#i would say I meant this piece to be more unhinged than hot but that’s a lie | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

coulsons-fullmetal-cellist · 1 year

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Disgusting Degustation

(Dieter x Horror Lover female)

Words: 3, 549

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Summary: you and Dieter receive an invitation to a hot new restaurant, but you recently watched a horror film about a restaurant

Warnings: lots of pretentious food and pretentious people describing said pretentious food, gagging on food, bad smelling food, a million references to The Menu because that film is awesome, so spoilers if you haven’t seen it yet

Dieter came home with an intriguing surprise for you.

“So, I’ve got this invitation,” he said handing you a piece of black card.

“I’m intrigued.” You looked at the gold lettering spelling out Stones Forest, “Looks like a vampire invitation.”

“No, it’s some new restaurant opening this week and my manager says I’m to go to drum up publicity or something. You’re my plus one obviously.”

“Obviously?”

Dieter gently grabbed your left hand and kissed it, fiddling with the engagement ring sparkling on your finger. “Obviously. And apparently there needs to be more photos of us going out as a happy engaged couple. Can’t have them thinking we just hibernate like hermits.”

“But we do hibernate like hermits.”

“Well, it’s free food so, are you interested?”

“You should have started with the free food.”

*****

Later that night, Dieter found you huddled up in bed staring at your phone, a concerned look on your face.

“Everything okay honey cakes?”

“Yeah, I just decided to see what the menu is like and…there doesn’t seem to be one.”

He snuggled into bed next to you. “Maybe it’s so new they haven’t put it up yet?”

“Maybe. All they say it’s some tasting menu; ‘An exploration of culinary history through experimental gastronomy’.”

Dieter scoffed, “Sounds pretentious.”

“Definitely. I’m just concerned they’ll have things that we wouldn’t want to eat.”

“Hey, if there’s meat and bread, I’m happy.”

“I hope they don’t have seafood. Or anything slimy. I don’t want to be vomiting up the place like Regan.”

You both scowled at the thought of that.

“Lovely image to put in my head honey cakes. Don’t worry, I’ll eat whatever you don’t want, okay?”

“You sure?”

“I’ve probably had worse in my mouth.”

*****

The day finally arrived, and you were ready for any horror movie related situation. Your chosen outfit was cute, sophisticated and gave you the freedom to run or climb a wall if the need arose. And pockets, plenty of pockets.

Dieter fell asleep on the journey over, leaving you to stew in your overthinking brain. You tried to look up anything you could about this hot new restaurant with its hot new chef, but there was surprising little information available. It made the suspicious bubbles pop. Dieter awoke before you arrived, probably sensing the nervous energy radiation off you. He gave you a comforting squeeze.

“You doing okay honey cakes?”

“I’ll be fine. We’ve got out spare napkins and bag to secretly dispose of gross food. I’ve got pepper spray in case we’re led anywhere strange. And if they offer up s’mores for dessert, we run.”

“Are you talking about that movie we saw?”

“Of course, I’m talking about The Menu.”

Surprisingly, Dieter didn’t find the film scary at all. Mostly because you never mentioned that it was a horror film.

“Do you really think someone is going to go unhinged over serving us dinner?”

“Maybe. It only takes one pretentious hipster chef to see the film as an inspiration board.”

*****

Well, you weren’t on a secluded island. You didn’t see anyone carrying any angel wings, and nothing jumped out on the walk there. The piney forested pathway would be romantic if you weren’t on high alert. A flash of cameras fluttered in the distance reminded you that the press was there to record the esteemed event.

Joining you were other couples; an elderly old money type; a preppy foodie influencer couple; lauded food critic Minty Divine and her magazine publisher and two investment banker money bro types with their dates who clearly understood tailored fashion better than the men.

Wait, that meant you and Dieter were the movie star couple. You were hoping the chef hadn’t seen any of his films on his one day off and hated it, laser printing the poster on a tortilla.

“Oh my god, Dieter Bravo!”

The foodie girl was dragging her boyfriend over to the two of you, her basically fawning over your fiancé while he looked bored to be here.

“I absolutely loved you in Cliff Beasts 6! Could I get an autograph or…?”

He was already put off and then some, dragging you over to a waiter carrying a tray of drinks, pretending he didn’t hear her. Sadly, libations were of the alcoholic kind only, so you shared a glass of wine. Dieter was cutting back and you never really enjoyed the taste, also you were designated driver. He hugged you close while sharing sips, looking the perfectly in love couple for the press, not that you were pretending.

Misty Devine sauntered her way over, arms outstretched, cigarette waving, and a smugness plastered to her, and her partners faces.

“Mr. Bravo! She exclaimed, completely ignoring you, “May we say bravo on your latest performance?”

He nonchalantly shrugged and gestured to you “Have you met my lovely, wonderful bride to be?”

“I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure” which was a lie as you met last month at a function. “So, how are wedding plans? Have you set a date?”

“October 1st” Dieter proudly announced, kissing your cheek.

“A fall wedding? How quaintly chic. Have you decided on a caterer?” she didn’t let you answer and made no attempt to blow her cigarette smoke away from you, “Let me tell you what’s déclassé: food trucks. Who serves street food at a wedding?”

Neither of answered as you already booked a taco truck and a cupcake van.

A gong sounded, thankfully saving you from having to socialise further. You were all led from the sunlight through the imposing restaurant doors and into sudden darkness. The hallway was dimly lit, hiding whatever secrets it held. After a few hesitant seconds, sunlight mutely streamed in from a skylight, revealing an unusual dining setting: it looked like a giant metal circle had its centre removed, legs added and bar stools surrounding it. It made the whole thing look like a cross between a steampunk Knights of the Round Table and an industrialist Last Supper.

“Well, the table isn’t stone so already I’m disappointed.” Dieter whispered to you.

“This is too much like Circle.” You whispered back, “If we have to start voting on who lives and who dies, we’re outta here.”

*****

When everyone was seated, the theatrics began. The skylight served as a spotlight for the elusive chef; he certainly did not look the part of a chef, more of someone who raided a denim store. At least he didn’t clap for attention, just expecting attention to be immediately drawn to him.

“Welcome one and all the Stone, I am your humble chef this fine day. Forest Stone is my name, and I will take you on a journey of our past history through food.”

“Pretentious much?” Dieter whispered into your ear.

“This bill of fare will be an Omakase; I will give you glimpses into my own personal journeys, and I will honour said locales with these humble victuals.”

“What the fuck is he saying?” you shrugged in response.

“If you look forth, you will see our menu where we’ll take twelve journeys to locations that have inspired me.”

You all looked down at the table where a piece of black card was laid out. Reflected in gold lettering were twelve words: Forage, Fire, Bowl, Knife, Leaf, Water, Bone, Rock, Fork, Spoon, Table and Air.

“Mmm, that rock sounds tantalising” joked Dieter.

“I’m more interested in leaf.” you joked back.

The doors opened again, and twelve servers marched out, stopping in front of each waiting diner.

“Forage was inspired while I was hiking the Appalachian trail. I realised how man has been feeding themselves for thousands of years. Gatherers were our first chefs and his dish honours that. Now, if you will hold out your hand to receive this humble dish.”

Everyone reluctantly held out their hands, you put yours out last after having a fleeting image of knives appearing. The only thing that did appear in the palm of your hand was a sticky blob of orange.

“What we did was hand pick clementines, reduced them down with Oolong tea and smoked sugar to create a humble marmalade to place in the palm of your hand. Enjoy a gatherers experience.”

He left along with the servers, leaving the rest of you to mull out your befuddlement. Most just shrugged at the absurdity and proceeded to eat from their hands.

Minty Devine started her food critic spiel: “This almost frugal presentation reminds one of one’s sense of place. The terroir characteristics come out in a toothsome mouthfeel.”

It was toothsome alright; it felt like a bitter mouthful of sand making you reluctant to chew or swallow. You discreetly managed to placate the mouthful to a napkin and into your pocket bin bag. The foodie couple next to you were giggling at the absurdity of it, then you looked to Dieter who had a big look of regret on his face.

“You swallowed it?”

He nodded, “Not the worst thing I’ve swallowed.”

*****

“The inspiration for Fire came to me while I was backpacking through South America. I encountered so many wonderful cuisines in the colourful culture. I felt a connection to my ancestors through the spice and the earth. This dish I will leave to be a surprise for you.”

You were handed a toothpick. On it was a tiny red candy which created the fires of hell within your mouth.

“A confetti of electricity dances across the tongue, igniting all senses. Absolutely to die for!”

Most of you probably did die, at least your tastebuds did. The meagre serving of water was not enough to quash the spice and the lonely napkin was not enough to wipe away the tears and snot running down everyone’s face. You handed the poor foodie influencer a tissue as her mascara was now down to her chin.

*****

“Bowl was inspired when I went white water rafting in the Grand Canyon. The rapid churning waters in a rocky surrounding reminded me of how small we are on this planet. So we have created an emulsion of La Bonnette potatoes and moose milk, laced with Persian blue salt and served it in the manner of those rapids.”

“Does he mean soup?”

“I hope so.”

What was presented to you, however, was not soup; a big bowl was placed down, and the servers sprayed in the supposed soup so all you were left with was foam. And no cutlery. What followed was an awkward display of failed attempts to of drinking the foam from a too heavy bowl. Those of you with sensible hairstyles and clothing managed to not make quite the mess.

“Oh, a zinfandel of flavour zips in lip-smacking fashion and provides a guilt free delight!”

“Tastes like salty water to me.” you quietly confided to Dieter.

*****

“I stood in the middle of the Colosseum, watching the sunset and it reminded me of man’s foibles and violence, and I had to humble myself for this dish. We created a compound butter using small batch butter and blended it with Miche bread, anchovy relish and frost snow. We served it the way the gladiators would have.”

This was not how they would have served it. What you were given seemed like someone forgot to scrape of their butter knife.

Dieter gave you a cheeky look, “Hey honey cakes, does this seem familiar?” he took a long, sensual lick of the knife but his face dropped from one of delight to one of disgust. You took his gagging licking it off onto his napkin as a sign to sneak into your pocket bin.

“Ambitious flavours combine together to challenge one’s flavour palette.”

Everyone’s tastebuds were feeling challenged right now.

*****

“When I was walking the Great Wall of China, I realised how close with nature mankind used to be before civilisation and industrialism destroyed our connection. So, I’m bringing back nature through this infusion of Summer Cypress and Fennel pollen in humble presentation.”

It was a piece of edible paper in the shape of a leaf. At least it was actually edible if paper was edible. Some were laughing and welcoming the bland break from this ridiculous ordeal.

“Simple yet elegant in presentation, but the crunch ignites a bouquet of transcendence.”

You weren’t even hallway through this, and you’d had enough of this nonsense. You didn’t look to be the only one.

*****

“I once took a gondola ride in Venice…”

Dieter groaned at another pretentious chef story.

“And being surrounded by all this water reminded me of all the unexplored regions of the planet we have yet to explore, so now we honour the ocean with a trio of abalone, glass eel and golden tigerfish which we put through a special process of jellification and humbly served like the waters of this planet.”

You would have welcomed drowning in a bowl of broken emulsion.

Instead, you were given a shot glass. “Well, it looks like water.”

Dieter, being much braver with putting things in his mouth, tossed back the mystery liquid. What followed was a comedy of everyone on the verge of gagging and spitting said liquid back into the shot glass. The foodie influencer girl looked to be on the verge of tears along with the money bros dates. Dieter took your untouched glass away from you, shaking his head and mumbling at you not to try it.

“Presentation devoid of any frippery, letting the craft speak for itself. The shimmering concoction slithers down the throat.”

That comment almost made you gag.

*****

“I stood barefoot on the sands of Bali and the sand touching my toes reminded me of prehistoric ancestors that have now been reduced to what lies beneath my feet and I had to humble myself. We all turn to dust and bone in the end so now we have for you a leg of Ayam Cenami black chicken which we sous vide and dusted with powdered cavolo nero. To be eaten on the bone.”

Everyone was given a comically mouldy looking piece of tiny chicken. Dieter took a tentative bite, then nodded to you that it was safe.

“Reminds one of the ethnic grubs but proves to be an appropriate banquet of nom.”

Everyone sighed in relief that this was at least edible. You thought it was a bit dry.

*****

“And now for a palate cleanser. The idea came to me while I was campervanning in Hawai’i. I discovered Kona Nigari water, so we had it imported here, and we laced it with rose petals and liquorice to provide a refreshing reprieve.”

A rock was placed in front of everyone. The servers then poured water over said rock, creating a waft of steam clouding everyone’s faces and some glasses. A literal spa treatment was an actual relief in this weird hellscape.

“A kaleidoscope of fragrance for a flawless pillowy vavoom.”

*****

“Fork was inspired when I took a helicopter ride over Iceland. The vast volcanic landscape was truly breathtaking, so to honour that, we wrapped Kobe beef in Jamon Iberico de Ballista,” he exaggerated his non-English words, “then we lightly charred it like a volcano would.”

Well, he was certainly right about that. The meat on the fork handed to you looked like it was left in a volcano for longer than intended.

Dieter happily munched away at the crunchy piece of meat, “Bit chewy.”

He noticed your lack of interest in your fork, so you handed it over to him, “Do you want mine?”

“Yeah, I’m fucking hungry.”

There was a lot of chewing for so small a piece of meat. “At least my jaw is getting a good workout. Good news for you honey cakes.”

Minty Devine did not seem so put off by the chewing, “A melt in the mouth experience that pays off in a delicate mouthgasm.”

Dieter snorted, “She said mouthgasm.”

*****

“I felt humbled when I received a personal invitation to the Vatican.”

“Of course, you did.” You mumbled into Dieter’s shoulder.

“I partook of Scotch Whiskey which as a favourite of the Popes, so to honour the experience, we took this whiskey infused it with Yatsu Gunbu fungus, and used this infusion for Serbian Pule cheese, which is 60% Balkan donkey and 40% goat.”

“Donkey cheese?” asked the foodie influencer girl, “Sounds cute.”

But it wasn’t cute, it was ugly, it was foul. You were handed a spoonful of something that looked like it was sneezed out. The smell that reached your nose was something truly awful. Into the pocket bag it swiftly went.

“Hm, a silky unctuous spoonful that oozes a challenging work, enrobing the tongue.”

A few shady looks went Minty’s way, clearly no one agreed with her up to this point.

*****

“This penultimate dish was inspired by a spontaneous trip to Japan. I experienced such delights, and the culture truly humbled me. We gathered together Densuke black watermelon,” he took on a terrible accent with the Japanese words, “Ruby Roman grapes from Ishikawa, and white jewel strawberries from the Saga prefecture, which we specially processed in a way to intensify its flavours.”

The servers left you with three small piles of colourful powder.

“If they expect us to snort this, I’m out.” declared Dieter.

“No, I think we have to use our fingers.”

“Would’ve been less offensive served as Pixie Sticks.” He was glaring at the money bros jokingly miming snorting the powder.

It was tasty but it felt silly to having to lick it off your fingers.

“A joyful take which plays off together and the flavours barely fight one another.”

“So, fancy Pixie Sticks.”

*****

“We have arrived at our final dish. I hope you enjoyed this adventure as much as I have.”

Everyone looked exhausted. The chair you had been forced to sit in for the past three hours were cutting into the back of your thighs and no back support, torturing you and probably everyone else. The old couple looked like they were about to keel over.

“I was taking a hot air balloon over Giza and the whole world felt so small to me. It truly humbled me.”

A mental drinking game was taking place whenever he mentioned the word humble.

“So, to honour that” take another mental drink at the word honour, “we whisked together Iranian pistachios, Mahleb and Peri Bali honey and sprinkled it with gold dust to create this inspirational dish served in manner of its name.”

The servers were standing in front of each of you holding a balloon, smiling like Pennywise. The balloon suddenly popped above you a left you covered in strange dust. The older couple were startled awake, and several others started sneezing.

“A literal explosion of flavours popping in playful manner invoking a breeze of butterflies.”

Everyone would happily form a queue to stab this food critic.

*****

After receiving your gift bags, you were finally allowed to leave. The chairs did their tortuous job, the older couple facing the worst damage and needing help getting to the door. The backs of your thighs had gone numb, making your walk into an awkward hobble.

Dieter ran off like a final girl, only stopping when he realised that you weren’t there.

“Are you okay honey cakes?” he panted when he ran back.

“Those chairs murdered my legs.” You winced as feeling was painfully returning, so Dieter gently picked you up and ran all the way back, awaking the sleepily awaiting press and scaring them by his yelling of “Freedom!”

He gently placed you down in front of the car and you thanked him with a kiss to the cheek. You both let out a relieved sigh to be seated in comfort again.

“That was officially the worst food experience I’ve ever had.”

“I’ve had many bad things in my mouth, but nothing that bad.” Dieter replied, “I’m also starving, you starving?”

“I’ve had about two things to eat so yeah, I’m starving.”

“I’d love a burger.”

“And fries?” laughing at the cinematic parallels, “You know what would be amazing? If the place burned down. It would be amazing to watch while we eat.”

Dieter gave you a smouldering look, “Are you planning to burn it down?”

“Would you like me to?”

“You’d look very sexy if you did. If you can get away with it.”

You ran your hand up his thigh, “I can find a way to make it look like an accident. But I’ll need an alibi.”

“I’ll always be your alibi,” his voice came out husky as he kissed you. You kissed him back with equal fervour until your stomachs reminded you that food was needed.

*****

Sadly, the place did not burn down, but it was burned in reviews. The foodie influencers had recorded and streamed most of the ordeal, and the whole thing was mocked online.

Minty Devine had her food critic credentials questioned as well as mocked.

It was exhilarating to watch while parked in the drive-thru, eating your burgers with fries. The menu provided in their gift bags not even good enough to wipe your mouth with.

“You should have done the speech,”

“What speech?” asked Dieter.

“I know you had Margot’s speech memorised.”

“Would you like to hear my rendition?”

“I’d love to. But when we get home.”

Films referenced: Circle (2015), The Menu (2022)

#pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #the bubble netflix #the bubble #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo fanfic #dieter bravo #love of horror fanfic #love of horror #dieter fanfic #dieter x reader #the menu 2022 #the menu #dieter x honey cakes

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thewritetofreespeech · 3 years

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hello!! i've made a request before but this idea came in my brain and i heard your requests were open. So ive seen a lot of fics of the brothers saving mc, but what about mc kinda of saving the brothers, i mean like badass sword fighting style. Just like a stereotypical disney prince saves a princess mc kinda saves the brothers from getting killed by a lesser demon with a sword and just being badass (and sword) and the bros find it hot (weak humans? never heard of them)

*spongebob narrator voice* 400 years lat’er..... So sorry this took so long! I genuinely don’t know why I couldn’t get it done. When I actually tried, I got it done in like 2 days. My only excuse is that I’m a horrible trash munny >.<

Obey me Boys + Power Princess MC

Lucifer

It offends him that this creature, this being not fit to lick the soles of his boots, would raise their hand to him. The attack was not even what upset him, but just the gall. The utter stupidity of this decision to throw one’s life away. The fact that they had attacked with you around only made him wish to end that pathetic life that much sooner.

“Step back [Y/N]. I’ll deal with this quic—” Lucifer cut himself off when you rushed forward. A bright shining sword in your hand as you lunged. Slashing through the demon, who wailed and instantly turned to dust & ash. “What on Earth was that?”

