#just like. the grimy world turns on and the light still—still!—rises over it

[aeide-thea]

i only ever experience dawn from the wrong side but even so there's always something at least a little heart-lifting abt the imperceptible yet inexorable paling of the world (ey says, having managed to describe it in a way that instead makes it sound like a fascist social manifesto) and the first determined little bird calling out like a newspaper guy <3

[ok-pop-1]

to love a stranger

The sky rains, purple and black, burning ash falling to scorch the grass below. Sunlight filters through, lighting the world in a way Link’s never seen before. His hand burns where it held the bow, either from the strain or blisters or something else entirely, and he lets it fall. Lets it burn away into light before it even hits the ground.

The Calamity is dead. He does not know how to feel about it.

Zelda stands before him. Not the specter of his mind or the splash of gold in his paltry few memories. No, she’s grimy and just a bit bloody and so very human that he finds himself stumbling forward, catching her in his arms, to make himself believe that she’s there.

He doesn’t see as her eyes light up, flashing through surprise-joy-concern-worry. Doesn’t see more than her hair as the copper in his mouth sours on his tongue, as his knees crumble below him and send him tumbling to the ground.

Her voice sounds in his ears. He wonders, briefly, how he can still hear her, if the battle’s done.

Grass tickles his nose. Sunlight washes over his eyes. He lets them close.

~~~

He’s almost expecting blue lights when he opens his eyes. Blue lights and shallow water and stale air nipping at exposed, wet skin.

Instead, there’s wood. There’s wood above him, a darkness to the room that says comfort, not cave, and something soft, dry below his back. Something heavy weighing him down, back into the beckoning arms of sleep.

But Link doesn’t sleep. Instead he struggles upright, a silent groan falling out of his mouth as his stomach aches with the move, and a hand automatically drops to it, feels the stiffness of bandages.

Why does he have bandages?

Some hair falls in his face. He moves to tuck it away, but his hands don’t respond the way they should. He frowns at them, only to see that they’re both trapped in the surprisingly comfortable cocoon of sterile wrappings, his palms and knuckles especially mummified.

He twitches a hand. Feels the strain of skin that’s been used too much. Skin that he used too much, because he--

Oh.

Oh.

Wait, shit, is Zelda--

A laugh wanders up from the stairs nearby (when did they get to Impa’s house?), and it’s Zelda’s bright twinkle, and he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

Someone thumps up the stairs. His aching, slow body doesn’t have time to react before Paya enters the room and nearly falls when she sees him upright, stumbling to his bed as she shouts “you’re awake! ”

Link smiles, waves a hand. And when she pulls him into a painfully tight hug, he laughs.

~~~

“So? Where are we going next?”

Link pauses, staring at his tea. Glances at Zelda. Her eyes are bright and hopeful, her skin and hair now clean and clear. Even in a basic Sheikah outfit, she looks to be the very picture of the princess, of the person he worked to free for two years. And yet--

And yet, he didn’t think about this. Didn’t think that she’d be here, with him.

Didn’t think that she might stay with him.

He stares up at the rising sun, at the mountains next to the communal Kakariko tables. At the wild world he roamed alone for so long.

How do you add another person to that?

‘Hateno,’ he eventually writes on the slate. ‘I have a house there.’

“I’m excit’d to see it.” She smiles at him, wide and genuine, and he doesn’t know how to add it to his life. Doesn’t know how to add her to his distant memories.

~~~

“Oh.” Zelda brushes a hand across the dusty table in the Hateno house, slowly turning to take it in. “When you said you had a house, I did not realize...”

Link shrugs. Adjusts Revali’s bow in it’s stand. ‘They were gonna tear it down. I paid Bolson for it. Dunno why, honestly.’

There’s a distant look to her eye as she reads over his writing. “You do not rememb’r.”

Somehow, the words hit him like a punch. Zelda, already turned away, doesn’t see him freeze as he tries not to stumble, tries to pull his brain back together.

You do not rememb’r. Who is he, then? Who is he to her?

“It is... nice, that you have these here.” Her hands brush Urbosa’s shield. “But it is a bit odd to have weapon stands fill your living room, is it not?”

Words that he wants to say grip his heart. That each of the weapons displayed means something, that he wouldn’t put them there if they didn’t. That Bolson decided the location of things, and Link just told him what to add. That it’s his house, and shouldn’t he get to decide what goes in it?

Zelda’s holding a dingy wooden shield, battered almost to the point of uselessness, paint flaking off.

The one he learned to shield surf on, Selmie’s too-loud cheers urging him on. Placed here when it almost broke, so that even if he couldn’t use it again, he could still remember the joy he felt that day.

He takes it from her hands. Gently places it back in its stand. Storms out of the house.

~~~

The sun is dipping below the horizon before Zelda manages to find him, watching the world from the tower near Hateno.

“I am sorry.” She walks softly, sits next to him carefully. “I-- it is not my house. I should not have said... that.”

He nods a bit numbly. ‘What are we? ’

“I do not know.” Her hands fidget, picking at her shirt. A simple yellow one from the shop in Hateno. Her skin is soft, gentle, not used to work. “We were something, before. Or, we would have been, if...” she waves a hand in the direction of the castle, hidden behind the Dueling Peaks. “You know.”

His hands, fresh out of bandages, are mottled. Harsh scars, new and old, slash across his pale skin, red scabs and yellow calluses lining his knuckles and fingers. Burns layer over each other on his palm, skin warped beyond the point of recognition. He picks at a scab, even if he knows it’s a bad habit.

‘Was I happy? ’

Zelda blinks. “I... I do not know.” She makes a face. “I have a guess, but I do not really want to assign you anything.”

‘What’s your guess? ’ Why is he asking this?

“That you were not happy.”

Is he happy now?

‘Why’d you put the sword back in the Korok Forest? ’ he asks instead. It was the first thing she told him when he woke up. That she’d brought it back there, put it back in its sanctuary. He hadn’t known how to feel about it, and still doesn’t.

Instead of responding, Zelda just takes one of his hands with hers. Brushes a finger over the burns. “It did not do this to you before.”

He shrugs. ‘All swords leave calluses. ’

“That is not what I mean.”

Link looks away. He knows.

Zelda sighs. “It... hurt you. I do not know why. And maybe it is a bit selfish of me, but I just have no desire to see it hurt you again.” Her thumb rubs across his. “It is not worth it.”

He wants to tug his hand away. Wants to hold hers back. She’s a stranger next to him. He knows so much about her. The Calamity is gone and she’s back, next to him, and it feels like nothing’s changed. Like he needs to go free the Divine Beasts, like he needs to keep training harder, like his job will ever end. Like she isn’t next to him at all.

