beast. The swordsman sat still, arms crossed and wearing that intense gaze that had your knees wanting to wobble and drop onto the floor, wishing for his arms to hold as you threatened to fall.

Walking through the big door you headed to the kitchen, washed the two tea-cups you and Mihawk had drank the afternoon tea and left for your room. There wasn't much to be done now. Perona was leaving to search for Moira, you had already used and abused the Warlord’s hospitality of letting another person and most important an ex-marine stay in his home, having the care of Perona and Zoro to get out of bed again when your limbs and wings had given up to carry your body along the sea letting your half dead body drop in this island. You had great use during your time in the island, helping with farming, training, cooking and cleaning, although you shared more moments with the Warlord than the others, having him by your side while cooking, ordering you when plucking weed and cleaning dead leaves from his garden, you felt like those shared moments of quietness action different and grew needy of them. However there wasn't a chance for you now.

You walked along the large corridor to find your bedroom door, it was big just as all the doors in this castle, not as much as your bedroom. Yours was big, surely not as big as the owner’s but had plenty of space for your things and stuff you happen to keep like a small bookshelf that kept your favorite books from Mihawk’s enormous collection, some he had gifted to you, others you adored so much he allowed you to keep in your room, and one held the sound of his voice as he read to you in a cold rainy night. 

Fool you to even think about that night, letting you mind recollect the way his soft gaze studied the words easily before speaking and his thin lips moved to vocalize them, such simple act but made it lustrous when performed by him, the strongest swordsman, the one once knew as marine hunter, who slaughter bodies and danced in their blood had such enticing voice that made you fall into sleep.

Yet you couldn't decide which ones to carry or leave them all behind to save space and weight, having to worry about clothes, weapons and also a stock of food so you don’t end up like the first time you landed on the ground of this island. As you collected three book and placed besides your clothing bag a light knock on your open bedroom door drifted you away from your past thoughts and pulled it back to Mihawk who was standing there like asking for permission to come in, which you authorized, as he walked through your room the same feelings agitated your heart but it was soon concealed by anxiety weighting in your guts.

Turning away from him, you quickly resumed packing your bag with the rest of the clothes just in time for Mihawk to arrive at your right side and questions about your package. It feels right to tell him you’re leaving and he can finally have the peace back without you, although his voice felt afflicted. But just like a wound, things that hurt need to be done fast.

“I assume it is my time. Zoro has made his way and now Perona is making hers, I’m the one that lasts.” you said avoiding his gaze. You don’t wanna look into his eyes and get lost in thoughts that will make you stay, even so, Mihawk’s gaze was facing away from you and that made you sad.

Until you reached your right hand to take the books and place it back in the bookshelf you felt Mihawk’s calloused fingers touch the back of your hand and motioned to slide their way under your palm and envelop your smaller hand in his.

“Stay, I want you to stay.”

It was enough to make you melt into his touch and stay with his in this enormous castle with him for a few more days, or years.