“Oh. It’s my sword.” You reply nonchalantly. Turning around to show it to him. “It’s a holy arc sword, or something. I can summon it from my bracelet whenever I need it. Cool to know it actually works in a pinch.”

“And where did you get such a magical artifact?” Lucifer asked. Perplexed beyond reason, but trying not to show it.

“Lord Diavolo gave it to me when I first got here.” The demon arched a brow. Lord Diavolo? “It would be really irresponsible of him to just let a human wander around hell without some kind of weapon.”

He paused for a moment. Trying to piece all of what you had just said together. Then he just chuckled. “Yes, I suppose it would be.” And here he thought that he had been the only one protecting you. When all along you could do it yourself.

His hand reached out to pat your head fondly. His breast swelling with pride. “I’ll have to thank him for giving you such a thoughtful, practical gift. We’ll also have to add sword play to your lesson plans. I’d be more than happy to be your tutor.

Mammon

‘Shit!’ Mammon mentally cursed as he was hit again.

This wasn’t the first time he’d been rough up outside a club. Given his lifestyle, and his gambling track record, he’d been pummeled by a few bouncers in his life. With his immense power, he could easily take them; if he tried. But then he would be banned from the club, and ever other, and that was something he couldn’t handle over the humiliation of being beat up by these clowns. He needed this. It was all he had.

So, he took his beatings from lesser demons when they came around. He’d only wished they’d picked a different night to get their ‘payment’ back since you were supposed to be here soon.

“Come on guys. Don’t ya think you’ve had enough?”

“We’ll tell you when we’ve had enough!” One demon sneered at him, before kicking a man while he was down. Classy. “You owe us. And we’re gonna get back every cent you owe out of your hide!”

The demon reared his foot back to kick him again, and Mammon mentally sighed. Preparing himself for the kick and really being over this since it began. But….no kick came.

The demon let out a loud grunt over the sound of a metal ‘wack’ before the two, even lesser goons beside him suffer the same fate and they all slump to the ground. “Mammon! Are you ok?!”

The silver haired demon looked up at you in shock. The light from the street lamp causing a halo to form around you, highlighting your worried face as you brandished a rusty pipe like some great sword. “Yeah…I’m fine….”

“You don’t look fine! You’re all beat up!” He just sat there as you dropped the pipe and dropped down to him. Fretting over him as you looked him over. He couldn’t hear what you were saying over the beating sound of his heart in his ears.

No one had ever tried to help him before.

Mammon lifted his arms and wrapped them around you. “Mammon? What—“Let’s get out of here.” He interrupted as he hugged you. Standing up, and helping you to your feet, after a moment to walk out of the alley. “I don’t want to be here anymore. I wanna go somewhere with you.”

“But….I thought you wanted to go out tonight. Play cards. You said you were feeling lucky?”

He couldn’t tell if that was a jab or not, but replied, “well clearly I was wrong.” Though despite his bumps and bruises, he did still feel pretty lucky right not. “I just want to get out of here. I don’t need this anymore.” You both decide to head home to help Mammon nurse his wounds. He never went back to that club, or really any club, after that night.

Levi

“Levi….I don’t think this is such a good idea.”

“Nonsense!” Levi quipped in response to your perfectly reasonable, concerned feelings. “It’s just a little further. Besides, I want to see Henry 1! I’ve missed him a ton recently, and want to make sure he remembers me.” It had broken his heart to discover his poor, lost serpent had been down here, all alone, this whole time. So he made an effort to see him every now and then.

“Yeah but…isn’t this still like super-secret for Lord Diavolo’s family and stuff? What if there’s like booby traps and stuff?”

“Come on! There weren’t any booby traps or anything before. Why would he when he has Henry to keep it…..” Levi trailed off as both of you were ingulfed by a long, dark shadow. A low hissing sound growing louder as a gold, stripped serpent towered over you with a menacing glare. “That’s not Henry.”

The snake hissed loudly with bared fangs and an open mouth, and you both scream and run to get away from it.

The serpent of course chased you. Easily able to keep up, and only loosing you when the two of you duck into a narrow corridor. Levi turned around to say something to you, but you were gone. His immediate thought was that the stranger snake had gotten you, and it was all his fault, and he would never see you again!

When he came to the end of the corridor, walking out like a man on death row instead of running, he looked up to see the snake in front of him. Clearly angered by having to chase him. Levi didn’t care. He wanted to die if anything happened to you. He’d rather die than live one moment without you.

Prepared to accept his fate, the demon didn’t move when the snake unhinged his jaw to eat him in one gulp. Only for a sharp spike to thrust out from his mouth a moment later. A strange, hissing gasp escaping it before it slumped down in a lifeless heap on the floor. “[Y/N]!”

“Jesus! Not to put too fine a pin on it, but this place is literally a maze. One minute I’m next to you, and the next I’m in some armory on the other side of the hall 50 feet away. Are you alright Levi?”

The demon scrambled up the snake corpse to stand next to you and wrapped his arms tight around your being. “[Y/N]! I was so scared! I thought this Henry imposter got you, and you were dead, and I couldn’t think of anything!”

“I’m really ok Levi.” You assure him, as he wept into your shoulder. “Do you still want to see the real Henry? I think I spotted where he actually is when I was running back with the spear?” Levi nodded into your shoulder. Still not prepared to let you go.

Satan

Satan always tried to be a reasonable man.

He hated being referred to as ‘The Demon of Wrath’. It wasn’t his wrath that had caused him to be born. And he wasn’t any angrier than his brothers, so why did he have to be labeled the ‘bad seed’? So he always tried to be level headed. Calm. Patient. But there were somethings he just could not abide. Like the boorish behavior of someone talking loudly in the library.

“Excuse me,” the blonde said, attempting to remain calm, as he came over to the rude demon two tables over, “could you please keep it down? This is a library.”

“Yeah. I know what it is.” He quipped back rather snippily. “What are you? The librarian?”

“No. Just a fellow book lover.” Satan replied. Grinding his teeth now. “And one who can follow the rules and basic social decorum of keeping my conversations to myself in a place like this.”

“Are you calling me stupid?!”

“No. I’m calling you uncouth. A word meaning undignified, and without manners.”

“Why you!”

The demon rose to his feet, towering over Satan now that he was standing. Not that it mattered. Height was not an immediate representation of strength. Look at Belphie. His younger, shorter brother could level a whole city with a flick of his wrist. Satan could easily dispatch of his imbecile without even breaking a sweat.

He never got the chance though, as just after he stood the demon let out a grunt and slumped to the floor; with you standing behind him on his depleted chair with a book in your hand like you had just pulled it from The Stone. “Bet you’re glad I think Kindles are dumb now.”

Satan had to right himself on what he was seeing, and then frowned at you. “I never said that, and get down.” He insisted. Offering you his hand to get down. You hop down with ease and set your weapon book on the table. “Honestly, I could have handled him without resorting to violence or cheap theatrics.”

“Cheap?? This book was very expensive.” You insist, and Satan had to scoff.

“Be that as it may, please do not use books for more than their intended purpose. I appreciate the assist, but I can’t have you hurting yourself or fine literature in the future.”

“You’re such a buzz kill sometimes Satan…..”

Asmo

Asmo always loved going to the club. The dancing. The energy. The pulsing music. The people.

Well…usually the people. Some people, usually bro-dude demons, just couldn’t take a hint that ‘no’ meant ‘no’.

“Come on Asmo! Why are you being so stingy?!”

“I’m not being ‘stingy’,” Asmo replied with a frown marring his beautiful face. “I’m just not interested.”

“You were interested last time.” His pursuer replied. Like that somehow gave automatic permission that things would happen again.

“That was a long time ago.” The dusk haired blonde replied. Sipping his cocktail and looking thoughtful across the spacious VIP lounge over to you.

Yes, things had certainly changed. Once where it would take a whole room of people and attention to make him content, these days all he wanted was you. Just you sparing a moment to look at him made his heart feel incredibly full. He had come here to have a fun night out with you, but it seemed no matter where he went his beauty was always causing problems.

The lesser demon frowned, then looked towards the direction Asmo was looking to land on you. “Shoot, just bring them along with us.”

“Excuse me?” Asmo asked. Beautiful expression turning Ignatius as he sat down his drink.

“Bring them along. I’ve never had sex with a human. But there must be something to it if you’re willing to do them. Not that I suppose that takes much….”

At that, Asmo leapt from his chair and grabbing the brute by the collar. He wasn’t normally one for violence. He wasn’t like his dull brothers. But he couldn’t let a slight like that against you slide. “Take it back!”

The two demon’s scuffle. Clearing out the VIP lounge as everyone ran. Scared that they might transform at any moment and literally tear each other apart. Asmo somehow ended up on his back, a position that usually didn’t bother him, as the other reared back to punch him in the face.

Or, at least he would have if he didn’t start convulsing and fall on the ground a moment later.

“Asmo! Are you ok?!”

The Lust Demon looked at you for a moment. Then delicately covered his mouth with both hands. Returning to normal. “[Y/N]! You saved me!!”

“Yeah. This little thing packs a punch.” You replied. Holding out your little pink taser from She-Sword from your clutch. “I couldn’t let this jerk hurt your beautiful face.”

“No one is more beautiful than you my fierce warrior queen!” He praised. Basking in the moment for only a second before you both scamper off before security came.

You both might be beautiful, but you didn’t want to end up on the evening news.

Beel

“I want to take up kendo.” Beel announced to you one day. Out of the blue. “I’ve been looking for ways to add variety to my workout. I came across this video on kendo and thought it would be fun.”

Of course, Beel knew you had practiced kendo in the past at school. So he might have also been looking for fitness activities for you to do together. In any case, he really liked seeing you in your little workout outfit. It was super cute.

He also liked you showing him the basics of kendo; stance, footing, basic strike movement. When he felt he had gotten the hang of it, Beel jovially asked for a sparring match with you.

“I don’t know….”

“Come on [Y/N], sparring with someone is the best way to learn fighting.” He reasoned. “Besides, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“I’m not worried about that….” He heard you mutter under your breath, but thought that he must have imagined it as you squared off.

Standing across from you in the arena, something changed. The hair on the back of Beel’s neck stood up. Not in the excited way that it normally did when he saw you. But something more….primal. His grip tightened a little more as he realized he might have to get a little serious with you.

It was all for nothing though as the match was over just as soon as it started.

The shinai went flying out of his hands, landing across the room just as Beel landed on his butt. His backside throbbing as his bell was rung clear as day. He rubbed his head as he looked up at you. “I may have forgotten to mention that I was three-time national kendo champ all through school.”

The demon looked up at you with a shiny, sparkly gaze only until now reserved for delicious food. “Teach me sensei!”

Belphie

He hated being out. He wanted to go home.

Being outside in the sun, with all these…..people was hell to him. Belphie would rather be home, in actual hell, with his blanket and pillow and quiet, rather than ‘top side’ with you for the whole afternoon. Not that it was you or anything. You were the only bright star on this miserable day. He’d be damned if he’d let one of his brothers spend the day with you when he could.

“Belphie, do you want an ice cream? Maybe that will help with the heat?”

He wanted to say that the only thing that would help him was getting the hell out of here. But, he bit his tongue. The demon knew how important this was to you to come ‘home’ now & then and he didn’t want to ruin it for you. So he just nodded and asked, “strawberry please.”

He sat in the shade as he watched you go over to the ice cream truck alone. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe he was just a hopeless shut in. Like Levi, only worse. He just wanted humans so much that being around them was making him crankier than normal today.

“Geez, get a look at that side show over there.”

Belphie looked up from his daze at the human who was a few yards away from him. Snickering and staring with his friends in a voice that a regular human wouldn’t be able to hear. “If you have something to say, then say it, you chicken shit fuck.” Again, he was very cranky.

The human was obviously taken aback at being heard and then called out like that. “What did you say to me?!” He yelled, once he got his bearings on the situation, and took a ‘threatening’ step forward to see if he would repeat it.

“I said ‘If you have something to say, then say it, you chicken shit fuck’.” Of course he repeated it. “Don’t mutter something under your breath like a coward. Say it like a man, or keep your gross mouth shut.” This was why he hated humans. No spine.

Well, metaphorical spine. If he kept this up, Belphie was gonna prove that he had a spine when he ripped it out and made him wear it as a neck tie.

“You little fuck--!” Belphie, of course, didn’t move when he stomped closer. Not that he needed to, because he was stopped in his tracks rather abruptly when you stepped between then. Holding a knife from your pocket.

“I suggest you get out of here, before the only ‘side show’ around here is your knife swallowing act pal.” The man seemed to frozen for a moment as he tried to process if you were serious. Then his flight instincts kicked in and he took off running with his friends across the park. “Gosh, I think I’ve been spending to much time with you guys. I never would have done anything like this before.” You said after a sigh, then turned back to Belphie.

“My hero.” He cheered softly, in his typical tired voice but still with a soft smile. Seeming extremely proud of the bad influence he was on you.

314 notes · View notes

sylvie-writes · 3 years

Text

Dr. Husband

word count: 5278

pairing: doctor steve rogers x wife reader

warnings: talks about heat exhaustion? there’s nothing graphic, but if the hospital theme bothers you, then this isn’t the fic to read!

prompts (from @/fluffyomlette): “Your pulse is a little high. Is it because I’m holding your hand?” and “You’re not supposed to pick favourites, doc.” “Trust me, if I didn’t, you’d be dead by now.”

a/n: this just popped in my head about a month ago and i had to write it for no explainable reason. i really couldn’t think of a title oops. if you all have a better idea please tell me so i can change it lol.

please excuse any mistakes!

Summer was finally in full force, blazing sun rays beamed down on the dry ground and once gorgeous flowers drooped in dire need of water. Sounds of children playing outside, pool water splashing as a result of cannonballs, while lawnmowers whirled to life and laughter from the watching wives resounded this afternoon. In your neighborhood, it was tradition that the women would get together every other Saturday and have drinks in the cul-de-sac while their husbands had unsaid competitions of manicuring their yards. Unfortunately for you, your husband was a doctor and that meant little time for him to do the yard, and you didn’t have children at the moment that could go play with the others. The women who were your neighbors were a bit too picky choosy for your taste. They only seemed to bond over their children and sitting around home, two of which you didn’t have or do, so you weren’t ever truly invited to their day-drinking. It was actually fine with you as these people were so hot n’cold and you were just tired of trying to fit in with faux friends. You had plenty of true friends and then your husband who was a child of his own.

For three weekends so far, Steve had told you he’d cut the lawn and as much as you wanted to believe him, you knew that he was so exhausted from work and being on call a majority of the time, that he would never find the hours to do so. That was okay with you because what he did was important and you weren’t gonna be on his ass like the feds about the yard when you could easily do it yourself. It wasn’t like he was just sitting around, no, he was working so you just decided to cut the lawn yourself, something you’d done plenty of times before.

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Unfortunately the day you chose to do so, the sun was out blazing and a simple walk out the door was a trip to an off-brand hell. Instead of making a wise decision and waiting to cut the grass in the evening, you chose the latter and decided to cut the grass at noon, the very time the sun was in full shine.

Dressed in attire for yard work and having already eaten a sandwich for lunch, you headed out the garage door to tackle the mess there in hopes of finding the push mower within. Steve’s father, Joseph, had given you both a lot of his lawn equipment, but the riding mower was broken at the moment and you (again) stupidly decided to push mow the almost two acre lawn. It took a good half hour to get the darned thing out on the driveway and while doing so, you noticed that your neighbors, the wives to be exact, had decided to come out for one of their occasional and somehow spontaneous get-togethers which consisted of unattended kids drawing with chalk as their mothers sat a few feet away dipping their feet in the small splash pool. You often found the idea both inventive and funny.

For only a second more did you let your attention linger on the group before returning back to fill the lawn mower with gasoline. After doing so, you tossed on a pair of sunglasses and went full steam ahead with cutting the grass, disregarding the rising, and very unsafe, temperature.

About an hour in, the temp had already risen to be above 100 and something no one should have spent any longer than half an hour in. Steve had always said you were stubborn at all the wrong times and boy was he right. You had just finished up half of the front yard and quarter of the back yard. It was mad that you were actually thinking about pushing mowing two acres, especially in this unruly weather.

You were so determined and when your mind was set on something, you let all other matters slip away, including regards for your own health. The unusual amount of sweat on your skin seemed to go unnoticed by you as well did the growing headache.

Finally, about half an hour later, more of the backyard was finished and your inner saboteur continued to influence your goals.

“Just finish this half and you will be close enough to the end,” translated into “Just finish the whole yard, you might as well since you are this close.”

This was the worst mindset to have, especially with the given circumstances as you had been out here for at least two hours, no drinks of any sort, no real breaks aside from fueling the lawn mower, and no cares to the worsening symptoms that now included noticeable dizziness.

The lawn mower eventually ran out of gas and you went to refill it once more. Making your way through the front yard, your unknown adrenaline rush came to an end along with the machine’s power. It wasn’t until your vision started to star and blur that you finally noticed your decline in health, but by then it was too late and you were on the plush and groomed grass of the front yard. Ironically, you noticed the fruits of your labor since you were currently laying on it.

Five minutes had passed since your drop to the ground and one of the ladies out in the court, Genevieve, noticed your figure, quite the contrast to the viridescent grass. Despite that she thought you were “demented” for cutting the grass yourself, she knew you weren’t unhinged, so to say, that you would just lay on the grass as it would serve no purpose to do so. She didn’t take you for a nature lover either so this was not normal.

Genevieve squatted down in the lawn, her sparkly sandals reflecting in the sea of green. Unknowing of what to do, the woman in a panic threw the back of her hand to your forehead and you burned hotter than a metal kettle. By time she stood, the other ladies had gathered around and were now circling in mass hysteria as if they were staring at a dead body and not your unconscious, yet breathing frame. Many long seconds later, Priscilla, who was Genevieve’s closest friend and who despised you as much as you did her, decided to call 911. The other moms then left to go usher their children away from what they described as a “traumatic experience” and back to their large homes for some sort of last minute luncheon.

Eventually, an ambulance arrived in your usually quiet neighborhood, something that was clearly displayed as almost every neighbor popped their heads out of their houses in sheer curiosity. Their nosey nature often bothered you but was normally put behind some sort of service act such as a baked cake or bottle of wine just to be invited into your house. You didn’t miss the way your neighbors would study your house when they were finally welcomed in. Steve was much better at hiding his cross nature and would return some compassion of his own while you struggled to bottle your annoyance and sealed it with a forced smile. As luck would have it though, you were knocked out and couldn’t give them a piece of your mind for staring because heavens know this would’ve been the last straw and no one could have stopped your rant.

It was when you were in the red wagon and being attended over by paramedics that you noticed you were on the way to somewhere that wasn’t home.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

At the hospital, the doctor and nurses hydrated you back to reality and suddenly you appeared in a bed, a doctor standing at the side with a clipboard in hand allowing your mind to draw up a million conclusions before you remembered what you had done last.

The doctor spoke a fast introduction and he then moved on to fill you in on what had happened as confusion still painted your face although when he told you Genevieve’s account of what led up to your ultimate passing out, you visibly cringed at such carelessness that ended up bringing you here. Hundreds of falls, burns, and bruises thanks to your clumsy nature, but this had to be the one thing to send you to the hospital. Some sort of twisted joke it sure was.