‘What are we? ’ is all he can think to say.

~~~

read the rest on ao3

[writingsbychlo]

smoke and fire (12)

word count; 8943

summary; you and newt are called to another unusual call.

notes; this is the first half (technically) of a mini sub-plot. the end comes in the next part.

warnings; violence, gun use, description of injury, slight gore, intentional harm, attempted murder, reference to drowning.

“I feel disgusting.” You mumbled, water still dripping from your arms as you stood, shaking yourself odd a little and groaning at the chill that was beginning to sweep in. The lights on the firetruck were flashing, equipment still being loaded back up, and Newt was standing on the other side of the ambulance, a water bottle Minho had given him sitting in his hand as he took another large sip, gargling the water loudly and frothing it around his mouth before spitting it out onto the concrete and grimacing.

“I think I swallowed, like, half the lake.”

You felt bad for him, you really did, and you tried to peel the wet material of the shirt away from yourself. Unbuttoning it slowly, you frowned, wet hair plastered to the back of your neck in the ponytail you wore, and Newt choked on his drink, laughing loudly and spitting up water again. He patted at his chest, turning away from you, his cheeks going red as he tries to hack up water that had gone down the wrong pipe, and you patted his back, startled at his sudden reaction.

His eyes were watering when he recovered, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “You know, if I was straight, I’d be very flattered.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your nipples.” He beamed, and your brows furrowed, before you glanced down, noting the hardened peaks from the cold, showing clearly through your tank that had gone clear enough in its pale grey colour to show off the plain design of your bra, and you scoffed. “Truly, it’s an honour, but it’s doing nothing for me.”

“Oh, no, whatever will I do now?” You mused, voice flat of any emotions, and he only laughed again, peeling off his shirt, and ringing it out, goosebumps rising along pale skin as the chill of the air washed over his skin. The lake was clear now, a group of kids who had stupidly enough decided it would be a good idea to jump off the edge of the dock before realising the wall was too tall and slippery with algae to get out, beginnings of hypothermia and ingestions of dirty water before anybody had wandered past close enough to hear them calling for help.

Sometimes, you really hated teenagers.

“Think if we’re fast enough, we can get back to the house before the firefighters? First dibs on the showers with the best water pressure, and guaranteed hot water.”

His eyes twinkled a little as he lifted a still damp but no longer sodden shirt back onto his shoulders, grimy and covered in green and brown stains from the water, no bothering to button it back up. “I take that as a challenge, and I accept.”

You climbed in through the back of the van, pulling open the bottom drawer and finding the plastic seat coverings, chucking one of the sheet packages to Newt for his own chair, before he slammed the doors with you in the back, and rounded to the driver’s side. Smoothing the plastic over your chair to make sure it was covered, your shoes squelched a little as you collapsed down into it. Newt did the same, and the second the keys were twisted into the lock once he was shuffling uncomfortably on the plastic, you were flicking the heating on to the highest temperature you could get it.

The downside of working in a van filled with drugs and medicine? The heat didn’t get very high in order to keep what needed to be refrigerated at the temperature is was required to be at. His eyes checked the mirrors as he reversed, noting the firetruck that was beginning to back out, the Squad truck leaving first, Gally and Fry still milling around to talk to the cops, and so you and Squad had a head start.

It would seem that they had the same idea, because Minho had a positively dangerous look in her eyes as she pulled up towards the entrance alongside you both, and Newt smirked, hand on the gearstick as he switched gears and pressed his foot down on the pedal. He surged forwards, the van moving faster than the trucks due to their added weight, a delay in its start-up, and the pair of you shot across the uneven gravelly path towards the main highway.

The red truck wasn’t far behind, and yet you were laughing a little at the determined look on your partners face, what had been a modest challenge was now becoming a battle between yourselves and the Squad team. You had the edge, being a lightweight vehicle, easy navigation and more speed, but they had the edge, the big red truck was more noticeable to other driver’s and they tended to move out of the way more for firetrucks than they did for ambulances.

As you met the junction for the highway, Newt flicked on the indicators and swerved onto the highway in a gap between cars that was too small to be considered safe. The move left you pressed into the side door of the ambo’, turning to look at him as his eyes stayed fixed on the road, a smirk on his face as the red truck was left in the dust, having to wait much longer to be able to pull out.

“Alright, Vin Diesel, settle down.”

“You want a hot shower to get clean? Or do you want lukewarm water with weak pressure that takes hours to get you clean?” You considered it, knowing that the more the showers were used, the weaker the water pressure got and the colder they ran as the hot water was distributed out, and you weighed out the pros and cons. You gave in with a reluctant sigh, watching Newt weave between cars, and he let out a triumphant noise. “Exactly. So, be a good co-driver, and play something exciting.”

“This is an ambulance, Newt. We have the classical jazz station, the news station, the emergency radio, or static and silence.”

“Sing something.” He offered, and you laughed loudly. “Maybe just yell exciting things at the top of your voice like it’s a James Bond movie. You can be my Bond woman.”

“Exciting things? You mean like ‘Quick, Newt, watch out for the rock slide’ or ‘Oh my God, Newt, he’s shooting at us’?” He hummed, rolling his lips together a little, and looking into the mirror where the red van wasn’t all that far behind anymore. “Oh, okay, I got it. How about ‘Quick! Newt! The bomb that will destroy world peace and the alien trade federation is about to go off, hurry so you can disarm it and save the galaxy!”

“That’s the one!” He shouted back, laughter taking up the cabin between you both as he picked up a little more speed, growling under his breath as distant wailing took place. “Did they just turn the fucking sirens on?”

“That’s illegal! A crime! Disqualified!”

Only a moment later, the truck was passing you by, Thomas lounging in the front seat with a smirk on his face, not even bothering to look at the two of you as he held up his middle finger, feet popped up on the dashboard, before they were pulling ahead, and you gaped at it.

“He flipped us off!”

“He did what?” Newt sounded like he had been told that Thomas had run over his dog, before his face was growing stormy, and he peeled off towards one of the exits, and you sat up a little more in your seat.

“Newt, this isn’t our exit, why are we slowing down? This is war now!”

“We’re taking a shortcut! I think.”

You pouted, watching as he pulled off onto the quieter roads, already resigning yourself to the loss. The van moved slower, not by much and certainly still considered fast for these roads, and you didn’t recognise the area you were driving through until you were almost at the house, coming at it from a completely different angle. It was a side that the trucks would be unaware of, the roads on this side of the house too narrow for the trucks to navigate on, but an ambulance could definitely weave and dodge along them.

You were expecting the grey garage to already be stained with bright and shiny flashes of colour, but as you approached it, the bay was still empty, and you gasped.

Unclipping your seatbelt before the vehicle had even rolled to a halt, and as soon as it was in park, haphazardly and slightly wonky within the designated space but still inside the lines, and Newt was ripping the keys from the ignition. You didn’t even bother peeling away the plastic overs, both hopping down from the van, doors slamming, uncomfortable runs in wet shoes from the vehicle to the changing rooms, the door practically bounding from the wall with the urgency that you forced it open.

Your fingers were trembling with both the cold and the adrenaline as you opened your locker, grabbing for the towel and washbag that sat on the middle shelf, slamming the metal canister shut a second behind Newt, and on the other side of the room, you heard a shower curtain swipe open, before the water spray was coming on.

Kicking off your shoes onto the white tile, your socks were ridden with water, and you stopped into the basin, flimsy curtain closing behind you. Switching on the water, you didn’t care about clothes getting wet as they were all drenched regardless. The water was hot and strong, pouring down over you as you let out a breath in relief, sighing out at the feeling, and stripping the partially unbuttons shirt the rest of the way down.

Dropping it to the floor outside, your vest followed, bra dropping by your feet for modesty, not all too thrilled about the idea of the entire team seeing your underwear. One fireman was plenty enough. Your trousers came next, panties following your bra, and socks lastly, before you were freeing your hair from its bobble and scrubbing dirt from the tendrils. The water was murky as it pooled around your feet, and you grinned through the suds as you heard the locker room door open up.

“Nice of you guys to finally join us!”

Newt laughed at your words, and you scowled at the taste of shampoo that got in your mouth, eyes squeezed closed tightly, but you couldn't hold back your laughter at the several complaints that burst out.

The shower next to yours clicked into gear, a slight dip in the flow of water as it adjusted, and it was steadily growing weaker as the firemen all changed and climbed into a shower, but you had already shampooed, only some soap and conditioner to go.  

“How the fuck did you guys beat us here?”

“We played by the rules, Bren! Flicking on sirens, that was cheating.” You tutted, the girl scoffing from the cubicle beside you.

“Uh, playing it smart isn’t cheating!” She retaliated, and you scrubbed a bar of exfoliating soap over your skin, the extra shrub helping to rid you of the feeling of grunge from the lake away from your flesh. “But seriously, how the hell did you beat us here with so much time?”

“Newt knew a short cut, apparently.” She made a vague sound of agreement, the boys all chatting loudly from the other side of the room, and the build-up of steam was beginning to give you a headache. Running some conditioner through your hair and combing the knots out quickly, you finished up, switching off the water and finding your towel, hand fumbling outside of the stall for the material, before you were finding it, and wrapping it around your body. Wringing out your hair, you pushed back the shower curtain and stepped free.

Newt was at the lockers, pulling a shirt over his head, almost fully dressed, the plastic washing basket from the corner was sitting outside him, water pooling through the cracks to the floor as his clothes dripped, and you scooped up your own, dropping them in with his and flashing him a grateful smile as he all but nodded in a promise to load them into the washer.

His fluffy hair was almost dry already, messy and sticking up from his towel, and you envied how quickly he could get ready again. How quickly all men could get dressed, really.

Taking your kit over to the sink, you fastened your towel a little tighter around yourself again to make sure it would stay tight, before wiping a patch in the steamed-up glass to see your reflection. Running a collection of moisturisers and serums over your cheeks, keeping it at it’s best despite the smoky and dirty conundrums you found yourself in on a day to day basis, you rehydrated and cleansed your skin, before moving on to your hair.

Heading to your locker to get a new set of clothes, you lifted the catch open, the door swinging as you gathered belongings, checking you had everything for a new uniform in your back-up bag, before placing it down on the bench. As you closed it, you jumped, a body leaning on the metal on the other side, and a mumbled curse fell from your lips at the shock. Reaching up to clutch at the edge of your towel and ensure it didn’t fall, you glared at the laughing attacker.

“You fucking suck. Why are you scaring me when I’m in a towel? Dumbass.”

“Oh, ouch. Cranky today, huh?” Thomas teased, reaching out a finger to poke at your stomach through the towel, and you jumped, slapping his hand away as he chuckled more.

“I’m cranky when I’m in a towel, and risking flashing the entire team because you wanna’ startle me!” He smirked, eyes scanning over your body particularly slowly, as if to make a point, and you rolled your eyes, despite the heat forming on your face. Adjusting your towel again, he watched your fingers move, and you kicked at his shin, watching him hop around in his towel at the aggression.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“You know what that was for!” You held your fingers up, pointing them from your chest to your eyes, and he got a wicked grin once again as he clocked onto what you were saying. “Go away so I can get dressed in peace!”

“So now you don’t want me around? That’s not how you felt a couple of weeks ago.” You glared at him again, crossing your arms and stomping your foot a little, knowing what he was referring to, and he hadn't been any less affectionate since. At the action, though, he gave in, hands held up in a surrender and his laughter following him all the way around to his locker on the other side, leaving you alone.

Members of the team were still wandering around, and so you tried to be as quick but as discreet as you possibly could, tugging your panties and trousers up under your towel. Your spare shoes were uncomfortable and tight, barely worn in as opposed to your regular ones, and you were cold as you put on the clothes that had been chilling in the metal canister, bag ready to be taken home to refill.

Rubbing your towel across your hair to dry it out better, you left it as it was, towel folding in the bag to be taken home, and you placed it all back inside. Adjusting your fresh uniform to sit a little more comfortably on your body, your fingers smoothed along the collar and flattened it down, before sweeping still damp locks away from your clothes.

The men were all filtering from the room, a faster turn around as they dried, all carrying dirty and sodden uniforms to the laundry room to try and get them sorted, hoping to find themselves with one less task to do when they go home, and not wanting to stink up their cars with the foul smell that came with the water from the dock by trailing the wet garments home.

The dull buzzing of the only hairdryer the fire station had was already in use by Brenda, shorter hair looking a little crazy as she only had her fingers to come through instead of her usual styling brush, and she was scowling at her reflection in the mirror as her hair curved up in the wrong directions at the edges, bangs looking untamed. She glared at your snickering as you approached, finger flipping over the switch to turn it off, clearly deeming the effort good enough, and she stuck her tongue out at you and handed it over, letting you start it up to reduce some of the water trapped in your own hair as she tried desperately to do something to control it a little better.

“Why don’t you just comb it all back?”

“And look like a starring member from ‘Grease’? Want me to start singing ‘Go Grease Lightning’ on the top of one of the fire trucks, huh?” She was so over-dramatic, and yet you loved that about her, shaking your head and smirking a little as she continued to struggle. You weren’t all that bothered about getting it completely dry, just enough that you wouldn’t catch a chill from it. You didn’t really feel like facing the next few weeks with a sore throat and a blocked nose.

“Would it make you feel better if I told you that I’m pretty sure I have a curled brush in my bag?”

She paused her work, arms crossing over her chest, hip leaning on the porcelain of the sink, and you could feel her burning glare on you as you continued to keep your one hair tame just with the use of the machine and your fingers. “You’ve had a blow-dry brush this whole time and you let me suffer?”

“Uh, first off, it’s not a blow-dry brush. It’s just a round brush. Make do. Secondly, you make it sound like I had food and you’ve not eaten for three days.”

“Same thing.” She hissed, playfully through it all, and she didn’t wait for permission, before she was meandering to your locker over hers and letting herself in, beginning to dig through the items in there to find the brush. She let out a triumphant little noise, and as she all but skipped back across the room, you decided you were close enough to dry, shaking your head to tame fly-aways and handing her the dryer back. You turned, walking away from her, and she let out a sound of complaint. “You’re just gonna’ leave me in here, alone?”

“It’s the changing rooms, not a back-alley at a nightclub at 3am.”

“What if I get lonely?” She pouted, turning the heat up and power down, the whirring going quieter so neither of you had to shout quite as loudly to one another, and you shrugged, backing away from her a little more, and smirking.

“Talk to your reflection. I’m going to make a snack.”

She huffed, but smiled, turning back to her plans, and you were the only one to what your soft chuckle as you left, the chill out in the corridor being shocking as you stepped from the steam-filled room to the breeze-filled hall to the main bay, shuddering as goosebumps rose over your arms, and you crossed them across your chest to keep your heat in.

Thomas was standing at the entrance of the laundry room, a basket full of wet clothes, nose turned up a little as Newt and Jeff loaded the machines, and you didn’t envy them at all. The doors to the common room were sealed shut tightly, presumably to keep in the warmth, because Fry had turned on both of the space heaters, and the room was already warming up to being hot. The smell of garlic bread was filling the room, some kind of cheesy pasta following it, and Fry was already singing loudly to the song playing over the radio, almost drawing out the television as Gally watched a movie that was so old it was in black and white, but he wasn’t paying attention, rather, he was texting on his phone and enjoying the background noise.

Minho was sitting beside him much the same, fingers moving swiftly over the screen, and Clint was chewing on a pen at the table as he filled out the puzzles in one of the newspapers from last week's stack.

“What’cha making, Fry?”

“Chicken and mushroom pasta, you want some?” Your face screwed up, shaking your head, and he laughed. “Let me guess, you don’t like mushrooms?”

“They’re gross and slimy. No offence to your pasta.”

“They’re delicious, and healthy.” He corrected, and you grunted, opening the fridge, and pulling out a loaf of bread, shuffling through the contents of the fridge to find a topping you wanted. As you searched, a soft bumping at your ankle caught your attention, a sharp and chipper bark to follow it, and you glanced down, finding a wagging tail and a ball of golden fur staring up at you expectantly. “That dog is a bottomless pit of food!”