Moving to roll a stool to your bedside, the doctor passed you a cold bottle of water before bringing his eyes to give your IV a quick check as a nurse had put it in not too long before you awoke.

“Luckily, Mrs. Rogers, your neighbors found you in time and you only experienced severe heat exhaustion. Had you prolonged your exposure anymore you could have experienced a heat stroke. For now, I ask that you rest and I’ll come back to release you.” The doctor expressed his reassurance with a kind grin before walking out of the plain and boxy room that could make one go insane with its lack of liveliness.

Staring out the open doorway and into the empty hallway, you knew that Steve worked on this very floor, but honestly what were the chances that he’d see you? At one point he’d eventually find out about today’s mishaps, but that was a problem for later when you were more conscious and caring. Letting your worries temporarily go (something that was only happening thanks to your fatigued mind), you slightly shifted into a somewhat “comfortable” position on the stiff bed and rough cotton sheets. Albeit that there was an IV uncomfortably stuck in your arm, you fell into a much needed slumber.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Lunch break at last.

That was all that had been on Steve's mind for the past three hours which had been extremely hectic. Granted, he was used to this fast-paced workplace having worked here for almost a decade, but today was absolutely out of control with injured patients coming in left and right. It wasn’t some sort of bad omen, rather just an unlucky day for many Steve had assumed. He had just finished up with a pediatric case and was now on his way to enjoy the leftover baked chicken salsa that you had made just for him last night and packed for his lunch this morning. You knew how busy his week had been and you took the liberty to make his favorite dinner dish to compensate for the work that had left such a toll on him. A smile immediately overtook his face when he walked in the house last night and that’s when you decided that you would gladly cook anything he’d like over and over again just to see that look of adoration. As Steve held you in his arms at that moment, he kept thinking how he really didn’t deserve you and little did he know, the same thought ran in your own mind. Yet, in reality, you both went together like a puzzle piece to a puzzle. Without the piece, the picture would never be completed and without the other, you and Steve would have never enjoyed life to the fullest.

Strutting down the never ending hall, Steve passed many doors, some he had been in just a mere hour or two ago. As he walked past an open door and did a double take as he saw a patient asleep, but no sign of anyone else in the room. If he were that patient, he’d want the door shut for some privacy, something which the man highly valued, so he crossed the short distance and closed the door. He didn’t mean to look at the patient for so long as they weren’t in his care and that would be awfully creepy, but Steve could help but do a double take and noticed that the familiar face was, in fact, you. From first glance it didn’t even look like you and that was coming from the man who had studied your face just to commit it to his memory. In a loving way, of course.

He slowly walked in your room, taking in the image before him of you lying in a hospital bed. His mind had assumed that the worst thing had happened to you and for a moment, Steve’s breathing ceased and his legs were glued to the ground. As his eyes scanned over your body again, his fears were calmed when there were no visible wounds and you just seemed to be resting. Although as a doctor, he unfortunately knew anything could be possible.

Hunching over the top half of the bed, Steve smoothed your stray hairs away from your forehead and placed an awakening kiss there. You were a light sleeper a majority of the time and your spouse knew that this small action would wake, but not startle you. Every night he’d come home from work and do the same thing except then he knew you were safe and sound. Now, he was just filled with uncertainty.

“What happened?” Those were the only words he was able to get out and you gave him an answer, just not one that he was looking for. You were already getting defensive and he could sense it.

“Genevieve saw me pass out in the yard and overreacted, Steven. You know they all don’t exactly have good track records with medicine.” You rolled your eyes at the last statement remembering how your neighbors have often nonchalantly tried to get Steve to diagnose them when it came to something as simple as a scrape. Then again, all of your neighbors were in the business industry so that explained their lack of medical knowledge or at least that is the excuse you drew up for them.

“Nice try, (y/n), but you do have a medical chart and it’s over there,” Steve pointed over his shoulder and towards the doorway where a plastic chart holder sat mounted on the cream wall. “You didn’t just pass out, and the neighbors did not overreact. They did the right thing despite how much I know you hate that. Now, either you tell me the truth or I go read that file.” His tone was serious, but not condescending. Hidden in his eyes was a tad sprinkle of mischief.

Stubborn as ever, you didn’t respond and folded your arms over your chest in a form of defiance.

Against what is probably legal, Steve picked up your medical chart to read what had happened as you wouldn’t disclose the information to him. Your husband was a worry-wart sometimes and while you appreciated how he doctored you when you were sick, he could be a bit overbearing. A great example would be the time when you were cooking dinner and burned your forearm when taking the casserole out of the oven.

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“Babe, dinner is ready!”

The timer on the oven was currently beeping and you walked towards it. Turning off both the oven and the timer, you grabbed a short oven mitt and reached in to grab the casserole dish off the top rack. As you did so, you lifted your arm a bit too high and hit the side of your forearm on the interior roof of the oven. The temperature was ridiculously hot and the pain was immensely strong that you immediately pulled your arm back, the casserole long forgotten.

Steve came running in at your string of curses and came in to see you holding your arm and hissing a bit as if that would relieve the pain. He walked closer to you as you leaned up against the island. Your husband delicately took your arm in his hand, raking his eyes over the burn that was soon to blister.

After a short inspection, Steve placed his other hand on the small over your back and led you to the sink, flipping on the cold water and running it over your burn. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve could see you squeezing your own eyes shut in pain.

“I know, sweetheart, it hurts, I’m sorry.” He continued to rinse your scalded skin, but turned his head to sweetly kiss your temple.

A few minutes passed and Steve was content with the rinse job as you had finally opened your eyes, even engaging in some of your jokes that were always said at the wrong time. From the kitchen, the man guided you down the hallway, through your bedroom and into your joined bathroom. He sat you on the edge of the bathroom tub while rummaging through your unorganized medicine cabinet. It was barely ever touched and when it was, it was often in a state of panic hence the messiness of it. Fortunately, Steve found a tube of bacitracin and some cotton dressings from God knows how long ago. At this point he could care less and would rather have you cared for.

You curiously watched him as he dug through the cabinet and a loving smile grew on your face. How lucky were you to have this man. You were really appreciative of him in times like these especially.

Said man returned and crouched before you, distracting you from your thoughts as he softly grabbed your hand once more.

The doctor worked his magic and in no time was your arm wrapped up and lathered in ointment.

“Wow Doc, you did a great job.” Steve was still holding your hand as you quietly giggled in content. He placed a kiss on top of your knuckles and peered up at you with those gorgeous (and borderline seductive) sapphire eyes. Chuckling, Steve murmured against your skin, “Only for my favorite patient.”

As always, you decided to play along with Steve’s playful banter. “You’re not supposed to pick favorites, doc.”

Your husband knew your clumsy nature and seemed to have the perfect response, “Trust me, if I didn’t, you’d be dead by now.”

With your non-injured hand you went to hit his shoulder and he grabbed it in faux hurt.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

“You know, Dr. Rogers, that is a violation and I can actually report you for it.” You lifted your line of sight to see Steve who looked back at you with his lips pressed in a fine line. He shook his head disapprovingly after reaching the end of the report and now looked like he was going to sit back in the seat beside your bed.

“Hey, what are you doing? They already examined me and I am about to get released.” The man ignored you and instead leaned over the flimsy bed railing. Steve rubbed his hands together in a warming manner before placing two fingers on your next in an attempt to find your pulse. He unfortunately carried that common trait among doctors of having hands that were colder than that of a penguin’s ass. You knew very well this pulse check was useless as you were in conditional health and that he was probably doing this to annoy you.

“Well I like to do a check of my own. It never hurts to get a second opinion, darling.” Blue eyes squinted at you and you returned the patronizing gesture.

The free hand that was not on your neck had found its way to hold your own hand and when your husband pulled back, he wore a smug smirk on his lips.

“Your pulse is a little high. Is it because I’m holding your hand?”

“You know, your shoulders must hurt from carrying such a big head all the time.” Steve had the nerve to laugh at your elementary grade insult and even though you weren’t really mad, your face would have said otherwise to anyone else.

“So I’ll take that as a yes then, wifey.” He then quickly dropped to press a chaste kiss to your lips before releasing your hand and sitting down in the chair.

Looking to the clock on the wall, you focused your vision on the distant numbers to read that it was most likely Steve’s lunch break.

“Are you spending your lunch break with me?” Your tone was now sweet and soft as it usually was towards Steve and his heart leaped at the progress being made.

“It seems that I am. ‘Was really looking forward to that chicken salsa, though.” A heap of blonde hair rested on your hand that Steve had now laid his head against, still holding tight with both of his own hands. You giggled at his dramatics and ruffled a free hand through his greasy hair.

“I haven’t eaten anything, you think you could spend your lunch break with me?” His head popped up at this and his face held the eagerness of an energetic puppy.

“Of course, sweetheart. We can head to the cafeteria. Hopefully they have something good for my girl.” It was now your turn for your heart to swell at his words. Not even a second later though, the sentimental moment was replaced with Steve’s usual sarcastic humor.

“See, I love you so much that I am willing to sacrifice my precious chicken salsa just to have lunch with you. You should be grateful to have me as your husband.” Steve’s pearly whites beamed at you in a cheesy smile and you gave a dismissive wave of your hand.

The two of you talked and enjoyed the rare time together for the next ten minutes until Steve noticed you shifting to sit up against the pillows. He thought nothing of it until suddenly you were throwing your legs over the side of the bed and making to get out of the so called cotton prison.

Waving a finger, Steve tutted you and hurriedly scooped your legs back onto the bed. You looked absolutely peeved and Steve knew it was from the way that he was treating you like a child or better yet, a patient. His wife, the fighter and he, the doctor. Two unlikely personalities but ones that worked best together nonetheless. This made Steve laugh whenever he thought about it.

“You can get up the minute you get released by the doc, okay?” Caring eyes now gave you a pleading look and you felt a small tinge of guilt crawling up your chest at how mean you had been to your husband when he has only been trying to help.

A knock on the wooden door signaled a visit from the one person you had been waiting on for what seemed to be ages.

“Speak of the devil.” Muttering the phrase so only Steve could hear you gave him an “I told you so” kind of look.

The Doctor looked up from the same clipboard as earlier to greet you once he made it in through the doorway, but he was surely surprised by the figure sitting in the chair beside you.

“Oh Dr. Rogers, what a surprise! So this is your wife I presume? I guess I should have put two and two together,” Your doctor of the moment laughed with Steve who added in a chuckle or two of his own.

“Yep, this is Mrs. Rogers!” Steve didn’t look at you, but lovingly squeezed your hand that was resting against his, “We are quite the handful so I am surprised you couldn’t tell that she was my other half.” A snicker ended his words and you couldn’t help but do the same.

Once the short introductions were over, the doctor walked over to do a speedy final exam on what was necessary as Steve watched from the sidelines still getting used to the idea of not being the one doing the examination. He hadn’t been in any other position in the hospital for such a long time that it took some time to get used to the fact that he wasn’t the one diagnosing and rather waiting for the diagnosis.

The doctor pulled away from hovering over you and now sat back on his rolling leather stool, scooting his way over to the computer and desk.

“Well I must say, (y/n), that you definitely live up to some of the stories your husband tells.” The other man in the white coat finished up his typing before turning back around to face you and his colleague.

“Ah, I hope he’s giving me some good street cred,” You teased and from the side you saw Steve shaking his head and chuckling under his breath.

“I assure you that they were all good things.” With that, the doctor formally released you, walking out of the room to give you some time to redress and such.

You went to get out of the bed for the nth time, but finally succeeded. Your legs felt a bit wobbly upon the first step, and Steve noticed this. He came up to stand beside you and placed a hand on your lower back with the other out in front in case you did fall. Placing your own hand on his scrub clad chest to steady yourself, you silently thanked him with a tender pat.

With Steve’s guidance, you went to change out of the wretched paper gown and into your shorts and shirt from working outside. It wasn’t exactly the most flattering outfit but at this moment you could care less for the only thing on your mind was getting out of this room.

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The ride in the elevator seemed to move slower than a snail and almost stopped on every floor. You were so crammed by the time you were only on the fifth floor that you used this as an excuse to lean up against Steve. He rubbed your arm and enveloped you in a side hug and planted a kiss on your head. The two of you never cared for PDA but neither of you had realized the onlooking eyes.

You found it mildly comedic when some of your fellow passengers seemed disgusted that a doctor was handling a patient in such a way. It was definitely gonna be a joke for later on.

Eventually you made it to the first floor and begrudgingly pushed yourself out of Steve’s warm embrace when the smell of garlic bread hit your nose.

“Huh, they never cook spaghetti around here. They must know we have a special guest today.” Steve pressed his lips against your ear to jokingly whisper to you as he ushered you out the elevator doors.

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Standing in line with a plastic tray at the cafeteria made you have flashbacks to middle school lunch and you shuddered at the thought. The memories played back in your mind like a movie and were interrupted (much to your relief) when Steve tapped your shoulder.

“You want this?” Steve held one of the plastic salad containers in hand, the white sleeve of his lab coat draped on top of the other stacked bowls in the open air freezer.

You nodded and he placed it on your tray, slightly bumping your hips as he walked past to grab a drink.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

For a good twenty minutes, you and Steve sat in comfortable silence in one of the booths until clicking clogs came closer and closer. So close that a shadow loomed over your table conveying that someone was here to speak.

“Dr. Rogers, I don’t think it’s entirely wise of you to have lunch with your patient. Actually, it’s quite inappropriate.” The older woman in burgundy scrubs pointed her gaze to the hospital band on your wrist and both you and Steve started laughing upon noticing. So that explained all the weird looks.

“Oh no, Dr. Williams! This is my wife (y/n),” You politely beamed up at the woman and set out your hand for a handshake. At this, her unenthusiastic expression changed to one of apologetic and she shook your hand with much grief as Steve continued on with his introductions.

“(y/n), this is Dr. Williams. She is the medical director for my department.”

“Wow! I’ve heard many wonderful things about you, Dr. Williams.” She went to return the praise before a beeping in her coat pocket signaled the time for her departure.

“Duty calls, but I’ll have you know this one here never shuts up about you. It was nice to finally put a face to a name, (y/n),” You glanced at Steve and noticed he was sheepishly grinning and turning redder by the second. So much so that he was hiding his face in his palms.

““I hope you have a quick recovery as well, hon!” The standing woman gave you a nod of her head and then turned to your husband whose face had finally regained its color. “As for you Steven, I will see you later. You have another resident to deal with today.” Dr. Williams sighed at the thought, waving you both goodbye and soon enough she was out the double doors of the lunch room.

“Ooh babe you’ll have to tell me how all of that goes.” Spooning some spaghetti into your mouth, you goofily raised your eyebrows at Steve.

“Trust me, it is not fun at all. When I was a resident, I would have never acted like some of the people I’ve trained!”

You snorted, “Uh huh. Sureee.”

“No really,” Steve’s eyes widened and he leaned over the table like he was sharing some sort of secret with you, “The audacity of some of these people.”

“I think you are just an old man now, Stevie, and can’t keep up with the times.” The blond screwed up his eyes and stuck his tongue out at you.

“Oh hush and finish your food, Miss. ‘I am soooo young’.” A napkin flew at Steve’s chest and the two of you laughed at the childish antics that had just ensued.

Just as both of your styrofoam containers became empty, an unpleasant ringer sounded in Steve’s pocket, just like the one of Dr. Williams’s departure. Once he gave the screen a swift peek, he looked back up at you with a long face.

“You gotta go?” Golden strands bobbed up and down as Steve nodded and you grabbed his hand.

“It’s alright! Thank you for spending the time with me today, though. I really appreciate it. Thanks for putting up with me, you know how I am sometimes.”

The larger hand encompassing yours gave a sympathetic squeeze.

“Oh darling, anytime, you know that. If you need anything, call me okay? I will try my best to answer.”

The temporary silence that filled the room was now replaced by annoying buzzing from the device that Steve had silenced for the moment. He irritability took it out and shoved it back in his pocket. Normally this didn’t bother Steve because this was his job, but since you were here, having just been sick, he wanted nothing more than to drop everything and focus on you. Knowing that was impossible, he tried his best to juggle both yet it seemed that the world wasn’t gonna wait on him.

“Do you want me to call Ma to come get you? I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. Her and Dad love your company.” For the moment, Steve appeared to look like he was ignoring the constant beeping, but you knew internally he was already out of the cafeteria and sprinting down the halls.

“No no, I’m fine, honey,” The doctor stared at you as if he didn’t believe you. “I mean it, Steve. I am fine. Now shoo.”

Dr. Rogers shared another laugh with you before pecking your lips and running out the room shouting, “I’ll see you later!”

He really was too good for this world.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

a/n: i really enjoyed writing for doctor!steve, so if anyone has any ideas that involves him and that you’d like me to write, send it in! <3

taglist (is open!): @memissbee @tricereads @buckybarnesthehotshot @bval-1 @tonystankschild @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @turtoix @kelbabyblue @jakiki94 @aubreeskailynn @calirindo @lady-elena-adeline @siriuslyslyslytherin @sushiinmidnight @patzammit @iwik3it

#Steve Rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers headcanon #steve rogers x y/n #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans characters #doctor steve rogers #doctor steve rogers x wife reader

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honestlyfrance · 3 years

Text

It Rains Every April 10th

ship: sam/bucky

warning: grief, depression, mcd, hurt/comfort

summary:

"I love you, baby," Sam had spoken, three words so sweetly spoken, an angel could've said it, and Bucky wouldn't mind if that meant that he had crossed to the other side and reached heaven, because it was Sam Wilson.

Bucky had twirled Sam once, the two of them sharing a laugh before he pulled the man closer by the waist. "I love you too, honey," he replied, making sure to put in much eye contact, to let his own eyes send the message his heart failed to say.

A sneak peek in the life of Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson to know the real reason why they think April 10 was a bad date.

—■—■—

Depression hits like a wave on a cliffside — sometimes you see it coming, sometimes you didn’t see it, and sometimes you just let it happen. It sometimes gnaws at your skin, always there, but more of a ghostly hand hovering over you; there’s that presence but you think you don’t have enough proof to prove it existed. Times like these you try your best to move but you become unmotivated, absolutely immobile except for the moments your body decides to exhaust itself for unrelated things you shouldn’t be doing. It takes a toll on you you wouldn’t even realize, and even then, who else realized it? You’re just tired. You don’t cry. You’re just tired.

It’s moments before dawn that the rain began to pick up, basking the entire scenery in a state of loneliness and tranquility, and it made everything more silent than before. Birds weren’t chirping, and all anyone could hear was the deafening downpour outside their windows. The bedroom is blanketed in blue lighting from the grey clouds outside, and the rain slips down the French windows and the slanting skylight. Bucky Barnes laid in bed, staring solemnly towards his windows with disdain, buried under his duvets. There are bags under his eyes, but they’re almost faint, and there’s a red tinge to his eyes, but he doesn’t feel discomfort from it; he felt as if whole, if anything. He’s just tired.

Bucky lets his eyes flutter shut, grunting as he buried himself deeper into the sheets, pulling his pillows to envelop every side of his body: his back, his chest, his head, his feet. He wanted warmth. It was too early to wake up. The faint smell of something icky wafted through the cold air and suddenly, all Bucky could think of was how slow time had passed by — he woke up before two in the morning, but his body felt as if it was midnight. It was dawn now, and he still hasn’t sat up. He rose and went, his consciousness blanking ever so often, and all he could think of was how numbed he was to the point that he couldn’t remember how many times he slept and woke up.