“He’s a growing boy!” You waved the cook off, taking a packet of ham out and peeling a slice off from the inside of the pack, holding it up at about waist height, and watching as the dog shuffled backwards, staring up at it and preparing himself. “C’mon, Scoot, jump!”

The dog did so, a happy yip sounding from him as he did, snatching half of the slice as it tore in your hands, and chewing down on it happily, pieces falling from its mouth and onto the floor, and he was quick to lick those up too. “He’s never going to learn any tricks if you pamper him like that.”

You looked up, Thomas having come through the doorway, Newt following behind him, your partner raising his shirt to his nose and sniffing at it, trying to determine whether the stench had transferred to his uniform just from doing the laundry, before collapsing down in the armchair. “He just did a trick! He jumped!” Scooter did it again, snatching the rest of the ham from your fingers, and you gasped as teeth brushed over your fingers, your hand snatching back, and Thomas chuckled, coming to a stop before you and taking the ham from your fingers.

“He did not jump on command, he just jumped for food.”

“Fine! You try!” You raised a brow, and Thomas took the challenge, a smirk forming.

“Scooter!” The dog’s head snapped to face him, from where he’d been occupying himself with pawing at one of your undone laces, now focused on Thomas. “Scooter, sit.” The dog remained still for a second, your lips pursing as he continued to pant and wag happily, stood on all four paws.

“What was it you were saying?”

Thomas’ eyes flicked up to you, narrowing for a second, before he was trying again. “Scooter, sit.” Your jaw was slack as the dog did exactly as told, sitting neatly and letting his tail brush over the flooring patterns, hearing the fridge behind you opening and closing, jars and tins rattling as Fry continued to cook. “Good boy, Scoot! No, lay down.” Thomas clicked his fingers, pointing at the floor, and the dog flattened out, staring up at Thomas expectantly, and you huffed. “Good boy. You want a treat?”

A bark signalled that, and Thomas rolled up a piece of the honey-glazed delicacy that Fry was snatching back a second later with mumbles about it being wasted, and Scooter stood up to snatch it, running away across the room in a pitter-patter of movements, scurrying away to his bed in the corner.

“See?”

“How the hell did you do that?” You demanded, washing your hands under the tap and drying them off, before going back to the sandwich you’d been preparing, and Thomas seated himself on one of the island stools with a shrug.

“I’ve been practising. Wanted to surprise you.”

“Well, consider me surprised.” You offered, grabbing a knife from one of the drawers, and Fry groaned beside you, shooting you both a dirty look as you began to spread the butter.

“Consider me revolted.” He gagged, and you rolled your eyes, swinging your foot out to kick at his shin, Thomas flipping him off despite the heat that was building on his cheek, and the chef wasn’t deterred from mimicking your conversation. “Seriously, get a room.”

“We have a room. It’s this kitchen. Two out of three, we win, majority rules.”

“Nice.” Thomas grinned, holding his hand out, and you slammed your palm against his in a satisfying high five, before pressing the knife down and cleaning it off, sealing the butter back up and putting it in the fridge, before grabbing your fillings. Layering them on carefully, you started slowly, constructing your sandwich carefully, and building it on your plate, before slicing it evenly down the middle, starting at your lunch proudly.

You only had a second to appreciate it, before a large hand was picking up a piece of it, taking it away and biting the corner off or it happily. “Hey! Who the hell said you could eat my sandwich?”

“Sharing is caring, sweetheart.” He winked, taking another large bite and speaking through his food, hopping down from the stool, and your face screwed up. You took your now half a sandwich, walking towards the empty couch and hearing Thomas trail after you, the couch the wrong way to the screen, but you weren’t all that bothered about what was happening in this movie anyway, and so you faced away from it, spreading out along the couch. “Move your legs.”

“Give me my sandwich back!”

“It’s half gone now!” He held it up, showing you the evidence of the half-eaten piece, and you shrugged. As if to prove a point, he pushed the rest of it all into his mouth at once, cheeks feeling with food and lips barely able to close, before he was brushing crumbs from his shirt, and picking your legs up at the ankles, lifting them up to be able to sit down.

“You’re disgusting.”

“Yep.” His words were muffled, your feet being laid back down across his lap, and you took a more polite bite of the remaining half. His fingers moved to your shoes, finding the undone laces and wrapping them around his fingers, before pulling them tightly and looping them into neat knots. He repeated the same on the other foot, before slumping back into the couch a little, still trying to chew the whole mouthful, and you wiggled a little as you got more comfortable, sliding further down until it was your calves in his lap instead of your feet, and your shoulders could rest on the armrest.

His hand rested on your knee, thumb smoothing over you lightly as his other hand produced his phone from his pocket, beginning to swipe at it absentmindedly.

“You two are honestly sickening. I have toothache.”

“Oh, cut the crap, Newt. You spent a half-hour on the phone to me two days ago talking about Derek.” Newt looked shocked for a second, pale cheeks flushing with warm colour, before he was shrugging it off.

“Yeah, well, at least me and Derek have never cuddled in a waiting room at his job.”

“We aren’t cuddling right now!” You scoffed, taking another bite of your sandwich, and chewing it as you process what to say next. “Besides, it would be unprofessional to cuddle in a waiting room where patients could see. This is totally different because we’re inside the house, an-”

Your words went flat as you heard the siren overhead go off, even Thomas’ thumb on your knee pausing its motions, everybody going silent, only the sounds of sizzling oil and the muted television static to go as the alarm went off. You deflated, only yourself and Newt being called for, and you heaved yourself to a sitting position, Newt already beginning to peel his body back up out of the comfy chair he’d seated himself in.

“At least it’s only a local call, we’ll be back before the shift even ends.”

Your partner’s words did little to comfort you, and he chuckled as you continued to glare, before forcing yourself into action.

Swinging your legs down to sit up, you looked mournfully at your only half-eaten meal, before handing the plate to Thomas, who beamed at the offering, your fingers tousling his hair before you were wandering away, and attempting to pull your hair back into something that resembled a pony-tail using on the bobble on your wrist and your fingers.

Newt grabbed the keys, ready to set off, and you followed after him as the doors remained yet to even start swinging shut in his haste. Reaching the van, you hesitated as you neared climbing in, stripping away the plastic over your seat and dropping it down into the footwell of the van, watching Newt do the same. Starting up the ambulance and fastening your seatbelt, Newt flicked on the SatNav, the machine taking a second to load up, before it was programming in your given destination and beginning to guide you.

“So, that’s something pretty new.”

“What is?” Your eyes flickered over yourself, the same uniform you always wore clad on your body, and a pair of sneakers, your brow raising as you turned to your friend, the silence saying everything, and he scoffed. Switching gears as he pulled out onto the faster roads, he spared you a look, dubious and unbelieving of your confusion.

“You know what.”

“I assure you, I don’t.” You shuffled a little, the radio crackling, but none of the chatter directed toward the two of you was coming through yet, and you waited.

He sighed, flicking on the indicators and pulling out onto the highway. “You and Tommy. That’s what I’m talking about. What’s up with you two?”

Heat flushed over your face, and you sank back a little further into your seat, but your lips wanted to form a smile, and you had to bite down on the inside of your cheek just to contain it. “I’m not totally sure.”

“You’re not sure?”

“Well, I kinda’ know. It’s all so new. It’s scary, but exhilarating.” Newt only smiled, eyes flicking to the mirror to check over everything he was looking at, before taking another turn following the SatNav, a side road to leave the highway, and you were still waiting on call details to come through on the radio. “I mean, I know it’s something. He knows that, too. We’ve talked about it, but we’re just, sort of, waiting.”

“Waiting for what, exactly?”

“The right time, I guess.” You sighed, realising how odd it all sounded out loud, to be talking like a teenager to your friend about a guy you liked, but it also felt natural and right. “Everything has just been crazy lately. I don’t think we would be like we were without the craziness, and it’s kinda’ weird to think that this job has changed my life so much, that this house has changed my life so much, when none of the others did before. I think we’re just waiting to see if it’s real, or just an in-the-moment emotional deal.”

“Seems pretty real to me.”

You smiled, knowing that Newt’s words were intended to be soothing, but instead, they made your heart race a little more.

Everything made your heart race nowadays, like you were in overdrive all the time, you were constantly on the edge, and not in an anxious way. You’d spent so much of your life feeling closed off and locked down that you weren’t used to how it felt to be on the opposite end of the scale. You had anxiety, and fear, and loneliness, that was your normal status, but since settling into Firehouse ‘21, everything had been turned upside down.

Your heart would race with thrill and excitement, and the heat flushing over you wasn’t so much from rage - after you’d sorted your problems with Thomas, anyway - but from flustered shyness. On the days when you felt lonely, when the urge to be around someone else was stronger, your phone was there, lighting up with notifications from a group chat and you knew you had friends you could call, someone who would spend time with you, when they weren’t on duty.

It was all still new, and a little scary, and still thrilling.

Then, there was Thomas. You weren’t sure what it was with Thomas, because you had nothing to compare it to. Your previous relationships had been quick and spinning. A fling that ended just as fast as it started, almost always ending after a first date with tumbling into bed and shutting down when the first signs of intimacy began to rear their heads. You moved around and you never stayed put long enough to invest in something, but you had no plans of leaving Firehouse ‘21 any time soon, and so you’d allowed yourself to let Thomas in before you’d even realised it was happening.

Intimate and emotional, a connection that wasn’t physical yet, you didn’t even know what it felt like to kiss him, and yet it still made you feel a little breathless and lightheaded to imagine it because there was a weight and meaning hanging to it now. There was something deeper than you’d ever had, a relationship that wasn’t pinned on sex and quick connections to chase away the cold sheets when you felt truly alone, but instead, left you feeling warm and loved even when no one was around.

“So, what about you and Derek?”

It was Newt’s turn to be embarrassed, the gravel and shale under the tires crunching loudly as the two of you began to trail up abandoned dirt roads, the rickety and deafening sounds of the trains of the metal bridges overhead shooting past were like the banging of metal against metal, hitting a spoon against a pan or steel-tipped work boots on metal platforms.

Pale skin turned dark pink, and he flashed a cheesy grin, eyes sparkling a little, and you already knew how excited he was. “That good, huh?”

“Things with Derek are awesome.”

“I take full responsibility for that awesomeness.” You teased, and he chuckled, the van coming to a halt, and your brows furrowed, amusement disappearing and confusion over as you stared out at the empty scene. The SatNav on the dashboard clicked green and shut down as you reached your destination, clearly telling you both that this was the correct location, and yet there was nothing, and nobody to be seen. “Put a pin in that conversation.”

He only mumbled his response, equally as confused, and the two of you stepped out of the car, a chill sweeping over you as it became eerily similar to the last case you’d received with nobody present, still so recent that the police investigation into it was still open, the court case over Chuck’s death was yet to be closed and the arson investigators hadn't even completed their analysis. “Check the radio. Is it turned on?”

You moved back in, knowing that it was because the static had been playing lowly in your ears all the way through, but there was nothing else. Normally, at a call on the edge of a town like this, the two of you would be greeted by someone, a frantic pedestrian, friend or family member, the person who had made the call would arrive to lead you to the person, and even as you listened, you couldn't hear anything.

No loud groaning or yells of pain, no mangled screams for help or even a blood trail to guide you. There was absolutely nothing to suggest why the two of you would be here, and it all became more and more suspicious as each second ticked by. Newt tucked his hands into his pockets, and you picked up the receiver, sitting sideways on your seat and turning the dial, before pressing the button down on the side.

“House ‘21 ambulance, calling in. We haven't had any more details, can we get an update?”

You waited for a second, eyes narrowing as the machine clicked you through to an operator, and there were muffled voices in the background of the call centre, before a clearer voice rang through. “‘21 ambulance, can you confirm your location, registration number and ID for me.”

Newt smirked at the frown on your face, knowing that every so often a caller came who actually required you to cite the information. While you couldn't deny that it was protocol, and they should be doing it every time, most of them took it simply at your word of being the paramedics, because they knew that most robbers wouldn't be bothering to call in on the radio of they were stealing from an ambulance, they’d just clear out all the medicines and run.

Listing off the information she requested, you listened and waited, the sound of long nails typing quickly at a keyboard sounded out, and you turned up the volume, holding the device out from you a little, so Newt could hear more clearly, even as he wandered a few feet away, looking around some more. “Still there, ‘21?”

“Yep.” You paused, hearing a few more clicks, before the woman was sighing.

“My files don’t have much. The caller didn’t leave a name or an identification, the only notes here are the address, and that you’re looking for a stab wound victim.” Newt's brows raised as he heard the words, and you only felt more confused. If someone had been stabbed, there should be a trail of blood or someone calling for help, you should be able to see them, they couldn't have gotten far without leaving a pathway of where they were, and yet, there was nothing here except the trains on the bridge overhead. “That all?”

“That's all.”

She hung up not long after, and you grabbed for your go-bag, chucking Newt his bag too, and he only just managed to catch it as the breath was knocked from his lungs, sticking his tongue out at you childishly as you grinned, before slamming your door back shut, and letting Newt lock it up, the van chirping and flashing as it sealed.

Swinging your bag onto your shoulder, your partner mimicked you. Wandering away together, you paced a few minutes from the van, staring out across the empty area, and crossing your arms. “I gave up my lunch for this shit.”

“You go left, I’ll go right, we’ll sweep around, and in ten minutes we meet at the van?” You only nodded, kicking at a particularly large pebble under your foot, and turning to face the direction you were told to go in. You heard Newt stepping away, pebbles shifting underfoot, and you followed suit, glancing back at the blond over your shoulder for a second. “Yell if you find something.”

“Will do.” You saluted, a grin thrown over his shoulder to you, before fixing your gaze ahead of you once again.

There were a few old houses, run-down and abandoned, nobody having lived in them for at least a decade. Broken windows were boarded up and front doors were hanging on their hinges, spray paint that was old and faded, drips and chips on the wood that was stained with years of abandonment, and wire fences with chains on that had been long since cut away. The grass was dead, yellowed and brown and overrun with weeds, and spoke spots ere charred blank with ash, where you suspected kids had come to light fires and get away from parents when they were bored; empty bottles of booze and cans of pop littered the ground, among wrappers and boxes for things too old to see the labels on.

You checked every garden, standing in the gate and calling out to offer help, but nothing except for silence came back. The rusty metal creaked as you stepped out from the last row, three random houses in an area of town that had clearly been skipped in the surrounding gentrification, left to fall into disrepair, and you didn’t blame it. The constant source of trains of the tracks overhead was already beginning to give you a headache, there were no real roads built to this area, and it was miles to the closest bus stop or shopping centre.

Turning back around, you didn’t walk straight back to him, but you walked a little to the side, taking an angle back towards the van just to be sure you were covering the maximum space that you could, checking over it all thoroughly, and just as you’d been giving up, your eyes caught the flicker of movement in your peripherals. When you focused on it, it took you a second to find it again, the trembling of metal stilts holding the bridge up forty feet above you disguising it, but then there was a twitch again.

In the shadows, easily missed, but then there they were. Sitting, leaned up against one of the bars from the other side, hand-pressed weakly over their stomach, head lolled to the side. You weren’t even sure if they had moved, or if they’d simply slumped forward because of the vibrations of the rickety bridge legs, and you felt a jolt of adrenaline race through you as you tried to jump into action.

“Shit!” You muttered, a slight rise on the hill before you as you tried to climb up it, the dust forming clouds behind you as the stones slipped at the sudden and uncoordinated movements, before you were stumbling closer to the person. “Newt!”

Another train shot overhead, drowning out the sounds of your shouts, and you hoped Newt had actually heard it, because you’d walked so far that he was more like a blur away from you, and you certainly couldn't hear his yells as he offered help anymore, they’d faded away a few minutes ago, but you couldn't be occupied with it now. The second the train had passed, you tried yelling again, out of breath and panting as you dropped to your knees before the person.