Bucky sat down in his tub, the cool but refreshing water pouring from the faucet. The bathroom was dim-lit and the orange lights bounced off of every reflective surface in the room. Here he sighed, watching the excess water go into the side drain, setting his head on the side of the tub. All he could ever hear was the sound of gushing water and the ache of his own heart, and there's that dread of going downstairs and actually living.

His dog suddenly pitter-pattered through the open door, suddenly sitting by the side of the tub. Bucky lazily looked back at the golden retriever. His eyes were barely opened as he spoke, “Roger, go back outside…” His voice was gruff and worn down, like a path down memory lane; so distant and faded that even the memory couldn’t recognize itself.

Bucky turned his head back towards the ceiling, and with a heavy sigh, he grabbed the tub by the side with his one hand and slid himself with a strong push, he lowered himself under the water, and there he felt free. There was nothing waiting for him down there and there was nothing worried for him down there. All he had in that tub was himself and his thoughts, and all his thoughts said to him was, “It’s April 10. You need to wake up.”

He needed to wake up.

Breakfast was quiet, and with every long drawn-out bite of his cereal was a much longer painful dread in Bucky’s chest, one that swallowed in itself for centuries before and centuries more. It’s a sickening twist to the plot and there’s nothing more emptying than feeling drowsy from one’s own solemn adventure. The outdoor lights filtered through the drawn open blinds and there they go, dancing on tabletops and the clean dishes left on the open sink like ballerinas, and there’s a piece of accompanying music that was dulled to a filtered flute of wind by the rain; water dripped against the windows and made the room look bluer than before, and the white walls seem to close in on Bucky, but he just kept on eating in his bathrobe, his one leg propped up on another chair as Roger sat on his hind legs beside him.

Bucky sighed with his mouth full as he waved his dog off. Roger goes dashing through the open doorway and into the other which led to the expansive library. Bucky didn’t want to look out into the window and see how beautiful the morning was, now that there was something so elegant to see when the whole world just drained itself out of color, and it all seemed unfair — a misuse of justice. Roger brought in a book, and Bucky couldn’t even look at the cover. The Masque Of The Red Death. His hands gripped the pocketbook, his mind fuming and his lips searing at the seams; he fumbled with the book and his muffled sobs, and he suddenly thrashed — he threw the book across the room, successfully breaking another picture frame that was hung on the opposite wall. Roger whimpered and set his head on Bucky's stomach, pawing at his hands until all Bucky gripped was the dog’s coat, gently and softly, feeling his heart squeezed out of life but he’s lightheaded. He’s not better now, but he feels like he could be.

Bucky whispered something to Roger's ear and he pets him, even gave him an extra treat.

It’s an unmistakable kind of brokenness that is almost like a “tell,” you know something is wrong, but they don’t fess up to it. Ending up with a game of cat and mouse, and both of you are chasing each other's tail, not knowing who is the culprit and the victim; both of you victimized yourselves because it was the only solution left. You weep at the mess you’ve made and that’s all that you can do. It’s all anyone’s ever done these days, and you shouldn’t apologize for it.

People should start screaming from the top of their rooftops and get that anger out of them, find a victim to mesmerize, and leave them for dead or nothing. Bucky wanted to drive off to the nearest cliff and scream his guts out, vomit his spine out, and just gouge his eyes out, because in a world where the skies seem bleaker — it wasn’t a world. It sounded like a page ripped off of the book of legends, burnt to a crisp, never to be seen again, and Bucky had hoped he would never see it, but then again, here he lies, almost dead and unhinged, mesmerized by the beauty of death to the point that he’d let her sleep in his room for the night.

Bucky would let death spend the night and pick at his skin, peeling it off of him like some sadist, wear his skin, even — let him have a bit of life, even if he was a puppet. There’s nothing more shameful than thinking of such atrocities, yet what other choice does he have? He couldn’t handle it anymore. He was pained, mourning, and helpless. If an angel went down from the skies and told him to jump off a cliff, Bucky would jump off a bridge; if a second angel came down and told him to get lost at sea, Bucky would get lost in a swamp; if a third angel came down for him and told him to suck a dick, Bucky would suck a shoe. Bucky thought he didn’t deserve the gentleness of suffering, so he let himself hurt worse than what was anticipated. So, he lost his leg, had another prosthetic, then he’d lost his sanity.

Out on the couch at the back porch that overlooked the vast fields of his property, he could feel the tiniest of pinpricks of rain whipping him in his face if it was not for the wall of crawling vines dangling from his rooftop. He set his foot on the coffee table, and right beside him was Roger, resting his head on Bucky’s lap. Bucky’s hand ran through his dog’s fur as he read another random chapter of Pride and Prejudice. He couldn’t say. He didn’t even notice. He’s been so out of it, he wouldn’t even realize the title of the book until he’d put it back into the bookshelf. Bucky’s mind had been empty except for anxious thoughts that he had become numb with the idea of surprises. He left his phone buried in the backyard because he didn’t want any unexpected calls.

His hands were calloused over the years of stressful work, eventually leaving him with thin and rugged fingers that feel pinpricks almost every second. His hands were once a thing of beauty, and ever since the accident, he couldn’t think much of it. All Bucky now wanted was to decay faster, to lie down on the grass, and feel moss crawl on his skin and declare himself one with the earth. Now that would be a thing of beauty.

His breath was slow and steady, turning into nothingness a few seconds here and then. Holding onto his breath was the only thing he knew he could hold onto and never let go of. It was the only thing he remembered to be tangible. It didn't use to be like this. Then again, April 10 didn't exist back then.

Sam Wilson would walk into the back porch right now, holding two mugs of hot chocolate, because he adored the rain with his whole heart, and as much he loved nature, that's how much he loved Bucky Barnes. Sam would now then sit right beside his husband and they'll stay snuggled together, bare legs intertwined together, and they'd be giggling like children at the warmth in their chests.

"Look, baby," Sam had said, pecking a quick kiss on Bucky's lips. Bucky's eyes would be overcome with stars that he'd become dizzy at the sensation, "Rain. Do you think it'll rain all day? The weatherman said only a 30% chance,"

Bucky had hummed into Sam's cheek, feeling the way Sam's skin tasted right on his lips. Bucky's mouth would trace the edges of Sam's jaw and the man would let him do more. "Maybe. Perhaps," he had breathed out, "Do you want to stay like this forever?"

Sam had laughed into Bucky's mouth, leaving another kiss that lasted a second longer now. It was sweet, and there were stars dispersing in their hearts. "What else am I going to do all day?"

They had spent the whole day like this: sneaking kisses like teenagers and sipping on hot chocolate like children. Their hearts grew as the rain poured stronger. The pitter-patter of downpour had drummed against their roof like bullets and all they could feel is how safe they were in the war with each other's arms wrapped around each other. It was their own kind of shield, and it was perfect .

That kind of day was now replaced with Bucky and Roger. Bucky would read a random book as Roger would look out into the backyard, longing to run around the rain, but Bucky needed Roger right beside him, and that's what the dog shall do.

READ MORE ON AO3

#sambucky #sam wilson #bucky barnes #winterfalcon #france: works #france: writing #onlysambucky #sambuckyfic

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hepalien · 3 years

Text

Shrunkyclunks (Modern Bucky/Cap Steve) Fic Rec

Hate Sex & Hair Protocol by @maddiewritesstucky - Mature, 1.8k

SHIELD Agent Bucky, UST, Enemies to Lovers (in Steve’s head), Humor

They’re all full of shit, Steve decides.

His team don’t have a clue what they’re talking about, running their mouths about the way he and Bucky look at each other; the tension that seems to be at a constant near-snapping point between them.

'It’s called annoyance' Steve wants to yell in each of their faces, loud and one by one. It’s the pain of having to exist every day in close proximity with someone who drives you out of your fucking mind.

---

In which Steve discovers that ire and desire may just exist side by side in his brain.

Stop interrupting my grinding series by @rohkeutta - Teen, 2.5k

Nurse Bucky, Wrong Number, Fluff, Humor

“I tried to call Sam,” Captain America says, bewildered. He’s sprinting like Usain Bolt and doesn’t sound even a little out of breath. Fucker. “Who’re you?”

“Someone who’s watching you live on TV,” Bucky tells him as the tiny patriotic figure on the screen takes the turns like he instructed. Bucky should probably be a lot more freaked out about this, but honestly? After a tour in the Middle East and six years as a nurse in New York, even this isn’t enough to ruffle him. One sees a lot of shit in the ER. “Also, you better hang up now, that thing is behind the next bend.”

“Uh, okay,” Captain America says. “Thanks?”

“Whatever,” Bucky says, disconnects the call and turns the TV off to get ready for his shift.

Save a Horse, Ride a Captain by @galwednesday - Teen, 2.7k

War Vet Bucky, Meet Cute, Fluff, Humor, Modern Howlies

Bucky tapped him on the shoulder, swaying back and forth a little as he waited for the man to turn around. “Hello,” he said, and then promptly forgot what else he was going to say, because this guy was fucking beautiful. “Wow. Good face.”

Two of the guy’s friends, a man wearing a suit that fit so well it had to be bespoke and a man with a cute little gap between his front teeth, started cracking up. The petite redhead sitting next to them cocked her head to the side and pulled her phone out of her handbag. Beautiful Face just looked kind of pained, so Bucky redirected. He was a gentleman. He could take a hint. No hitting on beautiful guys who were uncomfortable with that sort of thing, no matter how lickable their jawlines were.

“Hello,” he repeated, doing his best to mind his manners. “I’m very sorry to bother you. Can I have a piggy-back ride?”

You Make My Heart Skip A Beet by @musette22 - Teen, 3.8k

Chef Bucky, POV Outsider, Fluff, Humor

“I made soda bread.”

Steve lets out the 6’2” supersoldier equivalent of a squeak. “Oh, I love soda bread,” he says eagerly, rolling forward on the balls of his feet like he does when he gets excited. “My mom used to make it all the time when I was growing up.”

The tips of Barnes’s ears turn red, and he mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, “I know.”

more under the cut

Cafe Au Écoute by @littlesystems - Teen, 3.8k

Coffee Shop AU

No matter where Steve goes, there's always the chance that he'll overhear a conversation about himself - or rather, Captain America. This coffee shop is no different. The fact that he keeps eavesdropping well past the point of plausible deniability is another matter entirely.

#TweetMeDaddy by StarSpangled - Teen, 4.1k

SHIELD Employee Bucky, Misunderstandings, Crack, Humor

Coulson, for his part, stares up at Bucky with such a betrayed look of frozen horror that Natasha actually goes the extra step and presses another button, capturing the moment and airdropping the photograph to her phone for posterity. When he speaks, his voice comes out as a hoarse whisper. “Why…?” He swallows and starts again, trying for some semblance of normality. “...Why would you tweet something like that?!”

“If you must know, sir,” and somehow he manages to make ‘sir’ come out with the same inflection most people reserve for ‘motherfucking son of a bitch’, “it’s because I have a difficult time doing my job when my job involves monitoring the man with the best fucking ass in the United States of America.” He slowly lowers himself back into his seat until he’s at eye level, making extreme eye contact with Coulson until Coulson turns away to make mortified eye contact in Natasha’s general direction through the one-way glass. Natasha would take another picture, if she weren’t too busy catching Steve’s red-faced sputtering. “Sometimes, I vent to my Twitter followers. Sometimes, it’s about hot men with washboard abs. Can I go now, or do you need a graphic description of how I pleasure myself at night?”

at first chance i'd take the bed warmed by the body by @spacebuck - Explicit, 8.2k

YouTuber Bucky

This close, Steve can see exactly how beautiful his hands are. He’s never really noticed before, or at least he’s never really had a reason to notice, but the man’s hands are large, tanned like he works outside all day. There’s an endearing callus on the heel of one of his palms, and Steve can’t quite work out when calluses became endearing.

Steve pauses the video. Swallows hard. Casts his eyes around for anything that’ll keep his mind off the hands on his screen, off the words inked into those hands, the delicate shape of a bird’s wing, the curling edge of a vine.

He looks down. The name of the channel is right there, blaring the man’s name right into Steve’s brain until it feels like he’s known it all along.

Bucky Barnes.

OR: the one where Bucky's a youtuber who solves puzzles on camera, and steve's smitten and horny

Came with my cool (I dropped it) by @liionne - Teen, 9.2k

Yoga Instructor Bucky

"When you said I need to loosen up, I didn't think you meant literally."

"I meant it every way. Mentally, emotionally, and physically." Natasha says, and thrusts a yoga mat at him.

there once was a diamond by bloobeary - Teen, 11.3k

Fluff, Thanksgiving

"You," Becca seethes, and hits him with a wooden spoon. "Could have told me," Hits him again. "You were dating Captain America." Final hit, Bucky laughs. He supposes he deserves it, giving her no more information than the fact he was bringing his boyfriend to Thanksgiving dinner at her house and then showing up with Steve.

Salt by littleblackfox @thelittleblackfox - Mature, 12k

Bakery AU

The cinnamon roll is gone in four bites. Four indecent, jaw-unhinging bites, and Steve sucks the last traces of lemon and icing from his fingers with a low, throaty sound of satisfaction. He glances up at Bucky, who is leaning against the counter and watching him with avid fascination.

“Um…” Steve says around his index finger. There’s still a little icing on the bed of his fingernail, and he stops trying to work it off with his tongue.

“You know those movies where the girl eats an eclair or something, and it’s really, like, sexually charged?” Bucky asks.

Steve pulls his finger out of his mouth. He’s never seen that kind of movie, but the thought of Bucky eating an eclair is certainly… well, it lingers. “Uh?”

“Yeah, well that was the exact opposite.” Steve scowls, and Bucky cackles gleefully. “You are something else, Steve.”

Leg Day by Brokenpitchpipe - Explicit, 12.1k

Gym Thot Bucky

“So talk to him,” Sam says.

“I can’t,” Bucky groans. “I can’t, Sam, I. He just.” He fluffs his hair up and stares at Sam, distraught. “I want him to bench press me.”

“Okay, so it’s serious,” Sam interprets. “Got it."

(Or: The one where Sam is Bucky's long-suffering roommate, Bucky is a hot mess of a millennial, and Hot Steve spends far too much time on the Lat Pull-Down machine.)

Art Nouveau by voluptuous_panic - Explicit, 12.2k

Bartender Bucky, Tattooed & Pierced Bucky

Steve's on the worst date of his life. At least the bartender's cute.

much tattoo about nothing by @deisderium - Explicit, 14.5k

Tattoo Artist Bucky

Steve Rogers gets a lot of email requests, but never one like this: James Barnes wants to use his healing factor to practice tattoos.

Turns out tattoos give Steve boners.

No Wonder There's Panic in the Industry by sprinkle_of_cinnamon - Not Rated (I’d say Mature?), 20.5k

Stark Industries Intern Bucky, Team fic, Humor

In which Bucky Barnes and his BFF, Clint Barton, are NYU interns for Stark Media Group competing to be Pepper's favorite.

Or alternatively, the time Bucky assisted the P.A. team on the Steve Rogers piece and ended up (adopted) with a contact list full of Avengers.

Life of the Party by @aggressivewhenstartled - Explicit, 21.6k

Superhero Impersonator Bucky, Mistaken Identity

“You know, kids,” Steve heard from the backyard, “one of the most common threats a superhero has to face is inside an active volcano! We’re going to have to work on your evasion skills, so for the next five minutes, the floor is lava!” This was met by a sudden spike in both volume and pitch from the small children as they scrambled onto every raised surface they could find and immediately launched themselves right back off.

“I’ve never seen actual lava in my entire life,” Steve said, vaguely offended.

“You got a superhero impersonator for The Falcon’s niece’s birthday party,” Sam said, incredulous. “The Falcon, who is an actual superhero.”

Trust Enough by @geneticallydead - Explicit, 23.3k

Misunderstandings

“Saturday. Yeah, that’s good,” Steve says, and actually scuffs his shoe at the ground. Like a ridiculous shy superhero damsel. “Say eight? I live-“

“Yeah, big building with the A on it,” Bucky says, and can’t help a big stupid grin. Steve stares at him, looking a little dazed, and after their whole conversation it’s only now that Bucky’s brain catches up and realises Steve finds him quite attractive. So. Win for Bucky.

“Let me get your number,” Steve says finally, after they’ve stared stupidly at each other for about three hours, taking out his phone.

So they exchange numbers, and then Steve says he should go, and Bucky agrees, and they kind of stare at each other for a bit more, then Steve actually does go, but not before taking Bucky’s hand and squeezing it warmly in a way that makes Bucky want to shiver all over. Then Steve is gone, and Bucky is standing alone in the alley, grinning to himself.

Right up until the moment he remembers that Steve thinks Bucky is an escort he’s just hired.

Well fuck.

The Roommate by layersofart, Niitza - Teen, 28.6k

War Vet Bucky, Roommates AU, Humor, Fluff, Angst, Team fic

In which Steven G. Rogers, a.k.a. Captain America, gets a roommate. Who rapidly turns into his "roommate"—in the euphemistic sense of the word.

It takes SHIELD and the rest of the Avengers an absurd amount of time to notice.

Brooklyn Baby by sprinkle_of_cinnamon - Mature, 33.7k

Coffee Shop AU, Modern Howlies, Mistaken Identity, Team Fic

In which Bucky is just trying to live life and enjoy his unofficial official table at the obnoxiously hipster coffee shop but some guy named Steve stole his spot.

Or, the time that Bucky unintentionally befriended the Avengers and had no idea.

Never Talk to Strangers by mambo @whtaft - Teen, 40.4k

Grad Student Bucky, Slow Burn

Never Talk to Strangers: or; How a Forgotten Childhood Lesson Led Bucky Barnes to Appreciate Charlie Chaplin, Befriend an A.I., Slip on Soap Bubbles, Be Mistaken for a Succubus, and Try to Woo a Superhero.

Sinking Our Teeth In The Heart Of The Sun by fallendarlings @pressrestartwrites - Explicit, 102.8k

Single Dad Bucky, Kid Fic, Slow Burn, Domestic, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Steve has Autism

Bucky Barnes never intended to become a single father at 25. But life has always enjoyed kicking him while he's down and it's showing no signs of stopping. A chance meeting with a brick wall of a guy named Steve in the formula aisle of the grocery store leads to a friendship it seems like both of them need. If only Bucky could remember that's all they are- friends. If only Steve didn't slot into their lives so perfectly and look so good spoiling Bucky's daughter (and Bucky, despite his protests).

Oh, if only Steve didn't turn out to be Captain America.

Steve Rogers is wandering around a world that he doesn't fit into, fighting for a government that he doesn't trust, just because he doesn't know what to do with himself if he ever relaxes long enough to actually think about anything other than the next mission.

And then came Bucky Barnes and his newborn baby.