Their head was lying forward, chin pressed to their chest, fresh red blood seeping out between their fingers in weak bursts, and at least you knew they were still alive. Cupping their face, you pushed their head back, skin sickly pale and flushed with sweat, a very quiet groan leaving his lips, and hooded eyes cracked open barely at all to look at you. “Did you make that call?”

“Call?” He echoed, seemingly confused about what was even happening, but with the amount of blood that was staining the pebbles around you and clumping in the dust and dirt as it turned dark, you weren’t all that surprised.

“Alright, buddy, we’ll get you all sorted out, okay?” You circled a hand around behind his neck, the other on his side, and you needed to lay him down just to be able to get to the wound, because you couldn't see anything with him slumped over like this, daylight partially blocked out from the bridge overhead and shadows forming over the man. “I need to get you laying down, think you can handle that?”

He didn’t even nod, simply made a broken hum under his breath that you decided to take as an acknowledgement, before pulling him forwards. He let out a louder cry this time, the pain taking him over, and you heard the rapid-fire crunches of Newt running towards you, slightly uneven footsteps on his hurt leg, but you didn’t pay any attention to it, grateful that he’d heard you, but focusing on your patient.

His hands had fallen away from his wounds, and you fumbled for your torch, the light designed to check eyes did little to light up the wound but blood was staining the pale shirt he wore, leaving wet red patches as far up as his ribs. Newt skidded to a stop behind you, a hand running through the longer fringe in his face as he pushed it back, eyes wide.

“Well, shit, I’ll be damned.”

“Knife wound, pretty deep, can you hold the torch for me?” He nodded, stains of red smeared across it from where you’d already got blood on your fingers, and you pushed up the edge of his shirt, getting a look at the wound. He sank to his knees, holding the light over it more clearly, and you hoped he could sense your silent appreciation. It helped you to see, but didn’t clarify much, because blood was smeared over his skin and gave illusions about where his injuries started and ended, bubbling blood still leaving the gash. Dropping your bag down to your side, you opened it up, fumbling through for a pair of rubber gloves, and a tissue to be able to wipe away the blood with.

Snapping the latex onto your wrists and taking the folded clump of paper, dragging it delicately but firmly over the spot to try and get a better look. A second, maybe two, was all you got of clear skin before blood was beginning to fill the space once again, the man’s shallow pants and groans getting lighter and weaker, and you knew you had to hurry, lost time in having to search for him taking its toll now, but it was long enough to get a good look.

“We’re going to need some stuff from the van, probably the stretcher, but I don’t know how well we can wheel him across that gravel.”

“I can just pull up the van?” He offered, clicking off the torch to hand it back to you as you put the correct pressure down on the wound to stop the bleeding, pinching around the edges and holding tight to seal the wound, and you nodded.

“Yeah, yeah. That’s good. Pull up the van!”

He nodded, brushing dust from his knees as he stood, and you used your other hand to begin searching through your bag for the disinfectant spray you needed to start cleaning up his wound so you could put a provisionary seal on it.

You found the canister, shaking it carefully and trying to squeeze the lid with two fingers to get it off, a ‘pop’ sounding before the fading footsteps Newt was making came to a sudden halt.

“Woah, woah, woah..” You looked up, eyes widening and blood running cold at the sight. Newt had his hand held up, a man who’d ace you couldn't quite see behind the baseball cap and the hood he had pulled up to obscure his features, sleeves reaching gloved hands, and a gun in one hand, finger pressed over the trigger as Newt took a few steps back toward you both and stumbling slightly, his leg going weak as he stood unevenly on a rock, and you couldn't help the gasp in fear that left you. “Look, man, we don’t want any trouble. We just got a call, for that guy.”

He reached out one hand, pointing to where you were kneeling still, and you leaned forwards, moving very slowly as you tried to press down gently on the top of the canister, spraying gently on the wound, but as the man let out a sudden and pained noise, the gun moved to you, and you froze, jumping back from the actions and dropping the can.

“I know, because I made the call.”

“You made the call?” You repeated, the face of the shadowed man becoming a little clearer, a large tattoo taking up one side of his face, and you shifted, the uncomfortable stones digging into your knees making you wince as you tried to hold still, an ache in your muscles as your heart raced with fear once again. “If you made the call, why can’t we help him.”

“You’re not here to help him, his wound is just to get you here.”

“You stabbed a man to get ahold of a paramedic?” The gun clicked, the safety catch off, and you swallowed thickly, internally berating yourself for asking such a question when the moment was so tense. “Look, we’ll come with you, we’re more than happy to, but just let me help him and then we’ll go wherever y-”

“Lady, if you don’t stop talking, I will blow your fucking brains all over these stones.” Your jaw snapped shut, heart freezing in your chest entirely, and you nodded dumbly. “Great, now get the fuck up, grab your bag, and walk over here real slow.”

You hesitated, only for a second, before lifting your hand from the man’s wound, hearing him groan out a little, and you ducked your head, knocking your bag over and the contents falling out across the gravel. “I don’t know if you’re even sentient enough to hear me right now,”

Your words were as low as you could get them, hoping then standing a few metres away wouldn't pick them up as he focused back on Newt, and you packed away slowly,

“If you can, I’m leaving the antiseptic and some gauze here. You need to pinch the sides of your wound, lay still, take deep breaths, and hold as much pressure as you can. In about forty minutes, we’d be due to make a call in, we’re supposed to every hour we’re out; when we don’t report in, they’ll send another ambulance. Just hold on, alright?”

You nudged the items a little further into the shadows, hoping the man had caught your words and had the strength to hold on, before you were peeling off your gloves, tucking them into your bag, and zipping it up to sit on your shoulder. Holding your hands up to show they were empty, you stepped beside Newt, the look on his face silently questioning if you were alright, and you gave him a subtle nod, raising a brow in return, and he ducked his head once in reply.

He stood behind you both, pushing the edge of the gun against Newt’s head to urge you both forward, and you matched his steps, the three of you walking slowly as you allowed yourself to be guided. There was a sleek black car pulled up, one you’d missed when arriving, and you suspected he’d driven away and waited somewhere for the ambulance to go past before pulling up again, because it wasn’t exactly hidden.

“Look, we’re going willingly, alright? No fight here, I’ll help. Our ambulance is right there,” You pointed to it, hands still raised up, arms beginning to ache and tire, and Newt folded his, resting his hands behind his head, and turning to look at you as you spoke, “Just let me call in for someone else to come help the other guy, they won’t even get here until after we’ve gone anyway, it’ll t-”

Your ears were ringing, the sound of the bang going off, the rush of air, and the way it felt like an explosion had gone off inside of your own head. You stumbled, falling to your knees at the impact as your entire body went weak, and your vision went black for a second as you tried to process it. You couldn't focus, everything seeming a little blurry, and you could feel Newt’s hands on your shoulders, shaking you, a very muffled shout of your name, before it was all torn backwards once again, and you felt nauseous as the shock swept through your body.

The man crouched down, pulling his hood back and directing an angry gaze straight at you as you blinked to clear your vision, barely able to hear a thing. “That was a fucking warning shot, speak again, and the next bullet won’t miss.”

You had to read his lips for half of the words he said, barely processing them, the bullet that had flown past your ear was making everything fade around the edges, and you were hauled roughly to your feet by a hand under your arm, leaning you against Newt as you staggered the final few feet to the car that was your destination. You could barely clear your head, shaking it a little bit finding even that action was too painful.

Blood was rushing, your headache felt like it was about to split your skull in half, and your shoulder ached as you were tossed down roughly into the open boot, unable to catch yourself in time. Newt followed, the lid slamming shut, darkness surrounding instead. You could feel Newt’s hands on you, the flash of light from his keyring over your irises making you wince, his fingers pressing along your jaw and around your ears, checking for any signs of a ruptured eardrum or any bleeding, but as the car rumbled to life, peeling out of abandoned area everything felt like it was slipping.

Your fingers scratched at the flooring of the car, nails digging into the felt, grains and dirt stuck under your fingernails, and then the car jolted, dipping into a pothole on the road, your head hitting against the floor of the car, and everything you were still clinging to was lost as well as you blacked out.

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Night Crawling

Sam x Reader

Word Count: ~3350

Warnings: Some explicit smutty goodness in a dive bar bathroom, some recreational drug use, some Sam feels. 

A/N: I really thought I was going to write PWP for once. As usual, some feels snuck in. Set at some vague point in Season 5. 

I’ve had the new Miley Cyrus album on repeat all day; inspiration, title, and bathroom graffiti quote all came from “Night Crawling.” Listen to that and “Gimme What I Want” if you want maximum ~atmosphere~ or whatever while reading. 

“Another?” Sam asks, leaning in to make himself heard over the music. He gives me a twisted, wicked version of his usual dimpled smile. There’s a drop of tequila clinging to his lip, and I want to lick it off. He’s so close. 

My head is still spinning from the last shot and from his attention. I shake it off. 

“Bathroom, I’ll be back,” I tell him. 

Sam’s in a fucking mood tonight. Not that I blame him. Time is ticking away, faster by the day it feels like; if Lucifer was after me, I’d take whatever escape I could get. 

Dean’s at the motel, hopefully putting some ice on his twisted ankle or maybe sleeping, and normally Sam would be fussing over him like an overgrown fucking mother hen. Instead, he suggested that we go “blow off some steam,” looking at me with this glint in his eyes, like he was daring me. 

So… here we are, getting fucked up in a grimy rock club, watching some Nine Inch Nails wannabes wail like a porn soundtrack over a dirty industrial bassline. 

Sam fucking Winchester. Always full of surprises. 

It’s one of those single-occupancy dive bathrooms where I don’t want to touch anything or, like, inhale too hard. It’s impossible to tell what color the walls originally were under the layers of concert flyers and graffiti. There’s probably enough cocaine residue on the chipped porcelain sink counter to get an elephant high. That kind of place. 

He wants me almost as much as I want him, I’m pretty sure, but I never thought either of us would act on it. Too many complications, too many ways to fuck it all up… now, though? The entire world is fucked. Might as well get laid before it all goes to shit.

Two lines of red Sharpie scrawl next to the mirror grab my attention: night crawling, sky falling, gotta listen when the Devil’s calling. 

Yeah. Well. 

I don’t think either of us will make it out of this alive, but he doesn’t want to. That’s what this is all about, really. He started this apocalypse. He’ll never forgive himself if he lives through it. I’ll never forgive him if he doesn’t. 

I wash my hands and splash some water on my cheeks, bracing myself. I can feel the chemicals kicking up my spine, now.

If Sam fucking Winchester needs to indulge his self-destructive streak and get out of his head for a night, I’ll keep him company. Fuck knows I’ll never say no to him. I’ll stay with him til the end, if he lets me. 

It hits me again: this is the end. The world is about to end, and that sweet, sexy, puppy-eyed motherfucker out there is at the center of all of it. Heaven, hell, good, evil… and Sam. If tonight is what we’ve got — if this is all we’ll ever get — I’ll take it. I’ve always wanted more, but… this’ll do. It’ll have to do. 

He’s slouching against the wall, right outside the bathroom hallway. He gives me this dark, hungry grin when he sees me, and maybe whatever was in that pastel blue pill is making itself known, or maybe it’s just Sam that’s sending a wave of prickly heat over my skin… either way, it feels good. 

“C’mon,” he says, passing me a cup of ice water, and then he’s gripping me by the wrist, pulling me into the crowd. 

Sam doesn’t dance, and he sure as hell doesn’t dance with me, but he’s not fucking around: hands on my waist, hair falling in his eyes as he looks down at me, cheeks flushed, moving with the beat. I rest my free hand on his upper arm, right where the swell of his bicep flexes against the soft cotton sleeve of his t-shirt, and I can’t help but squeeze slightly, feeling hot skin and muscle under my palm. I swallow hard. 

Sam leans in closer. I can smell him, the natural scent of his sweat under the spice of his deodorant, and it’s so overwhelming that I shiver. 

He gets his lips right up against my ear, the deep rumble of his voice a physical thing that I can feel as well as hear: “Ever just get sick of being yourself?” 

Jesus. 

“Yeah,” I mumble, mouth dry. I don’t know if he hears me but it doesn’t really matter. 

“I think too much. I don’t want to think tonight. Is that okay?” 

I suck in a breath. “Don’t need to explain, Sam. I get it.” 

“Yeah?” he asks, heavy-lidded, golden skin shining with sweat in the flecks of light coming off the disco ball. “Dance with me.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, Sam, anything you want.”

I toss back the cup of water, gulping it down, too eager; some of it trickles down my chin. I don’t care. I drop the cup and run my hand up Sam’s chest. His eyes flutter closed and he licks his lips, sinful, gorgeous. For a moment I think he might say something but instead he spins me around and hauls me closer, my back to his chest. 

The song is filthy, all thudding funk hooks and wild drums. There’s this frantic heat behind it that has me sinking under the surface, swimming through the riff, and the pulse of it wriggles down my spine and works itself out through my hips as I toss my head. It’s the kind of rhythm that’s made for sweating all over a stranger. 

Sam might as fucking well be a stranger right now. I never knew he could move like this. 

His hips swivel and twist, and his hands slide down to my thighs, pinning me against the solid muscled heat of his body. I feel reckless. I feel high and overstimulated and utterly fearless, and I can feel his touch echoing through me, inside me, throbbing down my belly to where I’m empty and suddenly aching. 

As soon as I think about it, the emptiness hits me hard. My cunt is clenching around nothing in time with the gritty slap of percussion. I arch my back and rub myself against Sam shamelessly. 

He’s hard against my ass, hard and getting harder with every shrieking lick of guitar, and the awareness of it sends a thrill down through the core of me, like a bolt of lightning striking between my legs. My breath catches and hisses out of my lungs like I’m a punctured balloon. I feel dizzy. 

It’s all so intense right now. Every inch of my skin is fizzing, and the simple curl of his fingers around my wrist has me shuddering like he’s stroking something much more intimate. 

On any other night I would try to step back, to get myself under control… I’d start thinking, and I wouldn’t be able to stop, and I’d get stuck in my head instead of giving in to the mind-blowingly intimate thrill of his fingertips pressing into my pulse. 

We’re not thinking tonight. I couldn’t think straight even if I wanted to. 

The beat changes, segueing into something low and slinking and goddamn obscene. I’m dripping with sweat — mine or Sam’s? I can’t tell — and my skin is on fire, and I want Sam in this awful, all-consuming way that I’ve never wanted anything or anyone.

So I don’t think about it; I just turn, twisting in his arms until we’re face to face, or rather, face to chest. He’s biting his lip, expression almost pained as he grips my waist and slots a thigh between mine. I snake my arms around his neck and roll my hips, feeling the seam of my jeans dragging up the sensitive spot between my legs, and I’m absurdly grateful for the way the music drowns out any embarrassing noise I might make. 

There’s a drop of sweat sliding down the corded muscle of his neck. It trickles to a glittering halt right at eye level, in the hollow of his throat, and I can see his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. I could fall down and worship whatever god invented the v-neck. 

I don’t fall to my knees, but I do lean forward and taste his skin. Salt floods my tongue. 

Sam’s hand runs up my back, cups the nape of my neck, and he doesn’t so much guide me as yank, tilting my head to meet the rough urgent sting of his teeth and the soft slide of his tongue. I groan into his mouth, and his hands flatten at the small of my back, pulling me impossibly closer. I want to shove myself against him until I can burrow under his skin. 

His mouth. He nips and sucks and explores, lips on mine with crushing force one second, whisper-sweet the next. 

I’m melting. I must be melting. 

I hold on for dear life, delirious, drunk on the way he’s kissing me. I’ve imagined this before, but I never imagined it like this. 

We’re still dancing, or something like it anyway; his hips swivel, and I rut against him, my entire body throbbing with animalistic need. Sam shifts his weight, grinding against me, and I can feel the fat stiff length of him right up against my center. I whimper, desperate and wanton. 

One hand slides up my back, around my ribs, up, until he can trace the curve of my breast with his thumb and then pinch my nipple through my bra. When I buck against him, he does it again. My knees don’t want to support me any more. 

I’m a half-second away from coming just like this. I’m shaking. 

“The fuck are we doing?” Sam says roughly. He nips my earlobe.

“Not thinking, remember?” I snap, and then I’m stumbling back, almost falling, tugging him by the wrist as I start to weave through the crushing press of bodies. My heart is pounding. Everything blurs together. My skin feels too cold without him all over it. 

There’s one open bathroom, no line, no reason to hesitate. The heavy door closes behind us and the deadbolt slides home with a metallic echoing thud. 

He’s already crowding me back, hands on my cheeks, tip of his nose brushing mine. I grab at the front of his shirt, fingers twisting in the sweat-damp fabric. My ass hits the counter and I surge up clumsily to kiss him. The angle’s off; our teeth clack together. 

We laugh and fit ourselves back together, bodies like puzzle pieces in that fucking song Sam would never admit he loves, and I could cry with relief at the way he feels under my hands. I can feel him breathing, the harsh rise and fall of his chest, and I can feel the heat of him, blood and sweat and bone, solid and real and here and mine, at least for tonight. 

He fumbles with the button of my jeans and kisses me like he’s drowning. Then he curls two long fingers up and into me, grinding the heel of his hand against my clit. I lean back, heels skidding on the dirty tile as I try to brace myself and rock my hips up all at once. 

“Need you to fuck me,” I bite out, remarkably steady considering the way I’m trembling. 

“You gonna regret this tomorrow?” Sam asks. He twists his fingers, knuckles stretching me open, so good my eyes roll back in my head. 

Tomorrow… we’re not going to think about tomorrow. 

“Might regret waiting this long,” I groan. Understatement of the century. 

“You ‘n me both. You sure?” He’s staring down at me and he looks wrecked: pupils blown, lips swollen, hair clinging to his temples where his skin is streaked with sweat. 

“Do you feel how close I am?” I grab his wrist with one hand, holding him there, fucking myself on his fingers as I try to pull my jeans down with the other hand. 

Sam’s mouth drops open and his eyes go unfocused for a second. Whatever self-control he had left is gone. He pulls his hand away, and I whine at the loss, but together we get my pants down, and I kick them off as he gets his belt open. He’s just as big as I always imagined, proportional to those sinfully long elegant fingers, and my mouth fucking waters as I watch him stroke himself. 

He bites his lip, chest heaving, and tugs me up onto the very edge of the grimy sink counter. Before I can find my balance he’s right there, hooking an arm under my knee so that he can spread my legs wider, and he’s guiding the hot velvety head of his cock down my center and in, and the slick blunt pressure of it makes me claw at his back, trying to get him closer even though I can barely handle how good that first thick inch feels. 

“Fuuu - unnhhhhh - fuck, Sam, I need…” I choke out, and then all I can do is pant breathlessly, incoherent, as he rocks his hips and starts to stretch me open. I’m helpless like this, no leverage to do anything but sit there and take it, and he moves so maddeningly slow that I’m going out of my skull. 

“God, look at you,” he breathes. “So fucking good. Always wondered what you’d look like taking my cock. Always imagined you begging. Are you gonna beg for me?” 

“If you don’t shut the fuck up and give it to me, Sam, I swear —” 

“Yeah?” he growls. He grips my hips hard enough to bruise.

I wrap my legs around his waist, hooking my ankles together, leaning back on my hands, and then I can arch my back and pull him deeper, working myself onto his cock. 

“Sam —” I start, but before I can say anything else he slams home, grinding in hard and fast, and my voice cracks on a stuttering, incoherent whine. It’s blindingly good. He’s steely-hard and so goddamn thick I feel like I’m about to split open, like one wrong move is going to pull me apart. His first rolling thrust sparks this wrenching wave of pressure that fills me up and shakes me down to the tips of my toes, my entire body rippling with feverish heat. 

“That’s my girl,” he pants. He pulls me against him and twists up, rough and filthy, and I shudder against him, writhing, mindless and overwhelmed. 

“Sam,” I choke out. My voice is high-pitched and squeaky-thin, and the next sharp thrust makes me forget whatever I was going to say beyond, “Nnnnhhhhhyesohgod.” 

“There?” 

“Fuck. Yes.” 

He moans, low and broken, and finds that perfect spot again, grinding into it with eye-popping force.

I can feel it, pleasure cramping through me with every movement, coiling up, building around the deep throbbing ache where he’s fucking into me. I feel like a wild animal, primal and lost.

“Good girl. Fuck, feels so good.”

I clutch at his shoulders, muscles quaking, burying my face in his neck as all that white-hot pressure peaks inside me. I let out an ugly, anguished sob, can’t hold it back, and then all I can feel is the all-consuming spasm of my orgasm, tension rocketing through every inch of me, sending me out into space for a long paralyzed moment. The first pulse of it is so scary-intense that I can’t breathe, can’t control myself, can’t keep track of my own body… 

Then it all comes back at once, and I’m exquisitely aware of Sam against me as he fucks me through it, hips surging forward as I squeeze around him and urge him deeper. 

“Thought about this so many times,” he’s confessing, ragged and raw. 

“Me too,” I gasp.  

He sucks in a shaky breath, moving slower as I start to come down, and I can feel him holding back now. “Think about you so fucking much, I can’t —”

“Me fucking too, Sam.”

He kisses me, gentle in a way that could very easily destroy me. 

“This isn’t how it was supposed to go,” he whispers, forehead sweaty where it rests against mine.  

“Fuck, Sam, don’t — this is —” 

I feel so strange and strung-out, caught between the shivery aftershocks in my belly and the startling tenderness in his voice as he mumbles, “Wanted to take my time.”

“Sam.” 

“Wanted to take my time with you,” he repeats. He moves against me with this slow, snakelike undulation. “Wanted to lay you out and kiss you everywhere and fucking worship you.” 

“We can. We can — I want that.” 

“Never gonna be enough,” he chokes out. “I knew — I knew, if I did this, I’d never want to stop.”

My skin is lit up with the feel of him, liquid heat gathering in my gut as my body responds to every perfect touch, but I’m afraid my ribcage is about to split open with the way my heart is hammering. 

We’re in a goddamn dive bar bathroom, for fuck’s sake, and I’m fucked up, and maybe this will feel cheap and tawdry and silly in the morning, but… somehow I don’t think it will. Somehow this feels like the most important thing that’s ever happened to me. 

“Why’d we wait this long?” I ask. There’s an embarrassing wobble in my voice. 

“Because I’m a fucking idiot,” he grits out. “Because I was scared.” Before I can respond, he kisses me, all teeth and desperation, twisting his hips and swallowing my moan. He slides his hands under my shirt, sliding them up my back, and drags his fingernails down in trails of stinging heat. It’s pleasure and pain and fucking obliteration, and the sensory overload has me spiraling out again. 

“Fuck that,” I half-laugh. My back arches and my voice breaks, and I bite his lip hard enough that I taste copper. 

He groans, full-throated and shameless, and ducks his head, sinking his teeth into the sweat-slick curve of my neck. He sucks, nibbles, and it sets off fireworks behind my eyelids. 

“Close, Sam. So close,” I babble, breathing harsh and heavy. I tangle my fingers in his hair and pull, and I can feel him moan. “Never thought it’d feel like this. It’s — this is so much better —” 

He shudders against me, lets out this long, guttural sound, and then he shifts and pounds into me harder, and all I can do is cling to him, pulling him closer like I’m never going to let go. “C’mon, then. Fuck. Tell me what you want.” 

“Please, Sam. Just — please. Please.” 

“I’d do anything for you,” he growls. “You know that, right?” 

“Anything?” 

“Anything.” 

“Don’t leave me,” I blurt out, as the unbearable tension starts to crest. “Don’t leave me, Sam. Please.” 

I know he hears it. He gasps like I punched him. I can feel him jerk, twitch, fingers clawing at my back, cock twitching and swelling inside me as he starts to come. I bite down on the meat of his shoulder as I let go. My orgasm feels like it’s ripping something loose, an earthquake in my core, and I don’t trust myself not to say exactly what’s on my mind. There’s a surge of pleasure, one glowing wave of it then another, and I’m dimly aware of shuddering against Sam as he rocks into me one more time, clutching him close… as if I could get close enough to keep him here with me. 

It’s impossible to be sad right now. I’m chemically incapable of sadness, still soaring high, but this is so much bigger than sadness anyway. I just feel like I’m about to break. 

“That,” he says, with an ugly sound, half-laugh, half-sob. “That’s what I was afraid of. That I wouldn’t ever want to leave.” 

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “Let’s just — let’s not think about it. Okay? Can we go back to the motel and — can we do that again? Take our time?” 

“Just for tonight?” he asks raggedly. 

“Just for tonight. We’re not going to think about what comes next.” 

He nods. We both know it’s a lie. 

,

,

,

[mostlycompetentwriter]

Can I request something for tmt? a one shot tho nothing too long I just love tmt jisung he’s my ideal type 🤧😂

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Han Jisung

Genre: Sequel; Drabble

Warnings: Smut and Language

There were two Jisung’s in my book.

The sweet, adoring version of him that I loved who brought me flowers from the store, or who spent long hours staying up with me late into the night to talk about whatever happened to cross our minds.

Then, there was the Jisung who called himself J.One.

The rapper version of him who commanded the stage with an intoxicating charisma, who winked and rolled his eyes as he moved with Chan and Changbin, gesturing to the crowd and ad-libbing into the microphone in unexpected bursts of energy.

He was impossible to resist, but he was all mine. And I had never felt so lucky in my entire life. Despite our rough start, I wouldn’t trade our relationship for anything in the world, and I had become a mainstay at his concerts.

Tonight’s performance ended with their new song, the one that was rapidly rising in the ranks on SoundCloud and garnering more YouTube videos than the average Among Us collaboration. I could tell that the crowd loved it, cheering and screaming even louder once the familiar bass dropped over the speakers. 

In these moments, it was easy to see why Jisung was so enamored with this world of underground music and late-night clubs and bars. 

“The one in the middle,” a girl yelled into my ear. “He’s really good!”

She was referring to Changbin and I forced myself to nod. “Yeah, he’s alright.”

As long as you don’t let him seduce you, I wanted to add, but perhaps it was better for the group’s image if I didn’t go into long-winded detail concerning Changbin’s exploits. Chan was no better, but at least he had the decency to feel bad and apologize. It made it easier to see him whenever I visited Jisung at their studio.

Changbin on the other hand? Well, he was still inclined to send me flirty looks and whisper rather inappropriate things that I doubt Jisung would want to hear. But that was an argument for another time.

Tonight was all about Jisung, and I could tell that the girl sitting next to me and her posh group of friends were shocked when Jisung and the rest of his group made their way over to me.

“Baby,” Jisung purred when he was close enough, sliding an arm around my waist before bringing me in for a passionate kiss.

It was enough to steal the breath from my lungs, and I pulled away to send a knowing look in the direction of the girls who were watching us with wide eyes and gaping mouths. “You were amazing!” I told Jisung, offering a friendly nod to Chan and Changbin who were already busy scoping out their exploits for the night.

“I feel amazing,” Jisung admitted, and then his mouth was next to my ear. “They gave me my own backstage room. Wanna see?”

“Of course,” I said, grinning because I knew that Jisung’s intentions extended far beyond merely asking me to admire his dressing room. 

“Come on,” he said, taking my hand and waving off Chan and Changbin who weren’t even cognizant that their third wheel was leaving with his girlfriend. Hopefully, to screw her brains out because I desperately needed it.

“Your new song was really popular,” I remarked casually as Jisung weaved us in and out of the crowd.

“Yeah?” he smirked. “We spent weeks working on it. I think Chan was ready to call it quits at one point.”

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t,” I said, feeling myself grow more excited as we disappeared behind the curtain partitioning off the rest of the grimy bar.

It was much less crowded in the back, and Jisung’s hand was already squeezing at my ass as he turned the knob on the door labeled with his name written in bright colors on a slab of wood.

But once we were inside, Jisung ensured that the door was locked before pressing me back against it, reclaiming my lips with desperation. “Slow down, baby,” I gasped between kisses, feeling my way down Jisung’s shirt to palm the tight bulge over his gold-colored pants.

They were skin tight on his lithe frame, and I knew that his erection was straining against the tight material. “Can I fuck you, baby?” Jisung asked, and I smiled the familiar shyness in his eyes, listening to him whimper as I continued to add more pressure against his cock.

“How can I say no to you?” I asked, loving that he was still inclined to act the part of the well-mannered boy who used to follow me around with discreet looks aimed in my direction.

“There’s a condom in my bag,” he said, reluctantly moving away to locate his stuff piled high against one of the chairs.

In the meantime, I wandered over to the stuffy gray couch tucked away in the corner, ignoring the smell as I hitched up my dress before bending over the back. “Sungie?”

“Yeah, ba-” he broke off with a stuttered moan, taking in the sight of me bent over for him just the way he liked. “Y/N,��� he whispered, eliminating the space between us with three measured steps before his hands were tugging down my panties and squeezing the soft flesh of my ass. “So beautiful,” he said, and I shivered at the sound of him undoing his belt, pushing down his jeans to mid-thigh along with his boxers. 

“Are you ready?” I asked, reaching back to press two fingers into the gaping mess of my pussy, clenching and unclenching as I stretched myself out for him.

I was already wet just from hearing Jisung’s voice alone, admiring him dancing across the stage and, at one point, grinding against the floor.

Jisung groaned in reply to my question, ripping open the condom to tug it over himself. The motion was well-rehearsed at this point, even though he had fumbled the rubber a couple of times during the early part of our relationship. But we fit together like two essentials parts of a machine, and I almost knew his body as well as my own.

“I’ve got you,” Jisung said, pulling me out of my thoughts when he rubbed the tip of his cock against the entrance to my wet cunt.

“Please,” I practically begged him, and Jisung knew better than to tease me for longer than was necessary with our foreplay, and he was sliding home with a long, languid thrust of his hips that had me accommodating the size of his erection as my walls held to him tight. “You’ve got to give me more than that, Jisung!”

“More?” Jisung repeated, sounding a little more confident as he placed both hands on my hips. 

I nearly screamed when he started a frantic pace, fucking his cock in and out with perfectly timed thrust of his hips, rolling against my ass with every stroke. I could feel each drag of his erection, filling me so well, to the point where it felt like I could already burst from the friction rapidly building inside of me.

I clenched my hands tighter around the cushions in front of me, closing my eyes as my clit brushed against the rough texture of the couch with every penetration. He was stimulating every part of me, hitting my g-spot at the perfect angle, hitching one of my legs further up around his waist so that he could keep going, faster and faster until I started to grow light-headed from the pleasure.

“I’m close, Jisung,” I warned him, clenching down harder around him to ensure that he felt as much pleasure as I did.

His resounding moan was more than enough confirmation that Jisung was feeling every inch of me, and I could just imagine the look on his face: the concentrated scrunch of his nose and the thin bead of sweat that pooled atop his upper lip.

There was always something riveting about Jisung when he was fucking me, head tossed back and neck exposed. He always liked to watch the place where his cock was stuck inside, using his fingers to feel just how close were in those moments. Sometimes, he might stick his finger in alongside his erection, and that was enough to make me feel even fuller, like I could literally mold myself to him. 

The mental image alone was enough to stoke the flames licking at my loins, and I could feel my impending orgasm growing stronger by the minute, especially in conjunction with the loud squelching sounds of his cock hitting me between his rough grunts. 

It was dirty and obscene, and I tried not to think about the fact that anybody could walk by, including Chan and Changbin, and hear just how good Jisung was fucking me. 

But it was worth the risk, and there was nothing that could ever bring me closer to Jisung, practically feeling him touching my cervix with how deep he was reaching. Like he was determined to split me in half, using just his cock and fingers to completely break me down. 

I moaned at the thought, eyes rolling back into my head when Jisung suddenly wrenched back and slammed forward with a powerful thrust, forcing my back to arch even further as he gripped tighter to my ass. In response, I reached back behind me to catch Jisung’s hand, digging my nails into his palm as I suddenly erupted around him. Experiencing wave after wave of unmitigated desire as he fulfilled my deepest urges, grinding his cock against my ass as he moaned and whined in response. 

He rode me through my high carefully, sliding his cock gingerly between my pulsating walls, still chasing his own pleasure while remaining mindful of my oversensitivity. But I wanted to feel him cum more than anything, and I told him as much with an exaggerated moan that sent his hips stuttering twice against mine before I felt his release. Something warm and sticky, even though it was hard to appreciate the sensation with a thin layer of latex keeping him from leaking.

Still, I winced when Jisung pulled out, tossing the used condom into the trash as I reached back down for my panties to pull them back into place before falling onto the couch with a sigh. “Fuck,” Jisung cursed, using shaky hands to readjust himself, stuffing his spent cock back into his boxers and jeans. 

“Come here,” I said, holding out my arms and inviting him closer into my embrace, nuzzling at the thin layer of sweat building at the base of his neck, inhaling the musky scent of his cologne.

“So good for me,” Jisung said, turning around so that our noses brushed. “Did you like it?”

I smiled, wondering if there would ever come a day when Jisung didn’t question just how amazing he made me feel. “I always love it,” I told him sincerely, reaching out to push a wayward strand of hair behind his ear before leaning in close to whisper a kiss against the pucker of his addictive lips.

[spitpr1ncess]

BRUISED BODIES CHAPTER 3 LEVI ACKERMAN X READER

                                                   (not my image)

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Gentle rays of sun push through the curtains that protect you from the outside world, they fall like precious feathers across your sleepy face, you rouse from your restful slumber and bring yourself to open the curtains fully, letting mother nature embrace you as you appreciate another day alive. You have an alarm clock but you find the natural light is much more kind to you. You take a deep inhale and breathe life into your lungs, you close your eyes and scrunch them as tight as they will go as you exhale, letting any tension and anxieties about the day evaporate.