More recs

#stucky #stevebucky #stucky fic #stucky fic rec #shrunkyclunks #stucky fanfic #stucky fanfiction #steve x bucky #my stucky recs #fic tag #mine #fic rec #mcu fic #tumblr ate this the first time [my longest sigh ever]#i read art nouveau for the first time last week and I've been thinking about it ever since

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devilrainbunnie · 4 years

Text

Bad, So Bad

Dom!Tomura Shigaraki x Sub!Fem!Reader

a/n: this photo of shig is literally so hot i hate him. i don’t know what it is, but this photo makes me wish he’d throw me down a flight of stairs. tomura shigaraki i would like to ask for your hand in marriage. that’s all. also it keeps switching because i feel like nasty shig would just call you everything— a slut, a pet, a good girl, a brat— he likes it all. idk if that makes sense but, it does to me hehe.

cw: smut, 18+ minors do not interact i check for it, dom shiggy, face fucking, drool, hardcore sex, breeding kink?, jealous tomura, pet play, slight angst

Quite honestly, you were pissing him off a fuck ton since the morning. Tomura had been busy the entire week with planning, traveling, and focusing on a new mission of his that required a lot of thought from his unprepared mind. That week, he had paid you little to no mind. Going about his routine, and brushing you off any time you tried to gather his attention. You’d even put on his favorite set of lingerie, thigh highs, cat ears and all, he just brushed you off entirely. Not caring how sexy you happened to look, he was too busy doing other stuff, and you were simply just in his way. Not once had Tomura denied you like that, he was a raging sex fiend. It was so out of character you almost considered the possibility of him being under the effect of a quirk.

Today however, you reversed the roles. Not acknowledging him at all like you usually do in the morning, instead of your typical ‘good morning, how’d you sleep?’. You just rolled off the bed, and walked into the bathroom. Not even batting an eye at his half-concious state, he found it a bit out of character for you but, maybe you had just simply forgotten to say something, or didn’t notice he was awake. But that also didn’t make much sense to him, you could sense his presence the second he stepped foot into a room. It’s also not like you to still not acknowledge him even if he was asleep, hell, sometimes he’d wake up with you sucking his dick. He’s even caught you talking to him as if he was awake once, you got so embarrassed, you probably did think he was awake. Yes, he did tease you about that, and yes, it is still one of the only things in the relationship that can make you go absolutely mute with humiliation.

Then after that, you walked out wearing the skimpiest outfit he’d ever seen you wear in front of the rest of the league. You were wearing a cute little short dress that rode up midway between your thighs, some soft socks that left an inch or so gap of skin beneath your dress, and a soft cardigan you’d often wear to cover yourself before Tomura was due to come back. You looked sexy, wearing an outfit he loved to see you in, and he knew that it was meant to drive him wild. His jaw was clenched the entire time he was getting ready, he almost gripped the door handle so hard his last finger touched. He hated how often he’d have to replace the door handles around the bar, it wasn’t even funny how much money he’d already spent.

Tomura walked out, about to go to a meeting with Giran, as he headed into the main room of the bar, he saw you on the couch. Posed all innocently, with a lollipop in your mouth, and watching something on your phone. Before he decided to leave, he tried to say goodbye to you, and you simply just got off of the couch, walking into another room, all while you refused to take your eyes off of your phone. His chest felt a little tight after that, and his knuckles were constantly tightly held in a fist. Tomura began to feel a bit insecure, were you losing feelings for him? No, that wouldn’t happen though, then what’s going on with you? What-- oh, oh… you want to play like that? Make him all worked up, angry, and jealous so he’ll pay attention to you? Good luck.

Then the worst happened around when he came back, it was about 12 hours later. The entire night, in the back of his mind he was thinking about what to do with you now. Should he apologize? Should he just start ignoring you back? Should he just have sex with you already? Did you want it rough, or something? Is that why you were being such a goddamned brat? He didn’t know, this was new to him. But his mind was suddenly made as he caught visuals on the horrendous sight in front of him. There you were sat at the bar, cardigan long forgotten about, and replaced by Dabi’s flirtatious aroma. You were obviously drinking a bit, and the patchwork villain took it upon himself to inch closer to you. Tomura stood outside of the door frame for a bit, watching as the two of you conversed. Dabi was practically throwing himself on you, his hand soon closed in on the small of your back, his body turned to face you. Tomura stood practically fuming, so angry in fact he had to hold back from grabbing him by his chin, and turning him away from the league for good— translated as turning him into nothing more but a pile of ash. But a part of him wanted to act rationally to the situation, if we were playing oblivious tonight, Tomura was just going to have to punish you the best way he knows how to punish you. May the heavens be with your poor cunt tonight.

The blue haired man took it upon himself to enter the space, squeezing himself between the two of you. Grabbing Dabi’s filthy paws off of you, making it a point to grab your thigh with his pinkie raised. “I think it’s about time you went to bed, right, Dabi?”

Dabi sighed, running his hand through his raven locks. “Yup.” he turned his attention back to you. “Night sweet cheeks, don’t like crusty over here bite.”

“She’ll be just fine, besides-- she likes when I bite her.” he began to kiss your neck, sucking a soft piece of flesh at your sweet spot while watching the man awkwardly try to exit the scene. The little airy moan that left your lips causing the man to smirk, Tomura’s cock twitching at the sound. “Remember what I told you Dabi. I expect this to not happen again, or else.”

‘What?’ You thought to yourself. It’s true, Tomura had a conversation with Dabi once the two of you practically became official. Well, it was less of a conversation and more of Tomura saying ‘if you touch my girlfriend ever again I’ll disintegrate your limbs and watch you flop around like a fish.’ but you didn’t need to know that. He was just protecting you after all. Just like he was now, fully caging your body under his hold, your back to his chest as he nibbled on your sweet flesh. Absolutely enraged with you, and your recent behavior. Going slow, and soft with you, despite his absolute craving to tear you apart with his cock. Watch you beg, and cry for him.

“You’ve really upset me today, Y/n. You know how much you mean to me, so why must you be so rude with me? Crushed my heart babe. That’s not what good girls do. So we’re going to do things my way, no complaints, no buts, no ifs-- only good girls get it how they want it. You haven’t been a good girl, isn’t that right?” he asked, his lips tickling the shell of your ear as he whispered to you.

“N-No, you’re right. I haven’t been good. I’ve been bad, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—“ you begged, knowing exactly what was about to happen to you. Not wanting him to stop at all, but enjoying the feeling of his unhinged, sex-driven energy.

“— Aht, aht. What did I say? Good girls get it how they want it, don’t try to save face now.” he chuckled darkly, picking you up from your bar stool, smashing you roughly against the bar counter. Making sure your plump rear was in perfect view of his face. He was quick to lift up your little dress, staring at the lacy f/c panties you had on. Cupping your ass in his hands, roughly squeezing the flesh as he tried to gather the smallest peak at your warm folds. “So pretty, bet it’ll look even more cute covered with bruises.”

You couldn’t even lie, you felt your stomach tingle with desire at his words. There was always something so attractive about Tomura becoming so dominant with you out of jealousy, or just in general. Even though you’d be sore for a couple of days, the whips, bruises, and aching muscles were worth it. Nothing was better than having Tomura absolutely destroy your body after a long while of his touch being absolutely neglected from you, but never had it honestly been from work stress. Mostly due to his longer missions you were forbidden to go on. Needless to say, you were bubbling with excitement and curiosity. Was he going to punish you different from the last times? You’d never ignored him before like this, this was going to be fun.

“I want you to count every strike, out loud. Okay?” he didn’t wait for you to reply. Raising his hand in the air, and swinging it open palm directly against your bare cheek. You whimpered out loud, the slap echoing in the room, and a burning sting against your cheek.

“O-one.” you croaked out, trying to bare with the pain of the slap. Your lacy underwear slowly becoming soaked as you anticipated his next move.

Tomura gave you almost no time to recover, as he brought his palm up to slap your other cheek. You cried out in pain and pleasure, clenching your teeth so hard you swore your jaw was going to fall off.

“Ahh! Two!” you whimpered yet again, feeling tears beginning to prick at the corners of your eyes as he continued his striking. Going until he noticed your flesh become hot to the touch, and absolutely raw. Your face was now covered in salty tears, and your pussy drooled against your thighs at this point.

He must’ve noticed this, as he was quick to make another smack, but much lighter against your clothed sex. “T-Three?” you questioned.

“No, doesn’t count baby.” he reassured. Bringing his hand up again to smack against your cheek, the skin beginning to feel a bit numb. Watching intently as the soft, squish globe of your now heated cheek jiggled with every movement.

“Th...-- three!” you cried out once again, and he striked another time afterwards. Making you count out every single time, until the count reached 30.

You were left a crying mess below him, ass cheeks glowing a bright red, and a strong burning that made the sore muscle grow numb. The man atop of you was grinning wildly at your pain, proud of the way he was able to dominate you, and punish you. Even as your cunt was drooling, and his cock was growing painfully hard, he wasn’t quite ready yet to give into the temptation of absolutely destroying your squishy little insides. You were being a brat, and quite frankly, he wasn’t convinced you deserved to have his cock stretching you out. As he ran soothing hands over your back as you calmed down from your sobs, a plan was forming inside of his head. One for you. If he didn’t feel you earned his dick quite yet, you could always use another hole for him-- you know, since you’re absolutely desperate for it.

“You were so good for me. I know it was hard baby.” he cooed, pressing soft kisses to your exposed shoulders. “But it’s not quite over with just yet, I’m going to need you to get on your knees real quick, okay? Will you be a good girl, a good little pet?”

“Y-Yes.”

“Yes who?”

“Yes m-master.”

He helped you jump off of the bar counter, which would’ve been a kind gesture until he forced you to your knees, ripped off his pants and grabbed handfuls of your hair. “Open that pretty mouth of yours, m’kay?” his hand tapped the soft skin of your cheek, your mouth lolling open for his interest. His thumb running up, and down your pretty pink tongue, watching in amazement at how eager you were. He chuckled at you, pulling his hand away to bring his boxers down to his mid thigh, his large pale member flopping out. The tip flushed a hot pink, and pearls of precum leaking out of it, painfully throbbing in the air, waiting to be stuffed inside of your mouth.

Tomura was quick to thrust inside of your mouth, his entire length forcing itself down your throat. Groaning at the feeling of your warm throat, he decided to go a bit slow at first, enjoying the feeling of your mouth sucking him in. “Mm, use your tongue baby. Use it.” he croaked, wanting more stimulation and you were happy to give in. Humming happily as you complied, he was quick to grab the back of your head to slam into you a bit more. Despite the tears leaking out of the corners of your eyes, and the fact you were choking around him, you continued to allow him to use your body as he pleased.

After enjoying fucking your throat at a moderate pace, he began to buck into you wildly. Caring more about his own end than your breathing, as he didn’t seem to notice how you were sputtering, and trying to pull away, digging your nails into his thighs. Breath rapidly trying to fill your lungs, the only sounds filled in the room were his grunts, his dirty talk, and you crying out for him to slow down even though there was a dick shoved down your throat. “God you’re so sexy like this, just my little fuck doll. A-All mine-- fuck!” he moaned, his body beginning to tingle at the feeling of it all. He loved being able to use you like this, despite the small tinge of guilt he felt for the way you were basically begging him to stop his hard thrusts. But it wasn’t about you right now, it was about him, and you needed to be a good girl. A good girl who lets their master face fuck them because they weren’t being a good girl.

“I-I’m close, don’t stop doing that-- if you want to be a good girl, you have to milk master and swallow every drop of his cum. You want to be good, hmm?” he asked, slowing down a bit to let you reply. Eagerly nodding, and looking up at him with teary eyes. “Good, good. So good for me right now.”

His thrusts continued for a while as you both worked to bring him the pleasure he deserves. Your hand wanting to work itself inside of your pretty panties to toy with your clit, as now you felt your arousal begin to seep against the insides of your thighs. Even as you struggled to breathe, you wanted nothing more than for him to fuck you until your entire lower region was sore, and in need of desperate rest. Tomura was beginning to drool down his face as he lost himself in the pleasure, becoming a whimpering mess above you like he usually did when he was close to his end. His stomach tingled with the familiar release of his orgasm, “Oh fuck, fuck fuck fuck-- Y/n, so good-- FUCK! NNGH!” hot thick ropes of cum were shot down your throat, and you continued to suck his cock as he was unable to continue his unhuman pace. Making sure to overstimulate him, and gather all of the milk that seeped through his flushed tip until he grew soft inside of you.

“Good girl-- open up, let me see.” he demanded, his fingers on your chin, as you opened your mouth to him. Proving that you swallowed all of it, he smiled and hummed. “So pretty, and so good. You deserve a reward, don’t you think baby?”

“Please master. I want.”

“Want what? Use your words.”

“I want you to fuck me. Please? Please, master?” you begged, your eyes glimmering in the dim light of the bar. Which always made him melt at the sight of it, his dick sprung back to life in front of your face.

“Of course, after all, you did a lot of hard work. Get up on the counter.” he commanded of you, which you did so with ease. Plopping yourself to sit on top of the bar counter, your hands at your sides holding on to it as you waited. Tomura walked right up in front of you, leaning into you with a mischievous grin. His hands cupping your face for a moment as he admired your features-- even now, when things like this happened, he still found it hard to believe someone as utterly gorgeous was his. Someone he could fuck, and man handle the way he wanted to, without you ever complaining. You willingly went along with it, and even begged him to do it. He dropped his hands from your face, his lips capturing yours instead. His kiss was dominating, passionate, and a little rough on your end. He could easily sense your agitation in wanting to be stuffed already, and he wanted to help.

Tomura snaked a hand down to your thigh, tracing up the flesh to your panties, and grabbing the fabric with all five of his fingers. Feeling the lace slowly disintegrate between his fingers, his other hand came to lift up your dress. Exposing your bare pussy to the cold air of the bar, he was quick to notice just how turned on you were. Slick was everywhere, he couldn’t wait to dive straight into you. As the kiss continued, and Tomura explored the inside of your mouth with his tongue, his fingers began to toy with your weeping cunt that begged to be stuffed as soon as humanly possible. You whined into his mouth as a finger came to flick at your clit. Visibly and verbally annoyed at his ministrations to please you. He pulled away with a chuckle, grabbing his cock in his hands to pump, and align with your entrance.

The tip slowly began to sink itself into you, the stretch was one to accommodate to as you allowed your walls to relax around him. As he stood still inside you, he removed his mouth from yours, and began to leave wet kisses along your neck. “If you keep clenching around me like that, I might cum before you.” he joked, whispering in your ear. “But you’re not going to cum until I say so. You’ll do that for me, right?”

“Yes master.” you said breathlessly, and he began to rock into you. His thrusts long, and exaggerated. Trying to get you used to the brutal pace he often set for the two of you. The sounds of your skin slapping, and cunt squeal hung with every thrust. A perfect harmony to the sound track of a very upset Tomura.

Tomura was quick to put your legs over his shoulders. Preparing you for a mating press as his hands secured at the bare flesh of your thighs. Revealing at the feeling of your silky smooth skin under his cracked palms, everything about you was absolutely perfect. “Pretty girl.” he cooed, leaning forward to kiss you gently, before he began his attempt at brushing your cervix and pelvis bone.

When his pace began to increase, you mewled. Letting out the heavenly sound you knew could drive Tomura absolutely insane. He smiled with heavily lidded eyes above you, his mouth hanging open, most likely preparing to slobber all over you like usual. “You like that? Master’s cock filling every inch of your hole? Hmm?”

“Yes! God yes!” you whined out, your fingernails digging into the ridges of the wooden counter top. Trying to stabilize yourself as you felt yourself quickly growing close.

“Were you being a bad girl because you wanted this to happen?” you nodded, unable to speak as the only thing that left your mouth was broke moans. Tomura didn’t seem to like this much. “Answer when spoken to, pet.”

“Yes! I-I wanted m-master’s cock! I- I needed your— cock so bad! I was b-bad! You’re so big, I can’t!” you admitted, his wicked grin appearing for a second and quickly going back to his opened mouth panting.

“Is masters cock the best cock you’ve ever had?” he questioned, wanting to see how far he could push you until you snapped.

“Yes! Masters co-cock is the best cock! Fuck! The best!”

“Who’s making you feel this way?”

“You!” you cried out, his thrusts getting more frantic as you felt the pressure in your lower abdomen begin to build. A coil needing to be broken. Whining, moaning, and mewling your way closer to orgasming for the first time in the past week. It was all worth it, especially to the man above you.

“Scream it out— scream out my name.”

“Tomura! Fuck! Please— god, you’re so good! Fuck! Please don’t stop! Don’t stop! Tomura!” you begged as he continued to rut into you, always knowing how to perfectly supply his eager demands. At this rate, he’s sure you were made for him. Your pussy fit around his cock heavenly, you clenched around him when he wanted you to do it, and never have you failed at being a soaking mess whenever things got heated. He was the only man able to drive you this feral.

The pace of his slamming hips continued, each thrust tapping your cervix with his tip. Making the deep feeling of his long, thick cock even more appetizing. He could tell how well he was doing when he noticed your eyes struggling to look back at him, constantly rolling back into your skull as he quite literally fucked your brains out. His free hand went to your mouth, opening up the wet cavern as he dropped some of the drool that had been forming in his mouth inside. Letting you swallow his taste.

He’s a sick fuck, who likes to fuck. What more can be said?

His slobbering mess didn’t stop there, he latched on to your neck, legs still over his shoulders. Leaving deep bruises in its wake, and enjoying the way you shuddered every time he created a new bruise. His hands sneaked their way to your chest to fondle your breasts, enjoying how they pebbled in the air of the room and especially under his touch. After leaving an array of dark bruises across your neck and collarbone, your chest was his next target. Suckling softly on your nipples, and using a free hand to twist, and tweak the neglected sister. The sway of his hips becoming less rough as he put his attention into his favorite part of you: your pretty titties.

After a while of thoroughly marking you, and covering your upper half with so many love bites people more think you’re permanently dark shades of purple like Dabi. He resumed his focus on the deep strokes inside your tight cunny beginning to piston into you, and toy with your little clit between his pointer and thumb. Panting like a dog above you, and thriving off of watching how hard you tried to restrain, and suppress your pleasure. “I’m getting close— fuck, keep clenching like that babe. Cum when I say to, okay?” he demanded, looking into your eyes.

“Okay— fuck, Tomura!”

You continued to let out broken phrases of pleasure, and his name. Allowing yourself to fully drink in the setting, and his member reshaping your insides to accommodate to him like a perfect cock sleeve. As he pounded into you, he kept demanding you to call out who exactly is making you feel good. At the time you didn’t think much of it, but Tomura wanted Dabi in the other room to hear just exactly everything that was going on after he left.

Soon, the overwhelming knot inside of him came closer, and closer to its release. As did your own, his thrusts because more frenzied, as if he was in a panic trying to get you both closer. “Take it, take it! Fucking slut, my little slut. A-Are you my little slut, baby?”

“I’m m-master Tomura’s s-slut! I o-only live for his c-cock!” you whined, wanting to give him exagtly what he liked to hear.

“Keep saying my name baby. Please. Fuck.” he begged, grabbing your neck to squeeze. “Brat. My b-brat, my bad g-girl, my disobedient pet— so naughty sometimes. Only this cock can set you straight. Isn’t that right?” he teased, looming over you. Breath rapidly fanning across your face.

“Master’s c-cock is s-superior! You’re s-so big Tomura. So fucking big, and good. Tomura please—... I can’t hold out anymore p-please!” you squealed, bringing your hands to the forearms that connected the hands against your throat. Trying to convince him with your touch to let you cum.

“Just a bit l-longer... mm, good girl.” he continued to squeeze at the sides of your neck, not even minding your hands on his arms.

Soon his thrusts became sloppy, and weak as his end was peaking. Your fleshy, warm walls thightly hugging his cock and trying to milk his cock for all he was worth, you were always good at that. Sucking him basically dry out of each, and every hole of yours. Tomura whimpered loudly above you on accident when you clenched tightly around him, you smiled at the sound. “Fuck, Y/n I’m gonna cum. Cum. Cum-baby.” he begged, thrusts continuing their sloppy mannerisms as his seed was shot inside of you. “Take it! Take it! Fucking shit! Y/n!” You released, crying out his name, and clawing at his arms. Your moans turned into screams rather quickly. Hot splashes of cum drowning themselves in your wet womb, your tight hole continued to clench, and unclench as you came down from your high. It was like a floodgate of euphoria had been released, and your body was floating now. The stuffed feeling inside of you comforted you as your cunt tried to relax from the abuse. Tomura wanted to fill you up a million times now, until your tummy got a bulge from how much cum was inside of you. Until you were filled to the brim with his seed, fuck it, maybe he does want kids.

“We’re not done yet baby, still gotta’ let that burnt crisp know who exactly is allowed to touch my pet.” he smirked, member slowly beginning to grow back to life inside of you.

Little did they know, Dabi was outside of the room, cum covering his white tee shirt, and calloused hands. Panting wildly at the sounds you were making.

Tomura was going to make sure now, your only moans were ever of his name.

Even more so now.

You’re his pet after all.

taglist: @bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love @jojosbisexualbrainrot @hawksxmexdabi

#shigaraki tomura x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #bnha au #bnha x reader #shigaraki #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki headcanons #shigaraki smut #shigaraki angst #shigaraki tomura #tomura shigaraki #smut #bnha smut #18+#cw: pet play #dom shigaraki #incel shigaraki

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occultvettr · 3 years

Text

Part 1/?

/rp ship only

Karlnapity fae au

One minute Quackity was taking a stroll into the woods, needing to take a breather away from Wilbur's unhinged chaos. The next he was looking up at the most breathtaking man he's ever seen. His hair was a mess of soft brown curls and his eyes iridescent, pretty colors shifting at the slighest of movements. The fabric he wore seemed ligther than anything he's seen before and there was flowers everywhere. They looked like they were floating and grounded to the earth at the same time.

"May I have your name, handsome?"

Quackity swallowed nervously, surely he wasn't talking to him. The man just smiled patiently, and by the gods was that smile to die for. He reached out his hand and there was an urge to place everything he's ever owned onto the open palm.

"y-yeah of course. It's Quackity."

Quackity took the hand reached out to him and it suddenly felt like he had lost something, but he couldn't put his finger on what. Looking at the face of the pretty stranger though made it easy to ignore the pit in his stomach, the instinct telling him to run.

"Come with me."

Who was he to deny?

The world felt like it was spinning, it was hard to make bearing of his surroundings. Gentle hands fed him fruits and water, which seemed to help. When things started to ease up, it still seemed strange. Like he was dreaming or was underwater. The person he had ran into the woods were smiling down at him. They held out a small piece of fruit to him and he hesitantly accepted it, face flushed.

"Karl, who is this?"

Turning his head towards the voice he saw another attractive guy. But where the first man, Karl appearently, had been soft and floaty, this guy seemed the oposite. He wore some kind of armor and his hair was as dark as can be. However his eyes shone like fire, a stark contrast to the rest of him. He opened his mouth to speak his name, but nothing came out.

"Really? You took his name?"

"He gave it to me, Sapnap."

Karl wraps his arms possessively around Quackity, soft smile having shifted to a slightly mischievous grin. Sapnap sighed heavily and walked closer to them.

"What am I to do with you?"

Sapnap said as he leaned closer to Karl. He wasn't much taller despite standing up while Karl was sitting, but he was imposing nonetheless.

"You could kiss me."

Quackity looked on as they kissed, he couldn't look away. It was pretty short and strangely he wished it lasted longer. Karl giggled when he noticed and Quackity looked down, face feeling even hotter than earlier.

"Here."

Quackity looked up and saw Karl held out some kind of berry to him. Just as he was about to accept Sapnap had grabbed Karl's wrist and pulled it away.

"Are you jeal-" Karl started, but was interrupted by Sapnap.

"Humans can not eat that. It is poisonous."

Quackity felt dread swirl in his stomach. He'd accepted strange fruits and water from a complete stranger. A stranger that whisked him away from familar woods and apparently had taken his name? Which doesn't make sense. How would one take someone's name?

"I thought humans enjoyed recreational poisons?"

"Well yes, some, but that one is too much."

Karl brought the berry up to Sapnap's mouth, who opened his mouth to accept it. Sapnap still had his hand around Karl's wrist. While Quackity had been fed by Karl as well, this was definitely a lot more intimate. Something he probably shouldn't be present to, yet leaving was the last thing he wanted.

"Wait. Wasn't that poisonous?"

Quackity says panicked once he realized. He felt so dumb being distracted by how hot they were to not say something sooner.

"For humans. Sapnap is not one. Neither am I."

Sapnap had moved Karls hand to rest on his cheek, leaning into it. While Quackity had initially thought he had looked the opposite of soft, now he had to change his mind on that. He was confused by what they meant by not human though. Sure he's never seen people as otherworldly attractive before, but they still seemed pretty human, right?

"Humans try to make sense of everything they see, even when there is none to be made. You will see more clearly eventually. There are many names for us. Fair folk being one of them."

Sapnap explained and let go of Karl's hand, which made him pout. He moved away to remove the armor. Quackity had started to turn away, but Karl maneuvered him to face where Sapnap was. Gentle hands stroking over the back of his nape.

"Handsome, is he not? My knight. One of a kind he is, especially in these lands."

Karl said fondly and Quackity nodded. He was very confused about what was going on. Why Karl was doing this. But it was difficult to complain when he was being doted on and got the view of a hot dude removing armor. As the undershirt rode up he swore he saw some gnarly scars on his torso. One thing that was undeniable though, was the scar peaking up from under the shirt and over Sapnap's neck. It looked like it would have hurt, but it also was very hot.

"Like what you see?"

Quackity tore his eyes up away from the neck and up at Sapnap's face. He was grinning, teeth bigger and sharper than he's ever seen before on a person. Sapnap had noticed him staring at his neck and now his eyes couldn't help but focus on the mouth instead. Karl laughed at his side, so soft and alluring, and Quackity hid behind his hands. This had to be a dream. There was no way it was real.

"I am tired. We can talk about this after we have slept. I will find you a room."

"He can stay with us, Sapnap. The bed is big enough."

"Only if he wants to, Karl. He is obviously confused and some privacy might help."

Sapnap said sternly and Karl didn't fight back on that. Though he did lean closer to Quackity, clearly trying to tempt him to stay without saying so. As tempted he was to stay, Sapnap had said he could if he wanted, he was indeed confused. And some time and space to think for himself would clear his mind.

"Thank you. I- Yeah a room would be nice."

Karl hesitantly let Quackity go as he moved to stand up. He realised he still felt a little disoriented in this dream like place. Sapnap moved to support him and Quackity tried to ignore how nice it felt. Karl had been gentle and soft, but cool to the touch. Sapnap felt sturdy and firm, but warm. Quackity was lead to a room close to the one they had been in. The area as far as he could spot seemed to be living nature, yet somehow still structures.

"If you feel the fear and urge to run come over you, I advice you not to. Hole up in this room instead."

Quackity looked at Sapnap, suddenly feeling more worried than he had right next to Karl. He felt so dumb. He had basically been kidnapped. Or well, he did come willingly. It was difficult to tell. Now Sapnap said he couldn't leave. Was he a prisoner?

"You have given your name away and these are harsh lands, with fae far more malicious than us. Best case scenario you will get lost in the Faerie. Which is a bad one in itself. I bid you good night."

Quackity blinked, having no reply. He stared at the door long after Sapnap had closed it. What the fuck had he gotten himself into?

#karlnapity #karlnap #fae au #dsmp Karl Jacobs #dsmp Quackity #dsmp Sapnap #this was only gonna be a short drabble #Oop #possibly a little ooc but idc #Sapnap is unseelie while Karl is seelie #Which doesn't have anything to say about if they're good or not #Sapnap knows more about humans than Karl #Sapnap #Karl Jacobs #Quackity

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lag1995-fics · 3 years

Note

Hii. Can I request a fanfic for the song and Evan character thing? Could it be That's all by Genesis and Kai Anderson please?

I hope you like smut cause this one came out spicy 🌶. Apologies in advance I suck at writing Kai.

That’s All

Pairing:Kai x female reader

Warnings:Kai Anderson being Kai Anderson. Stalking, murder, derogatory language towards women, unhealthy relationship, language, smut

Words: 2190

Summary: Kai and reader share an unhealthy relationship but hey they love each other

Song Fic Masterlist

You were a self professed nasty woman, you had voted proudly for Hillary. She had clearly been the lesser of two evils. Plus it was about god damned time a woman broke that glass ceiling. You were pretty much everything Kai Anderson hated about women in general.

Kai should hate you, he should want to torment you but you intrigued him. It had started simply enough, hun being the entitled creep that he is had watched you do yoga in your backyard. You didn’t know of course, not then at least, that you had gained a stalker.

It hadn’t taken Kai long to realize that he wanted you to be his. He wanted to possess every part of you, he wanted you to be his and only his. He had a very unhealthy obsession with you.

That wasn’t all though he had also caught your eye. You had been out getting your mail one day dressed in nothing but a large t-shirt and shorts so short they couldn’t be seen beneath the hem of the shirt. You had seen him staring you down his blue hair thrown messily up into a bun on top of his head.

You were struck by his Beauty, he truly was a beautiful man. With brown eyes so dark they looked like two pieces of coal staring into your soul. You waved, flashing him a bright grin. He flashed you a grin of his own and as much as it made your panties dampen it also had an unhinged quality.

When you had got inside an uncharacteristically girlish giggle escaped your lips. Your roommate looked at you like you had grown three heads. You could feel your cheeks fill with fire. You were supposed to be a strong woman that didn’t need a man to complete her. Your neighbor was something else though.

“Who is this person giggling like a schoolgirl, that replaced my good friend y/n.” She cackled and you could feel the fire in your cheeks spread to your chest and ears.

“Our neighbor is kind of cute,” you replied waspishly.

“No really where is my roommate, the man hating feminist activist?” She joked.

“I don’t hate all men. I just think that men in general are problematic at best,” you defended huffily.

“He’s probably a raging trumpy,” she teased, lightheartedly.

“Oh is not he had long blue hair that was in a bun” you defended despite not knowing anything about this man. You didn’t know why you felt the need to defend him like you were.

“Oh you got it bad!” she collapsed into a fit of laughter when you threw a throw pillow at her.

***

It was another two weeks before you saw your mysterious neighbor again. He was talking to a shorter girl who was wearing a t-shirt that had “pussy power” emblazoned on her chest. This gave you the burst of confidence you needed as you strode over to them before you could talk yourself out of it.

“I love your shirt” you addressed the girl and she flashed you a grin.

“Thanks,” She replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. You could feel his eyes boring into the side of your head and flashed him a smile as well. You couldn’t help but admit to being a bit disappointed when he rolled his eyes.

“Ignore him. I’m Winter and this is my brother Kai” she introduced herself holding out a hand for you to shake which you did.

Kai the name rolled around in your head. You couldn’t help but entertain some mild fantasy of screaming out his name as he fucked you into a mattress. You shook the dirty fantasy from your mind.

“Nice to meet you I’m y/n,” you held out a hand to the blue haired man letting yourself take him in up close.

He had messy stubble along his chin and his blue hair hung around his face. His eyes were even more haunting up close and you felt like you could get lost in them. He took your hand wrapping his larger one around it, he had a firm grip. You couldn’t help but physically gulp from the skin to skin contact.

“We’ve met before, you live across the street. You like the power puff girls right?” He teased and you suddenly remembered what shirt you had been wearing.

“The power puff girls are fucking rad Kai” Winter defended and you smiled at her. Something in the way he looked at you made you want to submit to him. It was overwhelming to say the least.

“Whatever” he rolled his eyes again.

***

You and winter only grew closer and she quickly became part of your friend group. You tried to forget about Kai after finding out his political affiliations. He was everything you fought against. He was proud of being a chauvinistic pig.

You had decided to move on after a heated debate on men’s rights. You had tried to point out that all feminists wanted was equality. Men in this country as it stood right now had more rights than women did. It was a travesty.

He wouldn’t listen to you at all and went out of his way to call you a Misandrist. You had boiled over at that loudly proclaiming that you had really liked him up until the point he started spewing this nonsense. He was a pig and didn’t deserve the time of day you had already given him.

You would think that the polar opposite political opinions would cut the sexual tension like a hot king through butter; it didn’t though. If anything you were even more attracted to the man and Kai who normally had minimal patience for mouthy women was even more interested in making you his. He didn’t want to break you the fighting was too much fun but he definitely wanted to bend you to his will enough that you would never leave him.

You on the other hand had forced yourself to start dating other people. None of them compared to the man who fucked you everynight in your dreams. Kai Anderson was a force to be reckoned with.

***

Kai was sitting in the basement when Winter trudged down with her arms full of pizza. His eyes snapped to his sister and he couldn’t help but ask about y/n.

“Is y/n coming for dinner?” He asked, eyeing the pizza. Winter couldn’t help but roll her eyes at her brother who had developed an unhealthy obsession with her newest friend.

“No she’s got a date tonight some dude called Brad” Winter shrugged nonchalantly, knowing it would rile up her brother.

“What the fuck, she can’t go on a date with another dude” Kai spat possessively.

“Well tell her that because she definitely went on a date tonight” Winter laughed leaving her brother to stew in his resentment before he could snap at her.

“BULLSHIT!” He roared, flipping the coffee table in his anger.

He angrily grabbed his laptop logging into Facebook, whoever this Brad fucker was; was a deadman. He found your profile going to your profile ignoring the hideous cat eared beanie covering your beautiful hair in your profile picture. There were only three Brads on your friends list, one of them was well into his fifties and married, the other shared your last name and was probably a cousin. That left only one option, the man who appeared in the photo was everything Kai wasn’t. He was clean cut and wore a goofy ass bow tie.

He made a call ordering a hit on him but only if he was alone. He couldn’t risk you possibly getting hurt in the crossfire.

***

It was only two days after your disastrous tinder date that you found out Brad had been murdered. You were sad for his family. The date hadn’t been great but he had been nice in a dweeby, Silicon Valley sort of way. It seemed Kai had ruined you for all other men. You couldn’t help but compare them to him.

Winter had called you telling you how sorry she was. Winter was sorry she hadn’t thought Kai would murder someone just for dating you. She had only meant to piss him off; she didn’t want to be responsible for this man’s death.

***

You were at the Anderson’s again eating Chinese this time. It had almost become a every other day ritual. She would go hang out with Winter and argue with her brother.

“Women should be put back in their place,” he had started in before you cut him off glaring at him.

“Oh and what place would that be because I think it should be in a place of power. You know like the office of the presidency,” you snarled.

“Oh my god would you guys just fuck already and get it over with?” Winter who was fed up rolled her eyes walking up the stairs leaving you alone with Kai. Your eyes flashed to Kai’s and you could clearly read the hunger in them.

“She’s got a point,” he said lowly, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. You didn’t even realize you had unconsciously been walking toward him until you felt his strong arms wrap around your waist pulling you into him making you squeak.

“Fuck” you whispered looking into his eyes.

“A pretty girl like you should use such whorish language, I might have to wash that dirty slut mouth out with soap,” he groaned pushing his need against your pelvis.

“Oh god,” you whined grasping at his strong shoulders for stability.

“Say my name whore,” he snapped, his hand reaching under your comfortable sweat shirt and undoing your bra.

“Kai,” you breathed before pressing your lips into his own. He quickly took control of the kiss fighting your tongue and biting down sharply when he won.

“Fuck, I’ve wanted to do this to you since you started teasing me with your slutty little yoga moves” he ground himself into you.

You couldn’t find the right words so you just moaned as he started stripping both of you of your clothes. When he slipped your yoga pants from you body and saw that you were wearing any underwear underneath he got a maniacal look in his eyes.

“Fuck you are a little whore,” he slipped his fingers into the folds of your sopping cunt.

“You like that slut?” He punctuated each word with the curl of his fingers against that sweet spot. When you didn’t answer he proceeded to add two more fingers and you could feel the burning stretch.

“I asked you a question,” he demanded fucking your pussy with his fingers and rubbing your clit with his thumb.

“I love it,” you managed to choke out, “please Kai I need you”

“Fuck,” he his pulling his finishers from you wet pussy lips and shoved them into your mouth to suck on them, slowly thrusting them into your pretty little mouth.

“That’s what a woman’s mouth should be used for, not mouthing off,” he chuckled darkly.

You gasped as you felt the blunt head of his cock against your pussy. Without warning he slammed into you to the hilt sending your already sensitive body off the edge and into a wave of pleasure.

“That’s right cum on my cock bitch,” he gasped as he pounded into you hard and fast. You could feel the build of another orgasm cresting. Your walls began to flutter around him causing him to lose some control as his thrusting became erratic. The two of you sailed off the precipice together.

With more care then you would have expected he pulled out of you kissing your forehead. He grabbed his soft t-shirt using it to wipe you as you lay cuddled to his chest. Your mind was whirling at the fact that you had just let Kai fucking Anderson fuck the shit out of you while he called you every name in the book. It would be easier to find someone that held the same viewpoints as you. They just never seemed to strike your heart strings the way Kai did. You could be wearing a white shirt and prove to him it was white and he would still say it was black. You were yin and yang, and you knew now you wouldn’t be able to leave.

“Y/n, I love you” he said and if you hadn’t been listening you wouldn’t have heard it. Your eyes widened, Kai didn’t love anyone, not even Winter. He also wasn’t a liar and if he said that he loved you , it was true no matter how unhealthy their relationship was.

“I love you too. It had slipped out before you could think about the consequences of this. What the two of you had was pure and primal.

“You do know that I will never stop arguing with you though?” You added. You still believed wholeheartedly that women deserved the same advantages as men.

“I’d be disappointed if you did” he confessed and you leaned up to kiss him melting once again into his touch.

——//////———-//////———

Send me a song and an Evan Peters Character and I’ll write you a fic.

#kai anderson x reader #kai anderson #kai is a jerk wad #kai x reade #kai x reader #kai #ahs cult #possibly triggering #evan peters #reader insert #ahs fanfiction #fanfiction

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cherrysha · 4 years

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1.english is not my first language so sorry if something sounds strange. I realized that the requests are open and I would love it if u wrote something with the feitan pls. maybe a headcanon of him dealing with a very affable s / n (?) kkk i can't explain but like he is disturbed because she is accepting very well the fact that she was kidnapped and now she is forced to fall in love with him, and he is like "me I'm a fucking criminal, why are u so calm?"

It doesnt sound strange at all! This went in a completely different direction and its part headcanon but mostly just a short drabble. I’m not one hundred percent happy with this piece, but i wanted to get it out there!

Also, This is a universe in which I deny the fact that he sounds horrible in the dub. We only stan subbed Feitan over here.

word count: 1572

My requests are open atm

Warnings: TORTURE. thats it. thats all it is. just one big torture scene.

So if his s/o didn’t resist...