You set about making your bed, the beautiful ivory sheets are pulled taught and your duck down pillows plumped, you fold your nightdress and set it down on the chair next to your window. A few years ago, Boss had bought you a record player for your 18th birthday, and it was crisp mornings like this that called for some soft, classical music. You place a record down gently and lift the stylus, as it makes contact your room is filled with ethereal sounds, you hum and dance around slowly, opening your heavy wooden wardrobe to pick something out that will adequately satiate Boss’s hunger.

You hold up a few lingerie sets in front of your nimble body and stare into the mirror, you’ve lost a significant amount of weight the last few months, you notice your chest has all but ceased to exist at this point, Boss will not be happy about that. You decide on a soft cream set, a corset that pinches your waist in and pushes your chest up to its maximum capacity, with beautiful satin panties that you’ve altered yourself. With your weight loss, a lot of the clothes you wear leave you swimming in them, you stitched darts into the front, pulling them in and creating a feminine silhouette that accentuates your barely-there curves.  You pull a pastel pink silk gown over your arms and set about applying a little make up. Pinching your cheeks and lips to draw the blood to them, you give yourself a natural blush. You pull a dark brown pencil through your brows, add white to the waterline of your eye and brush a few strokes of mascara over your lashes, finishing with a little clear gloss on your lips. Last night you’d painted your finger and toenails a soft cream, you add some pearl earrings and the necklace that Boss had given you when he first took you on.

You give yourself the once over in the mirror, making sure to not look too close, you figure that you don’t look as exhausted as you usually do, and for all intents and purposes, are ready. You wait. Its ten minutes to ten, when Boss is due, you sit patiently on the edge of your bed, your heart hammering in your chest, you’d stopped the music a few minutes prior, you know Boss likes silence, and you want to appease him. You roll your pearl earring between your index finger and your thumb anxiously, you hear the gate buzz and Jools answer. It’s a few moments before you hear his heavy footing stalks toward your door, you glare at the golden door knob, it turns, painstakingly slow. He knows you’re apprehensive and he likes to remind you of that. The door finally pushes open, assaulting the empty space between it.

You stare at him, he looks you over. He looks as grimy as ever, he is a short and stout man, with snow white hair and a beard to match, the golden tooth cap that covers one of his front teeth blinds you as he smiles from ear to ear, if you weren’t under so much pressure to please him, you might’ve thrown up at the sight of him.

“There’s my girl, as innocent as ever,” he looks straight through you before turning, closing and ensuring to lock the door. “don’t keep me waiting, stand up.” The instructions are clear as day, you stand on your weak legs, focusing everything you have on not letting Boss see how anxious you are. He steps toward you and reaches out; he draws a line from your bottom lip to your right nipple with his thumb. Your corset protects you from feeling his perverted touch, suddenly you are over the moon with your choice of undergarment. He picks at the hem of your pretty pink gown, he lifts it and you raise your arms instinctively, it’s soon removed and discarded on the floor behind him like a rag.

“I thought you might like this one, Sir.” Your breathing hitches as you await his verdict.

“You are right, little girl.” You feign a smile and give him your best doe-eyed look. He sighs, tired, turned on or frustrated you cannot tell, you wait anxiously before taking your next breath.

“I’m going to inspect you now, I have to make sure you are worth keeping, little Olive.” He moves to stand behind you and begins to unlace your corset. He easily removes it and places it carelessly on the bed. He steps so close you can feel him breathing down your neck, he looks down and observes you, with his hands reaching out he cups a breast in each hand. He places his thumbs and index fingers over your nipples and rolls them roughly, his cold, hard fingers fighting to get a physical reaction, you are not attracted to Boss in the slightest so it is hard to pretend you want him to continue, but if you close your eyes and think hard enough, you can just about picture somebody else, it’s what makes this whole ordeal that little bit more manageable.

“You’ve lost weight.” He observes, you panic.

“I have been working such long days, Sir, it was not on purpose, I promise.” You are apprehensive for what he will say next, to your surprise, he isn’t angered, in fact, he apologises.

“I have obviously not been supplying enough food, I will do better, and you shall have less work.” he continues his silent abuse on your tiny body, pulling your soft, brown hair over your left shoulder and continuing to roll your right nipple. He leans in and inhales your scent, you feel him let out a low growl, you can’t help the physical shudder that courses through you, you worry that you will start convulsing at any second, but Boss must have taken your shuddering as a sign to continue, something in him changes as he kicks your legs apart with his foot. Standing there in just those soft, silk panties, you are vulnerable, alone, completely at his mercy. You suck back a sob and picture all the times you have been at a mans mercy, you pray to a God that you do not even believe in that this will end soon, you are exhausted, completely shattered, absolutely broken. You just want peace.

He reaches his left hand into the front of your panties and feels your softness, “You are a good girl, keeping all tidy for me. I bet you even oiled yourself up this morning in anticipation. You did, didn’t you?” You can sense the dirty excitement in his voice, you nod, meekly in response, you have learnt very quickly that you need to sell whatever sick fantasy Boss is having to keep living comfortably, how you must remain his little bitch, to get your own way, eventually. You close your eyes and let go of any shred of dignity you were still grasping onto, you begin to grind into his hand, silently begging for him to give you something, to make him feel like you need him, he lets out low, perverted, guttural moan.

“You’re desperate for me, aren’t you?” It’s working.

“Please Sir. Touch me, please.” A silent tear breaks loose and wets your cheek, his erection tents and you feel it pressing against the arch of your back, you dare to reach a hand behind to palm him, he moans, without warning, you feel a finger roughly enter you, Boss layers his fingers with expensive and unneeded gold signet rings and although you hate to admit it, the cool of the jewellery feels fucking good. His alien finger curls upwards as your breathing hitches, feeling the golden rings rub against your hole.

“You are as tight as the day I took you as a young girl.”, you cringe at him bringing up your broken childhood as another silent tear falls, you try to ignore his perverted comment as you continue to palm his erection from behind you, he abruptly pulls his finger out as you are violently bent over your bed, he tears your pretty panties down to your knees.

“Put your hands above your head, and don’t move them, I’m going to inspect your holes now.” You feel him as he gapes you wide open, running a finger from your sensitive clit, to your pussy, he circles it, slipping a finger in to the first knuckle, you sense the second about to plunge into you when there is a strong knock at the door.

“I TOLD YOU NOT TO INTERRUPT ME.” You are frightened by how angered the man looming above you sounds. Afamiliar cold voice answers back. “Sir, it really cannot wait. Its E.S.” silence befalls your little room as the tension rises, you’re face down with your hands above your head, a finger in your cunt and your ass spread wide. You’re thankful there is a door separating you from the voice outside.

“Do not move, little girl.” You are frightened by the anger behind his words, you remain where you are, Boss stands up straight and strides to the door opening it wide.

“I will go, you are to take over here, make sure she is worth keeping, I’ll expect extensive feedback on my desk by eight tomorrow.” And with that, you hear his footsteps fade as he paces toward to exit.

-

You suddenly realise that someone is standing at your door and heat flushes to your ears, you jump up snatching what little dignity you could salvage as you speedily pull your panties back up, you protect your chest with your arms. Glaring at you, you meet the same pair of eyes you did yesterday afternoon, you are mortified, you try to say anything but nothing comes out and you stand there with your mouth wide open.

“You’ll catch flies like that, whore.” Levi retorts, this is the last thing you wanted to happen right now, or ever really. You barely have time to think before you instinctively bite back; “You’ll catch a slap if you keep staring at me like that,” you immediately regret saying anything, “what I mea…” you are interrupted as he strides toward you at a sickening pace, roughly grabbing your delicate throat, you whimper in response and a small smirk forms at the corners of your mouth.

“You’re disgusting.” Levi practically spits, this piques your interest.

“Are you going to inspect me, Mr Ackerman?” You should’ve closed your stupid mouth, but something inside of you wants to antagonise him, needs to antagonise him.

“If I had a choice, I’d not step within fifty metres of you.” He doesn’t hesitate for a second and you almost feel bad, but your mouth works faster than your brain.

“But you don’t have a choice, so are you going to?” He releases his tight grip of your neck and spins you so effortlessly you may as well have weighed the same as a stuffed toy, the next thing you know, you are face down in your mattress. With his palm forcing you down, he spits in your face, “you deserve nothing more than a beating followed by a rough fucking, I’ll teach you a few things about respect.” He’s angry, and you’re finally excited, you asked for something new, something different, and here it was, pinning you down and spitting in your face. Your heart swells.

You bait him, your next mistake.

“You think you’ll be able to teach me about respect? I apologise Mr Ackerman, but you are the man who just spat in my face. At least aim for my mouth next tim…” you are cut off as grabs a pillow and forces it over your face.

“I’m sick of the noise coming from you and I can’t stand the sight of you.” Levi stands up straight, letting the pillow go so it sits over your face as he removes his jacket, you hear him fold it and place it tidily on your chair, this humours you and you let out a muffled giggle. Levi pauses to look at you before he chooses to ignore you, giggling and with a pillow over your face, ass up in the air, he almost grabs it before continuing with his before task. He pulls a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and kneels, leaning over you and removes the pillow.

“Open.” His command is simple and you immediately follow, like a little puppy, his jaw tenses as he stuffs the handkerchief in your mouth.

“I do not like you, or even respect you, but I am not a monster, so, as I inspect you, if anything makes you uncomfortable, you are to raise your hand and I will stop. Understand?” You nod meekly and hide the blush rushing to your cheeks, never in your life has someone shown you such kindness, much less someone who so say hated you.

“You’ll use your hands now and spread yourself so I can inspect you now.” He sure wasn’t being unbearable, but he sure wasn’t living up to the beating and rough fucking he had promised you, his energy had changed, he was almost soft, or maybe you’d imagined that. Levi pulls a tight-fitting leather glove out of his pocket and slips his hand into it. He steps up behind you and grasps your little legs, and like you are nothing more than a doll, lifts you up onto the mattress with the rest of your top half.

“Keep your head down but stay on your knees,” he runs his hand over your soft rump and presses the arch of your back down, “well trained pets arch their back; it gives a better view to their owners.” The way he calls you pet makes you quiver with anticipation and you feel the slick building between your thighs. Levi must have sensed it because he pulls them down over your ass, painstakingly slow, you’re sure he’s doing it do you’ll feel them pull away from the slick forming at your embarrassingly eager cunt. Letting them fall to where your knees are planted he moves his face dangerously close to your slick covered hole, you feel his warmth in places you have never had touched before. You feel his finger circle your clit, being gently with his touch, sending shivers up your spine as a result. You dare to lean back into his touch. Men never touch you this way, really its only ever you who has circled your swollen bud with your nimble fingers, chasing your own orgasm, a real orgasm, not like the ones you orchestrate for the male gaze.

You wait for Levi to say something but he doesn’t, instead, he increases the pressure to the circles he is tracing, causing your breath to catch in your throat, you let out the tiniest mewl praying that he doesn’t hear it, he pulls his hand away.

“You are not supposed to be enjoying this, whore.” You let out a defeated sigh. Levi doesn’t move for a few minutes; you blush as you feel his eyes boring into your slick covered holes, you cannot see, but he is contemplative, he is thinking, wondering. You pray that he will say something else. Once again, he does not, he simply circles your swollen lips and probes his leather clad middle finger in. You swear you hear him let out a strained breath, but you’re not sure, your head is spinning and men don’t really take pleasure in stuff like this, do they?

He pushes in again, the furthest knuckle meeting your lips, he curls his finger upwards and rubs it against your walls, you know better than to make a sound, slowly, he pulls his finger out and you cringe at your wetness, your body must cringe physically as well because Levi picks up on it.

“Do you not like the sounds? To me, it is one of the best parts. I like to hear myself playing with the holes I fuck. It is a reminder of how depraved you are, how wet you get being manhandled.” With that he forces both his middle and ring finger into you, he curls up and rubs against your walls again, pulling his fingers back out, thrusting them back inside and repeating it over. You mewl again, but this time he does not stop.

“Listen to yourself, pet.” He continues his internal assault, though usually where you hate the assault left by men, you were enjoying his, you were hungry for it.

“Can you feel it building? Inside of your tiny body? Chase the end for me, I want you to.” Levi leans in and spits on where his fingers continue to scoop out of you like he was deseeding a melon, you squeeze your eyes shut and let the fire build in the pit of your stomach, you cry louder, your breathing speeding up, this pleasing him, Levi spanks you hard, his hands are heavy, and it hurts like hell, you feel your body about to reach its peak, you’re not sure how long you can hold off.

“I’m so… I’m so close… Please.” you try to cry out, but it comes as pathetic muffles through the handkerchief Levi had shoved inside your mouth, with that, he stops dead. In what feels like a nano second, you are flipped onto your back, held to the bed with Levi grasping your neck again. He straddles you, you cannot breathe he fists your throat so tightly you fear you may pass out, but you do not signal for him to stop, not once

His eyes stare into yours, they are full of lust; causing you to wonder if he secretly was enjoying this, that he may even like you, he shakes his head as if he heard your thought, you try your luck and dare to lift your hand and palm through his jet-black hair.

“Do not touch me.” He warns as he pins your hand above your head, his eyes turn back to the cold glare you’ve become quite acquainted with, he stands up and pulls you with the hand that was pinned against the bed.

You are thrown onto the cold wooden floor and your knees echo a cracking sound as they make contact, it stings, like an injured animal you try to crawl away but Levi is hot on your trail, he steps on your leg, just above your ankle, you are pinned, you try hard to wriggle out, but he is not weak. His shoe is freezing cold on your skin, the pain is manageable as he is holding back a little but you can feel a bruise forming already.

He violently pulls his belt undone and yanks his trousers down releasing his sizeable cock from the restraints of his boxers, “You’re making this harder for yourself, just stop wriggling.” You comply, feeling tired now, your little body starting to feel the abuse given to you over the last half hour, Levi’s eyes show a little pity as he flips you back onto your front, you knowingly kneel and push your holes on display for him as he removes his leather glove, with his trousers crumpled around his knees, he lines up behind you, he smacks your bare ass a few more times before collecting your slick on his fingers then coating his straining hardness with it before he palms it himself a few times. He presses the very tip against your hot lips before sheathing himself inside you completely.

Levi is much bigger than the men you usually take and you cry out and cover your own mouth with your hand, he reaches and pulls both of your arms tight behind you, grasping them both with one of his stern hands and the other continues to assault your ass cheeks with hard smacks.

“Don’t silence yourself, I want you to serve me as you would serve any other man, I want to hear you cry out, I want to hear you beg for me, I want to hear you come for me. Do you understand, pet?” You choose to stay silent, instead spitting out the handkerchief.

“I understand that you want me to do my job, I’m not stupid y’know.” A stupid, snide remark from you as he chokes you again, his fingers pressing into your windpipe. You’re sure he will kill you if he presses any harder. Levi slaps you hard, once, twice, thrice, you feel blood pool in your mouth as you realise he has cut your lip, you don’t hesitate as you spit in his face, the blood painting an ugly picture.

He licks his lips and contemplates his next move, he bucks his hips into you hard, you cry out, in pain or in pleasure, you are not sure but he continues to thrust in and out of you, reaching so deep inside you that you feel like breaking, yet you do not raise your hand. He releases the grasp on your arms, and they fall forward to support you as you are fucked, rough.

Levi reaches a hand around your legs and feels for your clit. He begins to rub slow circles again, and you feel it radiate deep inside your little body, he is unrelenting on his mission to make you come.

“Don’t hold back. I can feel you’re getting close.”, he reaches his other hand and pinches your left nipple between his fingers, he twists it hard and you mewl.