• He’d prolly just think they were biding their time

• He wouldn’t ask, he’d just straight up assume that they were playing the long con

• And a few months of it and he’d be sick and tired

• They were so agreeable, they let him touch them even when he was covered in blood

• And I don’t see any way this doesn’t end in torture

• He’d be really pissed off abt it

• Probably goading you the whole time

• “It doesn’t have to be like this if you just tell me.”

• And in truth he knows no plan would work, but he just wants some confirmation that you were going to try to escape

“Plan for what?” And he sighs. Part of him knew this was going to happen; that you’d still feign innocence. And that same part of him revelled in the course of action he’d decided to take. Basking in the chance to finally cause you pain. It’s a deeply rooted desire, one he isn’t accustomed to controlling. He wasn't one to pass up an opportunity such as this one.

You’ve been tied, arms above your head as the balls of your bare feet support the weight of your full body on the unforgiving concrete floor. The blindfold he had used to lure you into the room with is now converted into a gag as its shoved into your mouth. He’s done listening. Maybe when he’d given you incentive to be more... forthcoming, he’d remove it. The knife glints in the low light, the sight of it seemingly manifesting out of nowhere is startling to say the least. He takes a minute to ponder the situation. The apprehension on your face. You’d never seen him like this, only ever catching glimpses of his profession in the blood soaked clothes you washed so diligently. Was that not enough of a warning? He makes quick work of cutting off your top as well as the bra underneath. He deftly moves behind you, the sound of something heavy being picked up as he opens his mouth to speak. “This is going to hurt.” And it’s the most warning he’s given any of his victims. The suspense they felt, the jagged breaths they took as he circled their body like a hawk; it was part of the excitement for him. The whip cracks against your back one, two, three times before he takes a break. Your mouth opens in a wretched scream, but Feitan has become accustomed to the noise. It’s as irrelevant as the sound of the overhead light buzzing in the background. Blood seeps from the places the whip had licked your skin. Dark red as it lazily rolls down your back and soaks into the top of your cotton shorts. He stands back and admires the way your muscles bunch up under your skin in a useless effort to pull away from the pain, lifting you off of your toes until your feet lazily swung away from the ground. He was starting to enjoy the weak noises that left your throat. You don’t even notice when he forces your shorts and underwear down your legs. There’s a pool of cloth lying at your feet, dainty fabric that had been soaked with blood and cut into ribbons. He hits your thighs and ass with the next five strokes of the whip. Before moving again, he stutters, torn between being forgiving or continuing his endless assault of your soft flesh. The way your head falls limply to your chest, a sheen of sweat coating your body as crimson red rivulets silently descend to the ground below you, as if it’s their duty to entice him. To push him over the edge with need until he couldn’t take it anymore. It makes him give in, seven more and then he drops the instrument in an attempt to contain himself. He takes a moment to look at his work. Lover’s blood, he’s sure that he’s read something about the beauty of it. But seeing it for himself, hearing your shallow breaths as you succumb to the pain and your body slackens against its bindings, is more beautiful than he’d imagined. - He wakes you with even more pain. A faint trickle of something searingly hot burns down the fresh wounds that mar the opened flesh of your back. The scream you let out is the loudest yet, and he takes pride in the fact that he was able to wrench such a sound from you. A noise that no one else had heard and it was all because of him. “It’s just a disinfectant.” In all actuality he knows the level of pain you’re experiencing is probably on par with receiving the injuries, but he can’t stop himself from teasing. He finishes with a sigh and walks around to your front, smiling slightly as he sees your face. You looked wrecked, completely sinful as ribbons of pink tinged liquid dribble down your legs. It’s an encouraging thing. Feitan was the only one to see you this way, would only ever be the one to see your face streaked with tears and sweat, eyelids drooped and breath heavy from the excruciating pain he’d given to you. It makes his own breathing heavier. The spit slicked gag is ripped away and you don’t budge, head still slack against your chest as you stare dazedly at the floor. “Were you hoping to gain my trust so you could try to escape?” He whispers. And you almost don’t hear it over the sound of your own breath. You stutter out a feeble ‘yes’, because you know it’s what he wants, but it doesn’t seem to placate the man. He’s done this long enough to know when someone is lying to him. He’d previously came to the conclusion that you were just good at telling him what he wanted to hear, the paranoia settling over his mind like a heavy blanket as months stretched on and you’d remained unwavering in your acceptance. He can see it now, the truth of the matter enclosed in your feeble attempts of stopping the torture. He takes a step forward and smiles at the slight hitch in your breath at his sheer proximity. You were finally giving him a reaction he was accustomed to, one that he knew all too well. “See, I’m not so skilled at keeping people.. alive” he twists the blade in his hand, eyes shying away from your own as if he’d just revealed a weakness to you. He’s deep in thought, mulling over what exactly to do so as not to harm you too bad. You had told him the truth, after all. “This.. this is where I’d sever your leg from your body.” The knife is red hot as he pierces it through your skin, successfully drawing the image onto you. “At the joint.” After doing the same to the right, he digs it into your lower stomach, “if I had cut here, your entrails would cause such a mess.” Groans leave your throat in your attempt to breathe through the pain, rolling your head back to avoid looking at him. Its hard to contain the excitement he feels just from looking at your debauched state. You were enticing to him, enough so that he had gone out of his way to pluck you from your miserable life and let you start fresh with him. But right now, all he could really think about is how alluring your body was. Bloody and raw, so vulnerable in every sense of the word. He closes his eyes and lets out a puff of air through his nose in an attempt to contain himself. After he has, he continues his earlier ministrations. “The arms would be next, as you’d imagine,” And the lithe blade penetrates the meat of your shoulder as he continues with a downward stroke. It’s debilitating at this point. In a desperate attempt to block it all out, your eyelids involuntarily dance closed. Your body felt utterly destroyed, but your mind was in even worse shape; Choosing to forego the pain, black dots clouded your vision as you felt yourself being quickly tugged under and into unconsciousness. It’s a gentle slap, in his opinion, a warning to keep you alert. He didn’t want you to block this out. Not yet. He’s talking more than usual, a pent up frustration at the fact that he didn’t get what he was looking for. That he was denied the satisfaction of making you admit your wrongdoing. So, he snatches it from the crunching noise of your body hitting the floor. “If I did that, you’d die. Do you think I want that?” You only have enough strength to nod ‘no’, and your answer gains you a swift kick to your gut. He knew you were lying. “I’m not going to kill you.” He lets out something akin to a shaky laugh, the revealing sort that lets you glean just how unhinged the man truly was. He only meant to punish you, to force the truth from your mouth. But once he had a taste of the way you shrieked at his touch, how sweat made your naked body glow in the dim light, he knew this would be the first of many punishments to come.

#feitan #feitan portor #feitan x reader #yandere feitan

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inb4belphienaps · 3 years

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warnings: demon hunter au, monsterification (?), blood, gore, fighting (physical), death word count: 2028

Through the sounds of one man’s grunting and the clash of metal meeting hardened flesh, the ground of the forest shakes. Whatever birds had remained in the wake of the battlefield signal to one another (warning not just their own, but also the other inhabitants) that the current fight taking place could have devastating repercussions. More devastating than the smell of iron continuing to linger in the area.

As the earth shifts, flashes of bright light mingle with green smoke, creating a pool of fog that, were it privy to the eyes of outsiders, would hint at sorcery being afoot.

Magic holds its weight here in these lands. Depending on where your loyalties lie, you are either the hunter or the hunted. The former is normally trained in combat and taught to wield their powers as well as their swords. The latter, on the other hand, is feared, for the reasons that they are hunted are rooted deep in their very nature.

They go by many names – creatures of the dark, harbingers of evil, infernal bearers of sin. The list continues. And the stories grow. Generation after generation, children are taught to fear them. They are…demons. Children too in fact, of the King of Hell.

A royalty shrouded in mystery. The legend says that those who look upon his face never again see the light of day. And, since, no one has been able to confirm nor deny the numerous depictions of him, littering the books of those whose teeth chatter at the very mention of his title and covering the walls of the temples erected in honor of those who fight against him, he is better thought of as the very embodiment of your worst fears.

The soldiers are easier to motivate that way, more willing to be shaped into obedience. Whether that is seen as the mangled bodies of their loved ones or heard as the cries of the innocent, they are to never show mercy to the beings that do his bidding.

However, there are those who (baring the markings of a heretic), believe that these monsters were once human. That they sold their souls and gave into the darkness. That they were swayed by sweet words of promises unkept and in the end only saw suffering.

There are also those who, in the same manner, believe that these monsters take on the forms of humans. Either the humans they’ve converted or humans that they are to ravage, soon-to-be victims of a plague that cannot be cured or forgotten.

Dangerous thoughts like these are what make the difference between a good soldier and an immovable hunter. If there is doubt or a shadow of sympathy when facing these beasts, you may very well find your head removed from your body, and then, shortly after, consumed in its entirety.

(Yes...they feed on humans.)

Blood mars the surrounding trees and smothers the leaves, painting them an ugly copper. Where the dirt turns black, Simeon knows a struggle took place. How valiantly his brothers and sisters must have fought, he thinks. And how unsavory a death they must have met.

With this in mind, he steels his resolve and focuses all his energy into the magic materializing in his hands, imbuing it into his sword. He’d perfected his techniques. Trained until they’d become an extension of him and his will.

“Why”, the creature says, “they didn’t tell me they were saving the best ‘til last.”

Simeon neither flinches at nor acknowledges its voice. A voice that would otherwise send humans fleeing, pushes him to carry on, to increase his speed and thrust forwards with accuracy.

“But I suppose I should’ve known. The ones before you were far too weak to stand against me.”

He lunges, twisting half-way when he’s met with a swipe of a giant arm and a lash of a bright-green tail. Green. The color of evil. Green. The color of sin.

“They never had a chance.”

“Quit your blithering, monster. I have no intentions of hearing you speak.”

The creature smiles. Though its features are ghastly and covered with remains, Simeon can make out the ends of its mouth and how they curl upwards.

“You’ll have to cut out my tongue then, hunter.”

With each instance that their magics meet, the world around them becomes all the more obsolete. The serene landscape is instead transformed into an arena, of which only the strongest contender will leave from unscathed.

Simeon has hunted many of these puppets in his time. Cutting their strings and burning their shells, he’d gotten used to the smell of them. Except their appearance is another matter entirely. This creature that stands before him is a testament to that.

Its scales shine in the sunlight, like jewels beneath clear waters. Its limbs are strong and impressive. Its horns, like the antlers of a magnificent stag, demand his attention. Disregarding the loathing he feels; the creature is almost beautiful.

Almost.

He creates some distance between them, reconfiguring his stance and propelling himself off the scarped face of a mound of rocks piled atop one another just so.

The creature is quick to respond and close in on him, running on all fours at him head-first, like a raging bull. Its strides are far and wide, causing Simeon to abandon future attempts at discouraging close combat.

There is a menacing, contained kind of anger that permeates from the creature. He senses it every time its magic brushes against him be it the patches of exposed skin or his armor. There’s a heat to it too. A hot measure of lethality that reminds him to be careful.

Demons are after all, tricky beings with a history of dabbling in the dark arts (necromancy was nothing to them). These are experienced fighters, unhinged and free to do as they please without their need for self-preservation or the need to maintain their dignity getting in the way.

The sheer force of their clash resounds, akin to a clap of thunder and the sparks that fly as its talons scrape against Simeon’s metal gives ode to the lightning that would normally accompany it.

When they part, following a further exchange of blows, Simeon is panting, and the creature seems excited by the notion.

“You are a creature of the dark. You take solace in the shadows, so you may attempt to flee from your sins but make no mistake, beast”, he hisses, jutting his chin out defiantly with a type of pride that the creature knew all too well, “I will have your head.”

The creature laughs and bares its fangs. Only…the hunter in front of him pictures how they’d glint on his neck, to serve both as a reminder and as a medal for his efforts.

Taking this monster down and fashioning his remains into something wearable? It was the least he could do for his companions who had sacrificed themselves and died fighting. Hell itself would have to freeze over before he’d admit defeat in any sense of the word so that their deaths would not have been in vain.

Suddenly, something splits in the air, the fractures dissipating in a myriad of pieces that could pass for shattered glass and Simeon is temporarily rendered immobile. His eyes widen, and he feels the creature within him. It was invading his mind.

Sentiments of nights spent practicing on his own and memories of harsh winters spent in front of crackling fires cause his shoulders to shake. There, amidst the confusion and horror, his friend’s cheerful visage startles him back into reality.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you?”, the creature chides. “It’s dangerous to go looking for the dead.”

So, the creature knew his intentions. To find his friend and give him a proper burial. His friend, who was probably now disfigured beyond recognition, was waiting for Simeon to find him. He could feel it. His friend, the one who had been there to see him through the hardest times of his life, was calling to him.

“Silence”, Simeon spits, venom coating his demand as he hurtles daggers and magic alike at the looming silhouette shrouded in mist. Each one ricochets off of its hide, and he clenches his jaw. He wasn’t focusing hard enough.

“I’ll give you two seconds to prepare yourself”, it says.

The creature then comes to a standstill and Simeon feels the first inklings of dread. A sentence like that meant that he was either going to be met with a resistance he had no hopes of fathoming or it had a trump card up its sleeve – another nasty trick it could use to its advantage.

“One.”

Wind rustles the foliage above and carries his scent towards it. He tightens his grip on his trusty weapon and tilts his head to the side to crack his neck.

“Two.”

With inhuman speed, it leaps, first into the thickets, disappearing from view, then to his side, grabbing him by the scruff as he’s rendered helpless.

Simeon squirms, his sword doing little to better the situation, and he kicks at the creature’s torso. The dull sounds of his foot colliding with its build send a rush of panic through him. And then-

And then he is falling. And the creature is smiling, eyes narrowing in satisfaction as he looks down at the devastation tainting his features. The creature stands at the edge of the cliff, watching him descend into the abyss.

“What a shame”, it says. “You put up such a good fight, little hunter.”

As the creature turns his back, its ears twitch and it swivels around in disbelief. Was there a humming noise? A buzzing? A ringing in its ears?

It doesn’t have the chance to come to a conclusion. Simeon surges upwards from within the depths, colliding with its giant frame, and crushes it to the ground, with the same foot he’d used to kick it just moments before firmly planted on its chest.

“You…you have wings”, the creature whispers.

Simeon resists the urge to shiver. He hadn’t known he’d had them. He hadn’t known he was even capable of conjuring such things.

In its moment of weakness, he plunges his sword into its chest, watching the expression in its eyes change from bewilderment to indifference. Perhaps this was its way of dealing with death. Upon realizing that it too, like him, is capable of it, perhaps it resigned itself to its inevitable fate.

“What is your name, hunter?”, the creature rasps.

He hesitates. It is said that once a demon utters your name, you are forever cursed. And yet, with the outcome of the battle decided, he’s willing to take his chances.

“My name is Simeon.”

The creature nods once and sighs, as if vaguely fatigued.

“And what do they call you? Do your kind even have names?”

It snickers, and Simeon removes his sword, the severe movement causing it to stiffen and clutch at the fresh wound, talons covered in its own sanguineous substance. He feels no remorse or contrition at the pitiful sight, and he digs his sword in once more, eliciting a grunt. The creature assesses his hands – vigorous and seemly, and baring a ring too.

“Satan. That is my name.”

As the sun sets on the horizon and bathes the scenery in twilight, a shadow emerges from the edge of the forest close to the border. His clothes are ripped, and his blonde hair is covered in mud.

He stands, taking a deep breath in, and closes his eyes. When next he opens them, they glow a vibrant chartreuse – its yellow and green hues mixing together to create an uncanny image. The dust has settled and so has the blood running through his veins.

A body lies beneath his feet. Its uniform indicates that the man was once a solider. And as he turns him over, a familiar-looking ring falls out of the soldier’s pocket. He stoops down to pick it up and admires it in the low light.

Yes, those seemly hands and those crystalline irises that’d shown unwavering tenacity.

He will return. If only to cradle that hunter’s pretty little head in his hands.

#when i first considered this pair #this concept was FAR from what i thought i'd write them in #also that lrb was too perfect not to have come before #might have to edit this when i wake up omg #obey me au #obey me writing #obey me angst #obey me simeon #obey me! simeon #obey me satan #obey me! satan #satan x simeon

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wonderlustlucas · 4 years

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just a friend - kim hwiyoung

⇢ prompt My head spins I'm pressed against the wall Just watching your every move. You're way too cool And you're coming this way. How did we end up talking in the first place?—“end up here” by 5 seconds of summer ⇢ pairing hwiyoung x female reader ⇢ word count 1.4k ⇢ genre suggestive fluff ⇢ warnings (18+) alcohol use, heavy makeout, implied sex?, hwiyoung is a simp!!!!! ⇢ summary Hwiyoung is convinced he only sees you as a friend, and nothing else. Little does he know, trying to teach you how to play pool and one haircut later leaves him wondering how he ever told himself that was true.—college!au ; friends to lover!au ⇢ a/n everyone say thank u hwiyoung for cutting ur hair & inspiring this

Hwiyoung truly does not know how he ended up here.

Not even two hours ago, his jaw practically unhinged when he saw you walk in, tight lace top and even tighter skirt, showing off the curve from your waist to your hips to the swell of your thighs, and his mouth ran dry at the distant thought that passed his mind. You were pretty, he knew this. He knew this the day you met, but he had not realized just how pretty you were until he grew to know you better, until you weren’t just a face a few seats ahead of him, until you became someone he wanted to spend time with. But tonight – tonight, you are different. Tonight, you are not the girl who dropped her coffee at his feet waiting to leave class. Tonight, eyes dark with makeup and lips sparkling with gloss, you are not the girl he thought he only saw as a friend.

He had brushed away such troublesome thoughts until you found him some time later much drunker than he. “Come on,” Hwiyoung had urged you, trying to ignore the way his pulse quickened simply by setting his hand on your waist, “you look like you are going to fall.”

You didn’t fall, of course, but instead of sitting beside him, you decided to sit on him, curling into his chest until you sobered up enough to perch prettily on his lap. Afraid that you would leave if he touched you, he kept one hand on the arm of the sofa and another clenched by his side, unsure of whether to be proud that he had youon his lap or terrified of the way his insides twisted every time you looked over your shoulder to talk to him.

Later, when you had wandered off again in search of your friends, he realized he was being ridiculous. He did not like you. You were his friend, his classmate, no different than Taeyang or Chanhee. Hwiyoung did not date, he truly did not involve himself with anyone like that except for a hook up then and there when he felt the ache of desire deep in his bones. And three years into college, he is not about to ruin his perfect run now. Right?

Hwiyoung clenched his jaw hard when one of your friends dared you to kiss Taeyang and you did so excitedly. He could not blame you – it’s Taeyang, who wouldn’t want to kiss him? He refused to watch, though, averted his gaze to the party beyond his friend circle and wondered if you were dared to kiss him, instead, if your eyes would light up the same way.

When you found your way back to him on the couch, he was tempted to test out the theory. Just a kiss. One kiss, to see how you would react. He didn’t, though, cheeks burning at the thought of handling in you in such a way. Instead, you fell into random conversation. Like him, you seemed to have slowed down on the alcohol, but Hwiyoung’s heart continued to do somersaults each time you set your hand on his arm, his knee, him.

“We have a pool table,” the words left his mouth before he even thought about what he was saying. One second, you were complaining about not knowing how to play ‘8-ball in real life’ and in the next, he was leading you downstairs to show you how.

Hwiyoung does not know how to play pool.