“Please don’t stop. Please. Please I want to come.” You’re barely audible as you practically whisper through your moans, the pleasure from Levi is unbearable, as t reaches its peak you see stars, you’ve never come like this before, like he truly cares about your pleasure, your body trembles and you come under his control, you can’t help but hold your breath as he releases his fingers from their current roles, and they grab your hips and fuck you back into him.

Continuing to come undone as Levi chases his own finish he grunts as he unloads ropes of come deep inside you, it’s warm and you welcome the feeling of being filled, suddenly, you are empty and his cock is gone, you feel his seed dripping out of you, your eyes grow heavy and you feel your chest heaving, the last thing you see is Levi scooping you up into his arms, you swear you saw a look of softness across his face, a look of hurt.

-

When you awaken, you are tucked into bed, a large t-shirt swallowing your sore body, you sit up and your head spins, it’s is dark outside and there is a glass of water and a small note on your bedside table, you sip from the glass and apprehensively thumb the note.

“I’m sorry” it reads. Levi. You cringe as you remember begging him for your orgasm. You’re pulled from your thoughts as your door quietly opens and Jools enters.

“Are you okay Olive?” he sounds genuinely concerned, “you’re covered in bruises… did he hurt you?” He looks away, clearly uncomfortable, again, you cringe as you recall the experience.

“I am okay Jools, I promise. How did I get to bed?” You expect Jools to say that he came and rescued you, but he doesn’t, instead he hesitates before beginning, “Levi… He, well, he bathed you, he applied creams, washed your hair, and he put you into bed. He hung around for a few hours, y’know. In case you awoke. Then he asked for some paper, wrote you a note and left.” You smile at that knowledge, regardless of what the note says, you feel that he wants to see you again.

“What did the note say?” Jools questions.

“Nothing important, just an apology, its weird”.

“Oh. Okay. If he really hurt you, you are to tell me. It is not usual for Levi to… Engage with women like he did with you. His behaviour was strange I don’t trust him”.

You look at Jools, he reaches out to touch your face, it aches, you remember the blows to your face, you are probably bruised there, too. “I am fine Jools, I was just doing my job, I am better for it, considering I didn’t have to engage with Boss!” You feign a smile, though Jools can see its fake, he trusts you enough to talk to him when you are ready.

“You had better go to bed then, Levi paid off your afternoon caller, by the way, I’m not sure about him, so be careful, please.” He turns and leaves, the door closes and you lay your heavy head back on your pillows, a curious shadow lurks by your window, but you miss it, falling into a deep slumber.

Just some peeping Tom, probably.

[jensenshole]

Cas ghost wrote this article (full text under the cut bc paywall)

We begin in near-darkness. The train makes its steady climb up the slightly-sloped tracks, crawling slowly through the dull gray gloom of the tunnel.

We are bundled up in our bulky jackets and winter hats, packed in, shoulder-to-shoulder, slumped into the glow of our smartphones. The moving parts beneath the floorboards start to clang and clatter until the sound reverberates up through our feet.

And then, suddenly, we are pulled into the light.

The Red Line emerges from the bind of its underground passage and the veil of the tunnel is lifted. Shafts of sunlight cut through the grimy, dirt-speckled windows, splashing rectangular shapes across the floor. The rumbling echo from the train’s underbelly recedes. Our heads snap up. Back Bay and Beacon Hill rise beyond the Longfellow Bridge, encased by the black rubber of the train’s window frames like an oil painting.

There are precious few moments like this one, that can reliably lift us from our daily routines to contemplate something larger; few places that afford a view of Boston’s beauty in a single, satisfying gulp. But this fleeting passage between Kendall Square and Charles/MGH, inside the unlikely setting of the maligned Red Line, can still stir something like reverence.

Every day, the same panorama unfurls before us: reflective skyscrapers; squat brownstones flanked by trees; a river that sparkles beneath the sun.

“I like looking over the city on my way in, contemplating the day, and imagining going into this metropolis and where I fit in it," said Steve Trambert, who, on a recent commute, lifted his eyes from the work on his laptop to gaze at the buildings jutting up and slicing into the blue backdrop of the sky. “It’s the best view in the city."

The brief journey across the bridge becomes a moment of zen before the cogs of city life start to grind and turn. Right then, right there, our heads feels crystalline; our lives are put on hold.

By the MBTA’s estimates, 110,000 of us make this trip every weekday, rattling past distant landmarks like the Mass. Ave. Bridge and the pinhead of the Citgo sign. Usually, it only lasts a few seconds, the train following the gentle curve of the Longfellow’s spine before it berths at its destination. But it’s enough.

Lexi Shy sits front row for this attraction. The 24-year-old commutes from Boston to Cambridge and back again, between home and work. And each time, and in each direction, she makes it her mission to sidle up to the closest door available.

“I think it’s that one part of the city where you’re in nature, as well as the city,” said Shy, who takes photos of the view often. “It’s nice to just have that moment of calm, not being underground, not hearing all the T stuff, not hearing traffic — it’s that moment of calm in the city that you never get, which is nice.”

Whether in the early morning hours, or when the sun eventually vanishes somewhere beyond Cambridge, the sky can become a hypnotic mixture of oranges and reds and blues. At just the right moment, the horizon seems to catch fire, the flames lashing out across the river and reflecting off of glass high-rises.

The view captivates us on misty wet days, too, as the fog settles just below the tops of the buildings, blanketing the river and the emerald green of the Esplanade. In darkness, the windows of the far-off buildings sparkle and gleam.

It’s a seasonal spectacle: Summer with its wavy heat. The crispness of fall. Spring and its lush regrowth.

Even now, in bleakest winter, when the frozen river turns into a tundra stretching from shore to shore, sometimes dusted by snow, the sky at dawn becomes an impressionist canvas — a study in pinks, and purples, and whites.

Once the cold gives way, we will we watch as kayakers and rowers slice cleanly through the water. As the fleet of sailboats do their delicate dance. As the Duckboats chug into view from beneath the bridge. We’re compelled to press our faces near the glass, as if staring into an aquarium tank. We take photos and Tweet them to the world. We capture videos to watch later, when we need a moment of clarity, or a reminder of the allure of the place where we all live.

Concentrate hard enough as the cityscape passes by, and it’s like we’re watching the opening scene of a movie that’s set here, an effect amplified by the music we choose to let pour through our headphones.

“It’s postcard, really,” said Doug Schmidt, 70, after we spilled onto the station platform one morning. The train doors pinged. The cold air blasted off the Charles as we walked away from the train, the magical moment now behind us.

From the platform, we could no longer see the postcard. We were living within it.

[barnesandco]

Blame it on the Heartache

A broken woman finds a lost man, and they try to put each other back together.

This is an entry for @star-spangled-bingo​​ 2020. Word count: approximately 2219. Square filled: “Morning Sex”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of violence, warzones, and one brief mention of persecution of LGBT people in Chechnya. Oh and also smut. Lots of smut (18+ only). It was supposed to be just smut, but then angst happened, and here we are. 

A/N: There’s some talk about blame in this fic, and honestly, I blame (and thank) @heli0s-writes​, this post, and this one. Also, there will be a part 2 some time next week.

You find him by accident. Kiev bar just after dawn, with wooden bar tops and table tops all rotting with the steady decay of time and too little money, disguises his head of dark hair and grimy outline in a corner booth perfectly but your eyes lock onto the side profile, the slope of his nose and the bow of his lips arching against the light of the snow outside. The Winter Soldier, or the shell he has left behind, sits with a shot glass clutched loosely in a gloved hand, the other one’s fingers decorated with rings.

They’re intriguing things, that you watch closely from the bar, pounding head distracted by the scent of hot chocolate and the jewellery that is both the manifestation of wishes for a prettier life, and the mark of a roughened man at the same time. The light catches on a round ruby set on a silver band on his forefinger. It reminds you of the red star painted on gleaming gray you first saw smuggling political refugees from one warzone into another. The time you were a spy, before you were an activist, before you gave up all hope of NGO pretenses and took things into your own hands, helping people with only the wind to guide you.

Not that you succeeded much. Now, days after desperate depression and harrowing hopelessness thanks to only having managed to rescue half as many queer Chechen teens from their torture cells as intended, you are aching with the weight of your uselessness. The air around you, the tonnes of the morning sky are pressing down on your shoulders, and the whiskey in your hot chocolate is doing little to relieve the tension.

The sorrow is what you will blame, later. Or perhaps, the alcohol, although there is barely a syringe’s worth of it in your system with less than half your mug still empty and going cold quick. You’ll fault the loneliness of decades helping a world that does not want to become better for how you rise from your stool and sit down across from the man who thinks he is a stranger to you.

You’ve read the stories. Seen the videos of the helicarrier falling apart above the Potomac, the camera footage captured by a daring chopper, and the Smithsonian’s exhibit on Bucky Barnes. The eyes staring back at you, calculating, clever, above cutting cheekbones, are the same as the ones on the wall in the museum. He’s had a century of pain and you only tenths of one, but the hurt rings out and resonates clearly, a sonic bell of a distress signal, captured by wandering eyes and inexplicable want.

You wonder what he will blame for his response to you unbuttoning the top of your shirt, and your hand over his. Possibly, the fact that he’s been on the run for a year. A year out of the cryostasis detailed by the files the Black Widow leaked in D.C. A year of running, of being alone and sometimes worse -- only the haunting nightmares for company. Your sympathy, the same one that pushes you to keep at your job when it is forever hopeless, is what pulls your heartstrings closer to him.

His fingers tighten around yours, and you blame desolation. You blame the flaming burn of want that shines from his eyes when he sees a face that is not just friendly, but maybe familiar, too. Something tells you you ought to be scared, as he rises and drops a hryvnia bill on the table, and leaves, still holding your hand, but the strength of his grip deters you. The hold is gentle, calloused, the rings grazing your palm as he adjusts to intertwine your hands, so each metal band comes to rest against the sensitive skin between your fingers. Tight enough to feel coarse skin and trembling desire, but loose enough that you can easily leave. Run. You are not being forced anywhere.

The streets of Kiev become a shimmering, white backdrop to his face that looks even more stunning in the light. How much of your last encounter does he recall, if any? New Mexico, 2001, protection detail for war scarred children who needed to evacuate, one of which was an heir to a throne. A brawl in a market, sweat-sticky sundress flaring furiously, the heat of the American sun no match for that of his arms around you. A dance, a twirling battle, and the gasping from breath in the aftermath was one hell of a challenge. Something that restored your faith in your job.

But you’re far from Albuquerque, now, and are reminded of that fact as he leads you to the polar opposite of a southern tavern. It’s an inn. A quaint, small place, more wood, this one gleaming brown on the walls and the hardwood floors and the mahogany counter, all well kept. He strides past the burning fireplace in the lobby and climbs the stairs two at a time, as you struggle to keep up. Part of your lust-addled brain thinks to joke about how he has you panting before he’s even gotten you in bed.

All thought of laughter evaporates when he shuts the door and presses you against it with his human forearm pressing on your neck. Tight enough to threaten but loose enough to let you breath. Your heart beats faster, the pulse of your veins thrumming a little closer to the surface. 

Who are you? he growls in Ukrainian, eyes shifting between threatening and offering little hints of fear. When you do not answer, he asks, who sent you? 

The material of his jacket is rough where it pushes into you. You have to fight to speak. “Nobody.” The English makes his eyes widen, and you barely have time to question whether this move killed you or saved you, when he takes his arm off your neck and replaces it with his mouth.

Heavenly heat, hellish white light, blinding ecstasy erupts like a volcano where he begins to devour you like he hasn’t for centuries, for millennia of loneliness, and there, in the innocent hotel room, your head fills with images of everything but. Hands find his hair, knock the woollen hat off his head while his teeth trace a pleasure-trail down your neck and to your collarbone, his fingers clenching on your hips. 

You push back, off the door and into the room, standing now, supporting your own weight on weak knees and shaking breath. He steals the last of it you have left when he leaves your collarbone -- a bruise blooming ripely in the color of a plum -- to find your lips, and this, this is what salvation tastes like. Vodka and whiskey and chocolate, on lips chapped but lush and soft beyond the rough exterior. A gasping sound of want released in a hurried exhale between kisses makes him growl from somewhere in his chest. 

The vibrations reach your heart, heavy and loud and beating a march of deathly desire on your rib cage. You hold onto him with tight fists, like he will float away, because this is the only way to let go. There is a reassurance, in his hands clutching your jeans tighter, that he isn’t leaving. His fingers slip under your sweater, and then under your shirt, and you break away with a gasp as cold metal -- full hand on one side, and slim rings on the other -- meets your skin.

Then you press his hands to you tighter, let him tear your upper layers away, tug his jacket and sweater off his shoulders as he becomes well acquainted with the tops of your breasts, the parts visible above your bra. Head bowed in sacred confession, he finds rescue in your body, skin shining in the light of the beginning day behind you. A new start.

A new hiding place, he goes down on both knees, laving at your belly button, leaving you spit-shiny and cooling in the chilly air. He takes your jeans off slowly, a contrast to every other step made so far, and mouths at your mound, soaking your underwear further with slow, maddening movements of his tongue. You’ve had enough. This buzzing heat has turned to forest fire in your pulse, and you take your bra off and pull him up and towards you. 

His chest is warm against you when you fall back against the bed, his weight recognizable. The Soldier -- James, you think, for now -- buries himself in your neck with a renewed vigor. Begins to move down your body to the apex of your thighs, where you are wet. Dripping, soaking wet, just for him. The first touch of his tongue to your honey-sweet slick is an electric spark, and he lights you up like the fourth of July with every touch after. Fireworks in your irises mirror the flames licking up your spine, and his eyes meet yours when he opens them in moments of reprieve from enjoying the taste of you.

Purgatory, this limbo between right and wrong, is the closest you have been to joy in as long as you can remember. It aches in your limbs as you inch closer to the cliff’s edge of delectable joy. 

“Enough,” you say, when you ache for more, when you are empty and wanting only him inside of you, all of him, and he moves away. Trepidation in his eyes at the thought of being pushed away evaporates when you pull him back, the flow of your pushes and pulls echoing with the power of the moon, and how it brings the waves to lap at the land a reflection of how James’ chest meets yours when you have opened the buttons of his shirt.

It hangs open, a curtain around you, and you dexterously strip him of his jeans as well, toes pushing at the waistband and belt falling off the bed with a clink that sounds like the final nail in the coffin. You’ll gladly die a little death here, if he’s the executioner. 

His cock is leaking with arousal, hard against the lines of his abdomen begin to smear a shiny trail against you as well, and you take him in hand and he groans. Throbbing hot in your hand, velvet heat over solid steel hardness, and you spit in your hand before slicking him up a little more, his moans louder and unreserved in your clavicle, teeth grazing the spots he has made tender. 

Desperate man. Lonely, sweet, sad man. Your heart aches for him, and you want to give him more than his cruel lifetimes have so far. You want to give him warmth, starting with the warmth of your silk body, as he slips inside of you, slumping, his forehead pressing into your shoulders and murmuring what you think is a prayer into you. 

His hands are moving with feverish intensity over you, metal warmer now, as he throbs and pulses and then adjusts to your heat. All that while, you hold him. Hands first over his shoulder blades, then moving your right hand to his left, slipping under his hold on the sheets to entwine his fingers with yours the way he did in the street that feels miles below wherever you’re flying.

He’s so big, and you are so full, nerves prickling with electrostatic lust, that you have to focus on the swell of him above you, the hand holding yours and the shape of the rings on his fingers not to lose it right there. Then he starts moving.

And you’ll swear you’ve never felt true bliss before this moment, because James moving inside you, with slow thrusts, stretching your walls in delightful pain, is a luxury you’ve never lived before. Stealing your breath, his pace picks up, and you feel every ridge along his length on the inside of your body. Fire pools in your belly, and his hand is drawn to it. He supports himself on his metal arm, and trails the other down your torso. Obsidian shimmers on his ring finger and there is the unmistakable wink of vibranium on his little finger, as his hand dips lower to your clit, and you watch the spot where he moves in and out.

Lascivious eyes watch you watch his fingers circle your nub, tracing the path to your gratification, and they shine when you mewl, arching up, circling your hips. Climbing higher and higher, he moves faster, hits a spot in you that burns brighter than the Sun rising in the sky, and everything explodes in a supernova of heat, color behind your eyelids and warmth flooding your insides as he spills deep, growls against your throat, hand clutching your wrist when he falls forward. 