“It’s easier to just show you,” he said, swallowing the lump in his throat and fumbling to straighten the cue in his hands. Thinking back to all the times he had watched his friends play, he bit his lip and prayed when he finally hit the white cue ball. Miraculously, the ball he was aiming for sank into the hole.

Passing the cue to you, he watched you awkwardly mimic his movements, blinking as you tried to remember which finger he hooked over. “Here,” he said, feigning confidence as he leaned against you, straightening your arm and shakily adjusting your fingers. Stepping back to let you aim, he tried to keep his eyes from wandering to you bending over the table, heat rushing from his head to his toes until the crack of one ball to another brought his attention back to pool and not your---

“Huh,” you grunted, brows furrowed when the cue ball sunk with the one you hit, “I don’t think that’s supposed to happen.”

“It’s not,” Hwiyoung said, too quickly.

Your frown deepened. “Do you actually know how to play?”

“Not really.”

You could not help but grin, setting the cue down and stretching your already cramped fingers. “Why’d you cut your hair?” You asked casually, eyes flicking to the now short, messy pieces of hair just barely falling to his forehead.

Hwiyoung’s breath hitched. He did not know what you meant by that – was there a positive or negative connotation here? Did you like it? Not that he cut his hair to impress you, but he found himself worried about your opinion much more than he anticipated. “I’ve had it long for a while,” he said, wincing at how shaky his voice was, “just wanted to switch it up before summer.”

“Oh,” is all you said.

“Do you like it?” Hwiyoung asked without really meaning to. That was supposed to be his inside voice.

“Oh, I – um,” you stuttered suddenly, not expecting him to ask, brain fumbling to come up with the right words, “yeah, I like it, you look really hot.” No, not the right words. You stared at him with wide eyes.

“Hot?” He echoed, unable to fight his grin. You liked it. You thought he looked hot.

Hwiyoung truly does not know how he ended up here.

One second, you walked in looking like you owned the damn place. In the next, you were kissing Taeyang. Then, you were just trying to learn how to play pool.

Now, you have him wondering whether he ever really saw you as just a friend.

“Hwiyoung,” you whine and he smiles against your skin, heart pounding in his ears hearing you say his name like that, hands unable to stay put, fisting into his shirt, cradling his jaw, raking through the short hair at the nape of his neck. He is going insane. He has never felt this way and he is certain he could die peacefully, right now.

“Yes, baby?” The pet name leaves his lips involuntarily, easily, without regret. He does not even realize he has said it until your nails dig into his arms in response. As much as he likes marking your skin, Hwiyoung finds himself desperate to kiss you again, so he does; frantically and messily like this is the last time he will ever do so, hands pressing everywhere all at once, heart a dizzying staccato in his head.

“Unless you are planning to take care of this and fuck me,” you gasp, licking at his bottom lip and reaching for his hand to guide beneath your skirt, “we need to stop.”

Hwiyoung momentarily sees red, blinded at the thought of fucking you on the pool table and all the blood in his body rushes to his dick. Maybe bend you over the washing machine. Or simply against the wall. Anywhere, really, because it would be with you.

“Okay,” he whispers, leaning his forehead against yours and trying to calm his breathing, “okay, we can stop.”

Hwiyoung sees the disappointment cloud your eyes before you have even replied. “I mean – not that I don’t want to fuck you! Because, believe me,” frantically, he cups your face, thumbs swiping your cheeks, “believe me, I do. I just, you, this, mean a lot to me and I don’t think I could just fuck you and continue on like nothing’s changed.”

“I’m not really sure what that means but, um, you do know that I’ve had a crush on you since we met, right?” You tell him, slowly.

“Wait,” Hwiyoung blinks, trying to process what you just said, “you – you have? Really?”

“Uh… yeah? I know you don’t really date though, so like—”

“No! I do! Well, I don’t but I’d like to date you, is what I mean. Which is why I don’t want to fuck you, unless you want to date me, too,” he explains in a rush, wincing at his lack of finesse. He has no idea why you like him, but he’s not about to go convincing you otherwise.

Truth be told, you yourself are still trying to wrap your mind around the fact that he wants to fuck and date you.

“Well, yeah,” you chuckle, suddenly nervous, “the sex part is cool but, dating you is way cooler.”

Hwiyoung truly does not know how he ended up here, but he is so glad you’re not just a friend.

#kwritersworldnet #thekpopnetwork #kpopficsnetwork #hwiyoung #sf9 #kim youngkyun #hwiyoung fluff #sf9 fluff #kim youngkyun fluff #hwiyoung smut #sf9 smut #kim youngkyun smut #hwiyoung x reader #sf9 x reader #kim youngkyun x reader #hwiyoung scenarios #sf9 scenarios #kim youngkyun scenarios

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gaygryffindorgal · 2 years

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i just found this in my notes app, written a few weeks ago, directly after playing through you-know-what during year 6! spoilers abound, verna is unhinged and commits light arson. read at your own risk.

the common room was quiet. everyone had already gone to bed. even charlie and ben had eventually disappeared into the boys' dorm. verna stared at the arm chair rowan always used to occupy, and the christmas tree behind it. it was mocking her. its tinsel, baubles, and enchanted little candles going on as if the whole world hadn't just stopped. as if rakepick hadn't torn verna's heart out of her chest and cut it into little pieces right in front of her eyes. she had blood on the sleeve of her christmas jumper. she wasn't sure if the cut on her arm had stopped bleeding and frankly, she didn't care. she wanted to tear that bloody tree down. she wanted to tear down something more than the tree, but it was her best option at the minute. in a burst of rage, she got up and marched over to it. she grabbed the tinsel and pulled. it came off easily, dislodging a few of the baubles. after that first pull, it was quick work to strip the fir carcass of all its splendor. she didn't stop there. she broke off its branches, one by one, the needles pricking her skin. fuck that. fuck this. the world wasn't meant to be beautiful or comforting on a day like this one. the scene kept playing in her head. how quickly it had happened, how quickly it was all over.

~ and the aftermath. the trek back to the castle, she and charlie carrying rowan as gently as they could. charlie and ben had to switch places halfway through, because charlie couldn't stop crying. walking up to the hospital wing although they all knew there was nothing to be done. being escorted to the headmaster's office by a stern and quiet professor sprout. verna didn't remember what dumbledore had said. she only remembered the simmering anger she had felt for the quiet disapproval of the teachers. yes, they had broken the rules, but no one else did anything in this school. they'd all still be frozen in the fucking cursed ice if it wasn't for verna and her friends. and verna would be frozen in the cursed ice if it wasn't for rowan. rowan. rowan. rowan. the last time they'd spoken had been an argument. verna felt sick. she pulled out her wand, pointing it at the wreck that remained of the christmas tree.

"incendio," she whispered, and watched as the flames started to spread in her carnage. she didn't move as the flames grew larger and the smoke started to rise and cover the room. she didn't move even, when she heard someone call her name. the air was hot and the smoke permeated her lungs. she felt a hand grab her by the arm and pull her back from the fire. several different voices casted aquamenti, and verna suddenly came crashing back to her senses. she turned around to see charlie, professor mcgonagall, and many other gryffindor students eyeing her with varying degrees of alarm "miss malinda, are you hurt?" asked the professor. verna shook her head. charlie moved first, wrapping his arms around verna. he didn't say anything, not even when professor mcgonagall requested that the both of them follow her to her office. she sent the rest of the students back to bed and then charlie and verna followed her out of the common room.

#hphm spoilers #*mine #*oneshot #verna malinda #ok i might've also been a little unhinged while writing this....

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dimigex · 3 years

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Healing Hands - Chapter 11 - YamaSaku

Full chapter available on A03, FF. If you like what I do, feel free to support me on ko-fi!

Sakura watched the sun rise from Yamato's apartment while stifling a yawn that threatened to unhinge her jaw. The man had fallen asleep twenty minutes ago after an evening of textbook withdrawal symptoms. Yamato had spent the night vomiting, shivering on the bathroom floor, and experiencing a state of near constant anxiety that left him unable to rest. Or, maybe the insomnia came from fear of facing his nightmares. Yamato refused to talk about them, and Sakura hadn't pushed. Not that they'd had time between the trips to the bathroom.

Even though Yamato was asleep, it wouldn't be considered restful by any stretch of the imagination. He tossed and turned on the bed, clutching the blanket to his chest like a life preserver. His pale face had grown more sunken with each bout of vomiting. Sweat dappled the man's forehead, either from the recent spell of dry heaves or his body's struggle to regulate itself. Sakura hadn't asked when Yamato ate last, but it couldn't have been recently.

Since Yamato was resting for at least a few minutes, Sakura made her way to the kitchen. She hadn't been lying when she'd said that he was going to feel worse, but some sustenance might help him fight through it. At least, it would if Yamato could keep it down. The remaining beers, a couple of questionable takeout containers, and some wilted vegetables waited in the fridge. The cabinets yielded even less: a packet of rice and three protein bars that were the flavor of honeyed cardboard.

A tin on the back of one shelf caught Sakura's eye, and she shoved the rations out of the way. Four or five packages of teas were tucked away in the corner, a thin film of dust forming on the top. Sakura snorted in amusement at the unexpected find. Somehow, the idea of a man who drank herbal tea and abused alcohol didn't connect in her mind. She scanned the ingredients until she found one that had ginger near the top. The root had natural anti-nausea properties that would help with vomiting once Yamato got it into his system.

Continuing to rummage through the kitchen, Sakura came up with a tea kettle and filled it with water. While waiting for that to heat, she cleaned up the bottle tops and dirty glasses from the previous night. Sakura retrieved the sake and cup from the living room as well, and washed the latter. She considered tipping the alcohol down the drain, but decided that it wasn't her decision to make. If Yamato was serious about getting clean, he needed to take that step himself.

The whistle of the tea kettle pulled Sakura from her thoughts. Before the sound could wake Yamato, she removed it from the heat and filled a mug with hot water. When Sakura dropped the tea sachet inside, soft green and gold unfurled in the liquid. She considered making a second cup, but wasn't sure how long Yamato would sleep. It wouldn't take long to fix one when he woke, so she waited for hers to be ready and carried it to the living room.

As she settled on the couch, Sakura considered the next steps. She still had to determine the full extent of Yamato's struggles. Nightmares, alcohol, and stimulants were a given, but she was fairly certain that it went deeper than that. He had opened up a little bit, but there was more work to do. Yamato would eventually need to talk to someone, after detox. They'd made it through the first twelve hours, but the next seventy-two would be harder.

Sakura had read about addiction and recovery, of course, but not in enough detail to help Yamato as much as she wanted. She would need to stop by her office and pick up some books to help them muddle through. Even without in-depth study, Sakura knew that Yamato needed a bare minimum of a week to fully detox; she couldn't put off presenting her findings to Kakashi for that long.

While telling her former mentor about Yamato's condition should be the easiest part of Sakura's job, he was close to her patient. She couldn't ignore the pained expression on Yamato's face every time that the Hokage's name came up. While Sakura doubted that Kakashi would fault Yamato for his circumstances, she didn't blame the man for wanting to save face in the eyes of an old friend. That meant Sakura would need to be creative while keeping Kakashi away long enough for Yamato to complete his detox.

After Yamato had purged the many substances from his system, Sakura would have to transition him to more traditional therapy. Ino would probably get involved at that point, or someone like her. Sakura wasn't qualified to do a full psychological exam, as much as she wished she was. Chewing on her lower lip, she wondered if Yamato would go along with that part of his treatment. If not, Sakura would be forced to explain everything to Kakashi and let him decide the next steps.

Sakura yawned again, deciding that was a problem for another day. For now, she wanted to curl up on the couch and steal a few hours of sleep. The previous night had been a blur after Yamato woke from his nightmare. The two hours that Sakura had managed before it hadn't been enough. A headache buzzed through her temples like an angry bee, insistent and growing stronger by the moment. She thought there might be a little caffeine in her tea, but it wasn't enough to hold the pain at bay. The ginger hadn't helped the sick feeling in her stomach, either.

If Sakura pushed through, she could get a jump on her plans for the rest of Yamato's treatment. Except, she couldn't leave him alone, not yet. They hadn't talked much beyond the urgency of needing the toilet to vomit or wanting a drink to wash the taste away. Thankfully, the former had grown less frequent toward morning. Yamato's body had nothing left to spend, not that it realized that yet. The dry heaves continued in an almost predictable pattern. It had been at least an hour since the last-

As if on cue, the sound drew Sakura from her stupor of half sleep. Sighing, she drained the rest of her tea and carried her empty cup to the kitchen. The water was still warm enough, so Sakura poured another for Yamato. She found him on the bed after his latest spell of trying to empty his stomach. The man cradled his head in his hand, groaning against the pain rampaging through it. When Sakura stepped into the room, Yamato blinked at her through bleary eyes. "You're still here."

Sakura hummed in agreement and held out the cup. "The ginger will help settle your stomach until I can get you something stronger."

Yamato closed his hand around the cup without looking at the murky liquid. "Something stronger?"

The beginnings of hope stirred in Yamato's voice as he lifted the tea to his lips. He paused halfway and made a face, lowering it back to his lap so quickly that some of the liquid splashed over the rim of the cup. Apparently, his body didn't like the idea of calming tea in place of the alcohol it wanted. Sakura settled on the edge of Yamato's bed. "If you level with me about the substances you've been using and the amounts, I can find something to make the detox easier. But, you have to be honest. Prescribing the wrong thing is as likely to kill you as help you."

Yamato set the cup of tea untouched on the nightstand beside him and propped himself up against the headboard. He looked worse than Sakura had ever seen with pale, sunken cheeks and bloodshot eyes. She sighed. "You're already having tremors and nausea, and they're not going to get better. In a few hours, your body will start trying to regulate itself without alcohol. Heart rate, blood pressure, and temperature will spike. You won't be able to sleep or shut down your body's hyper awareness of everything. All of that is just the alcohol detox. If there's something else—"

"I know," Yamato growled, voice rough as unpolished stones. "I told you this wasn't the first time I'd been through it."

Sensing that sarcasm would only make Yamato shut down further, Sakura held her tongue. If he already knew the hell that was detox, why was he putting his body through it a second time? She raised an eyebrow to indicate her curiosity, but remained silent. Yamato shrugged as if the words that came next were inconsequential. "I wasn't much older than you are now. Team Ro had been on a string of bad missions. I'd watched four teammates die in the course of two weeks, one of them by my command."

The words didn't match the empty expression on Yamato's face. Sakura had no idea what to say to the revelation, so she remained silent and let him finish. When the moment stretched into discomfort, he shrugged. "Kakashi pulled me back from the edge, helped me through detox, and covered for me with the Sandaime."

Understanding bloomed in Sakura's chest, followed swiftly by pity. "That's why you don't want to tell him. You don't want him to know that it happened again."

"Something like that." Yamato closed his eyes and tipped his head against the wall. Sakura was struck by how young the man beside her looked. It was more than the casual grey t-shirt and navy sweatpants, more than the lack of armor. There was something deeper, something about the vulnerability of Yamato allowing her to see him this way. If their situations had been reversed, Sakura wasn't sure she would have let him stay.

The man continued without opening his eyes. "The last one was a month long bender that I barely remember."

As the pieces began to fall into place, Sakura realized that she didn't like the picture that was forming. "And, this time?"

Yamato sighed, soft and reluctant. "The better part of two years with varying degrees."

Sakura fought to keep the surprise from reaching her face, but it didn't matter. Yamato didn't look at her; he kept his eyes shut as he made the confession. Her stomach sank. The man had been completing S-rank missions for two years while his life fell apart around him. The timeframe bothered her, but she couldn't put her finger on why.

Yamato cracked one eye open, gauging Sakura's reaction. "I used soldier pills to keep from sleeping for days at a time. When I crashed, I still had nightmares, so I drank until I passed out. It was functional."

"Functional," Sakura repeated. Her mind reeled at the word. "Functional right up to the point that you gave yourself a heart attack? How many were you using?"

To Yamato's credit, he didn't flinch away. "Enough to get the job done. One or two at first, a handful more recently."

Sakura sat stupefied, trying to understand how a man who she knew to be intelligent and conscientious could think that taking a handful of pills was a good idea. A single soldier pill was potent enough to keep a shinobi on their feet for two days before their body succumbed to exhaustion. Sakura couldn't begin to imagine the damage that five or more of the tablets could do. Except, she could. The evidence had been staring at her in Yamato's elevated blood pressure and heart rate, in his moodiness and inability to sleep. Nausea tightened its grip on her stomach.

Forcing out a breath, Sakura inclined her head. She didn't trust herself to thank Yamato for sharing that information, not yet. Wanting to confirm a theory that had been brewing in her mind, Sakura reached out and caught Yamato's wrist. He flinched back, but he didn't pull away. Nodding to herself, Sakura pressed her fingers against the man's pulse point and counted the beats. She frowned at the number. "You didn't have time to regulate your heartbeat that time, did you?"

Yamato exhaled an almost laugh that neither confirmed nor denied Sakura's theory. The rapid rise and fall of the man's heart rate during his stress test suddenly made more sense. Sakura wanted to hit him, to pummel him for using Anbu tricks to mess up her results, but she linked her fingers together and counted to five under her breath. She stifled the fear that he'd taught the trick to anyone else. One problem at a time. "Are you taking anything else?"

For a moment, Yamato considered the question. Sakura braced herself for another revelation, but he shook his head. "No, nothing else."

"Good." Sakura nodded and pushed to her feet. "Here's what we're going to do. If you're serious about getting better, you're going to dump out the rest of your alcohol, then turn over the soldier pills you have left."

Something dark flitted through Yamato's eyes, but after a moment, it passed. Struggling to his feet, he stumbled toward the dresser. Yamato opened one of the drawers, lifted out a pouch of pills, and dropped them into Sakura's palm. He slid another bag from a second drawer, then retrieved more from the backpack that leaned against the wall. Sakura followed the man to the bathroom where a package nestled in a corner of the medicine cabinet. The final bag hid on a high shelf in the kitchen.

Sakura didn't comment on the number of pills that Yamato had secreted around his apartment. It wouldn't help anything. Getting rid of the tablets seemed to give the man enough sense of purpose to hold the nausea at bay for a time. He paused by the bottle of sake that Sakura had moved to the counter. She waited in silence, letting him wrap his head around throwing out the alcohol that had been his comfort less than twenty-four hours before.

Yamato spun the top off of the bottle and tipped it over the sink. The liquid splashed into the drain, it's unmistakable scent flavoring the air. He lingered after the alcohol disappeared then sighed and emptied the beers in rapid succession. "Okay, now what?"

"Now," Sakura answered, turning the tap on to wash away the sticky residue of alcohol, "you're going to go take a shower, if you feel up to it. I'm going to the hospital to get a few things taken care of, then I'll be back to help see you through the worst of this."

Yamato let the counter take the majority of his weight as he turned to Sakura. "I'll be fine if you—"

"I'll be back in two hours at the most," Sakura interrupted. Yamato's lips pressed into a line that could have been annoyance or thankfulness as he nodded. "Try to sleep if you can, or do something to take your mind off things. I'll be back soon."

(the rest of the chapter is available on Archive of Our Own and Fanfiction.net (linked above))

#My writing #YamaSaku #Healing Hands #Fandom: Naruto #Mental Health Fic #TW: Substance Abuse #TW: Detox and withdrawal #Yamato #Tenzo #Sakura

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