You are marked up in his artistry, a painting of pleasure in the mouth-made bruises on your neck and the fingerprints on your hips, and the circular indentations from his rings on your neck. He softens inside you, as you overflow with your combined pleasures, and you hum against the crown of his head, as you run your fingers through his scalp. Sated man, grateful man, miracle pleasure, purring in your arms, too dangerous to keep, but too comfortable a weight to let go of so soon.

[buckyskorpion]

11 hours - part seven

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x Reader

Summary: bucky is the mystery you can’t wait to solve. if you can get out of his bed long enough, that is. a biker au.

Warnings: gang-typical violence, sex scenes, alcohol mentions, probably more to come so stay tuned

A/N: hello i apologise in advance. pls dont hurt me!!! i would appreciate your feedback and your theories about where this fic is going! i hope this part isn’t too..... upsetting lmao. i wont be taking tags for this so please dont ask.

title taken from 11 hours by wet | playlist | please donate to my ko-fi!

masterlist

You believed, until now, that you walked the world seeking out dark corners and underbellies other people didn’t want to touch. That’s your job. The current case you're supposed to be working on involves a man suspected of drugging his girlfriend to take nonconsensual nudes of her and sell them to his friends while she slept. You’re well aware the world is a dangerous place.

But things look different now, in a way you never could have imagined before the Lerna. Those men were dead before you could blink, and you know life is expendable and fragile and so easy to take but it’s another thing to see it taken before your eyes. It’s another thing to take it yourself. And you know, now, why Bucky would only show you parts of his life and himself because this whole truth feels like staring directly into the sun - painfully bright, to the point where it’s all you can see and all the good things are reduced to a spotty, hazy blur.

You’re sitting in your office, at your desk where you’re trying to work but you can’t get the sound of bullet casings hitting the floor and the thunk of a knife in skin out of your head. There, in the centre of your tiny office, was where you sat on Bucky’s lap and kissed him and demanded ‘no secrets.’ Too stubborn to know he was keeping them for a reason, that maybe there are things you don't want to know after all. But you can feel his skin under your fingertips and the brush of his stubble as he kissed you, a memory you can touch, and you can’t help but think it still feels worth it. At the end of it all, if it was a choice of the Lerna happening or never having Bucky at all, you know what you’d chose.

As if he can hear you, your phone buzzes with a text from him. Joey’s at 7?

It’s already 6:30. You’re grabbing your keys and leaving the fear on your desk chair as you text him back. Sounds perfect.

It really is. Joey’s is your favourite bar, and just seeing the grimy neon sign outside makes your heart feel less heavy. This, after everything, remains the same. You still feel giddy jogging down the stairs, ready for the heady bass music to push through your chest and a whiskey apple to numb the wounds. It feels like the beginning, half-nervous half-excited to go find Bucky tucked in a booth at the back, dim purple light chiseling out his cheekbones and catching bright on his sharp smile. Back then it was innocent, if a fuck buddy hook-up could be. Now that you know you would do things for Bucky you’d never do for anyone else, that you don’t think you’ll ever be able to remove his brand from your heart- well. You skip a couple more steps as you head down into Joey’s, only a few minutes late.

You don’t slow down as you enter the bar, weaving through patrons searching for a familiar face. Now that you’re here to the urge to see him, to have him in your arms, is almost unbearable. When you do find Bucky, spinning a glass between his fingers in a nervous habit you’ve noticed he has, he feels your eyes on him immediately. He stands and you crash into him, burying your hands under his leather jacket to feel the warmth of his body against your palms. Bucky hugs you back just as harshly, the force of his embrace lifting your toes off the ground. When he pulls away his runs a hand over your head, down your hair, coming to rest by the side of your neck as if to check your pulse and make sure you’re really there.

“You ok?” he asks, bright blue eyes now dark and hooded as he stares down at you.

You nod, unwilling to let go of your grip on the back of his t-shirt even as he pulls away, and say, “Am now.”

“Need to talk to you, it’s important,” Bucky says. He escapes your grip with ease, because he’s huge and strong and it’s easy to forget that when he softens for you. He sits at the booth and you slide in across him, watching as he downs the rest of the straight whiskey in his glass like its water. That bad feeling is back, like back at Steve’s tattoo shop, but you don’t want it here. You fumble for Bucky’s hand across the table, and he lets you hold it but it doesn’t stop the dread settling heavy in your gut. You squeeze his fingers tighter, just in case.

“Is everything alright?” you ask. “Are we- did the cops find out-“

“No, no,” Bucky says, shaking his head down at the table. His gaze catches on your intwined fingers, the glint of his signet rings in the dim bar light, and says, “The cops aren’t the problem.”

“But there is a problem,” you say, and now Bucky raises his eyes to look at you.

“I need to tell you something, it’s important” Bucky says, again, and the dread rises from your stomach like bile to your throat. “You have to understand this, so you can see that I’m not- that this isn’t just-“

“Bucky.” He lets out a ragged breath as you cut him off mid ramble, scrubs a hand through his hair. You hate the way your voice wobbles when you say, “You’re scaring me.”

You almost make yourself laugh as those words leave your mouth. This scares you? Bucky, frustrated and nervous and clinging to your hand like a lifeline, but when he walked over lifeless bodies he sunk bullets into with a giant rifle on his back - that was just fine.

“You know when we were at Steve’s, and we were talking about Hydra? About Rumlow? Do you remember that?” Bucky asks. He stares at you like he’s imploring you to say it for him, whatever it is he’s struggling to say, but you don’t understand.

You nod slowly and say, “Natasha said Rumlow had it out for you. You said Hydra is your biggest rival.”

“Yes, right,” Bucky says, nodding a bit manically. He’s still gripping your hand tight. “Rumlow hated me, and as far as we can tell - or Nat, I guess, she’s been looking into it - he was acting on his own, to get to me.”

“That’s good, right?” You don’t feel sure, with the way Bucky is acting and looking at you all glassy-eyed. “No big gang war, or whatever.”

“I need you to understand why Rumlow hated me, because it’s not just- it wasn’t just about him, ok?” Bucky says, and now he’s looking around the room like that night in your office. Casing the bar, looking for exits. “He’s dead, but none of this died with him.”

“What is ‘this’?” you ask, and wonder for the first time, do I want to find out?

“The first time I met Rumlow was in the hospital, a couple of days after I got back from Afghanistan,” Bucky says. “I’d been honourably discharged, my arm was all fucked up and fried from a chem bomb and I lost all sensation in it so they sent me home. I remember I was lying in the bed looking out the window, and it was snowing. I hadn’t been anywhere but a desert in so long and I was like, what do I do know? I don’t own a coat anymore. I’m a black ops sniper, that’s not exactly a transferrable skill - can’t even put it on a resume because it’s classified. My arm’s fried and ugly lookin’. I’m fucked.”

“You must’ve been so scared,” you say. Bucky meets your eyes, and you can see it haunting him in the back of them - so much heat and fire and pain left behind, so much cold and unknown and pain lying in front. Your dad has told you a similar story, when he came back from Iraq, and he had the same look in his eyes Bucky does right now.

“I was,” he says, and you squeeze his fingers. He looks towards your hands again and says, “I was, and they knew it.”

“Hydra,” you say, and you know you’re right. Bucky nods anyway.

“Rumlow came into my hospital room and told me, Hydra helps guys like me. They helped him and look - he’s got a job and money and friends and a team again. A purpose. But I said no. I’m black ops, I know shady guys when I seem ‘em and Rumlow reeked of it. Just, Hydra doesn’t like being told no.”

“They target vulnerable, traumatised vets in hospitals?” you ask, disgusted. You can taste the hate that boils up, and that ugly, angry part picturing Bucky lying in a bed so alone and afraid and imagining someone like Rumlow trying to take advantage of him like that - that ugly part says I’m glad he’s dead.

“They’re highly trained and easily moulded,” Bucky says in way of answer, and you shudder at the thought. “But seem Rumlow failed and it was my fault. He failed over and over again every time they sent him to recruit me. So he hated me, and then I started the Commandos with Steve and Sam and Nat to target them. The only way to save the next poor bastard like me from ending up with Hydra is to end them, except there ain't a cop in the city who can touch them.”

“But you can,” you say, and you know it’s stupid but your heart has never been known as terribly smart, so you add, “Bucky, that’s dangerous.”

He smiles, small but it’s there, and he rubs his thumb over your knuckles as he says, “I know, doll. I don’t know if you know this about me, but stupid’s kinda my thing.”

“Very funny,” you say, rolling your eyes at Bucky’s cheeky grin now splitting his face. As quick as it came, though, his smile dies and so does the small spark of hope that maybe this story has a happy ending.

“I’ve made Hydra my enemy and I can’t change that. I don’t want to,” Bucky says, nodding solemnly at his own words and you watch him physically turn cold, stony and distant in the space of a second. “But that means that as long as Hydra is around, they’re going to be coming after me. First Rumlow, but it won’t stop there. They’ll come and keep coming and what if, one time, I don’t get there in time? Or you don’t get to leave your phone on, or even make it to a location before they shoot you in the back of the car?”

“No,” you say. You’re not stupid, you know where this is going and just- no. Bucky is being deliberately harsh, speaking loud and unfiltered to try and make it easier to do what he’s about to do but you won’t let him. That dread turned bile has now turned into straight, acidic fire pumping through veins and it hurts.

Bucky smiles faint and sad, says, “You said it yourself - it’s dangerous no matter what.”

“That's not what I meant,” you say, shaking your head vehemently, wildly, as if you can physically shake Bucky of this stupid idea and the actual pain you’re in just entertaining this conversation. “You know that’s not what I meant, what are- you asked me to stay, Bucky. You asked me, and now you want-“

“I know, I know,” Bucky says,  tugging your hand close to him now but it’s your turn to try and pull away, albeit unsuccessfully. “I know and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but you almost died. Do you understand that? They would have killed you, and the only reason is me.”  

“That’s such bullshit,” you say, trying and failing to pull your hand free of his grip but he isn’t letting go now and the death-grip he has on you, tethering you to him even as he pushes you away, makes your eyes sting with ugly tears.

“It’s not,” Bucky says, so sad, and you just want to kiss that guilt away for him even still, even as your heart is breaking under his fist. “You will always be in danger until the day comes where I can’t protect you, and I won’t do that to you. I can’t, I can’t be the reason you get hurt.”

“You can’t protect me if you’re not around,” you say, so soft you can barely be heard over Joey’s house music but honestly, you might as well be completely alone for how little you care about the bar around you.

“The safest place for you is away from me,” Bucky says, and that makes you laugh. Humourless, fucking painfully, but you laugh and Bucky glares so dark you’re reminded of the look in his eyes when he stared down at Rumlow’s body bleeding out on the ground. Through gritted teeth he says, “You think I would do this if there was any other way?”

“There is another way,” you say, glaring right back. “There’s not being a coward about it, Bucky. You lead a dangerous life, I get it. Believe me, I fucking get it, and I chose to stay. Ok? I wanna be here anyway, so why does my choice not matter to you? Is this some stupid excuse to get rid of me?”

“Don’t say that,” Bucky all but growls, and you should be scared. He’s scary, Bucky is dangerous by his own admission but you refuse to be afraid of him. Even when he’s trying to force you to be, holding your hand too tight and dragging you around the booth so he can pin you to the seat and you both know the only way you can move is if he lets you. As if he thinks he can scare you away from him, if he can’t reason you to go.

“I don’t care how dangerous it is,” you say into his seething face, inches from yours, teeth bared in a truly terrifying snarl as he pins you to the leather in a show of strength that will leave bruises tomorrow. “I don’t wanna be away from you.”

For half a moment, you really think Bucky is going to hit you. He moves so fast, and you’ve never seen his face look like that - hurt and angry and upset and half-insane all at once. But he just presses his forehead to yours, closes his eyes and breathes you in, and for another half a moment you get to think, maybe he’ll change his mind.

“You’re all I want,” Bucky breathes, so soft and quiet you almost don’t hear him if it wasn’t said almost directly into your skin. “But that’s selfish.”

“I don’t care,” you say, like a mantra now, or a prayer. Just hoping he’ll hear you, “I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care.”

“You should,” Bucky says, and pulls away from you just as fast as he came in. “I won’t be the reason you end up dead.”

Bucky sits before you like a solid brick wall - unbreakable, immovable, cold and blank. His eyes are shuttered from you and you know there’s no way to get to him now. There’s nothing else you can say. If you aren’t enough for him to push past his fear and love you anyway, nothing you say is going to change his mind. Just because you know it’s true doesn’t mean it hurts any less, though, as you sit there boxed in by this menacing stranger looking at you in a way you never want to be looked at again. Like he already doesn’t know you. Like you’ve already been forgotten.

“This was always gonna happen, wasn’t it?” you ask, more to yourself than to Bucky. You laugh at his silence, the flat set of his mouth and clenched fists on his thighs. Maybe if you never went to that first party at Natasha’s house and remained at arms length, sneaking out his window and never staying the night, then maybe you could’ve had him just a little bit longer. But you didn’t, and now you’re hurt in a way you’ve never been before. Your dad never prepared you to survive a pain like this.

You slide out the other side of the booth, tripping slightly as you climb to unsteady feet. It’s hard to see through unshed tears but you don’t bother looking back at Bucky still sat in the booth. You weave through people just as fast as when you came in, but for the opposite reason now - you can’t leave behind this dim-lit bar painted with the gorey tatters of your heart fast enough.

When you emerge onto the street you know Bucky has followed you, his hulking presence palpable behind you as you stand on the sidewalk and try and calm your rapid heartbeat. You’re surprised its still beating with how much it hurts, especially when Bucky places a hand on your shoulder and cracks your heart neatly in two. He says, softly under New York traffic, “Let me drive you home. Please.”

Instead of asking why, why does he care, why does he want to, if the safest place is away from you then leave me alone, what you say is a mildly whiny, “You don’t know where I live.”

“I’ll put the address in my phone,” Bucky says, calm and low as if to placate you but you’re well past that point now. You’re crying openly on the street like a lunatic as Bucky gently takes your hand and leads you towards his bike, manhandles you onto it, clicks a helmet on over your head. It feels cruel for him to be this soft after so ruthlessly tearing you apart, but you suppose it’s better than being left alone in the street like he never cared at all.

When you pull up to your apartment building Bucky kills the engine and leans in close to you before you have a chance to jump off and run away. You think, surely he’s not about to kiss me right now and you really hate the part of you that hopes he does, but he doesn’t. He just leans in close and whispers into your helmet, “They could be watching your place, after what happened. I’m so sorry.”

You close your eyes. Bucky’s right, this will never stop, but that doesn’t mean you want to face it alone. Your whole life has been carved out for you only, but just once you thought maybe you could live it with someone else. That’s not a life for you to have, it seems, so you take a deep breath through snotty tears and nod, say, “I can handle it,” because you know you can. You’ll have to.

“I think-“ Bucky starts but falters, bites his lip blanched white before continuing, “They might leave you alone if you make it clear I’m not in your life anymore.”

“You can’t ask me to do that,” you say, and all the resolve you just gathered is shattered as instantly as you found it. You’re crying again because fuck, nothing has ever hurt like this has, from the inside where you can’t find it or heal it or stop it so it just sucks the life out of you one painful second at a time.

“You have to, honey,” Bucky says, and you want to punch him for it. The way he talks to you like he loves you, like he cares, but he can’t if he’s making you do this. Break your own heart to save his. “Scream at me, send me away. They won’t need to target you then.”

“You’re cruel,” you say, pulling away from him. You don’t want to touch him anymore, can’t stand to be this close so you trip off the bike and stumble down the street. Bucky stares after you, his own eyes teary and face screwed up in genuine pain. It could never compare to the sick feelings in your stomach as you take a deep breath and scream, “Go away, Bucky. Fucking leave me alone and never come back or I’ll fucking kill you, you hear me? Fuck off, and don’t come back.”

You can’t help the sob that rips from you, threatening to buckle your knees and break you right on the sidewalk. Bucky is looking at you like you’ve just stuck a knife in his chest but he asked you to, he keeps asking and taking and it’s always you that ends up hurt. You leave him on the street, stumble up the stairs to your apartment and sink to the floor as soon as the door clicks shut behind you. It’s dark in your apartment, nothing but streetlights outside casting shadows on furniture he never touched, but it still feels like he’s haunting you just the same.

Bucky’s bike revs to life and he tears away, the sound ripping straight through and down the street. It leaves you hollowed out, a burnt-through husk curled up on your hardwood floor. You know you’ll never hear that sound again.

****

For your entire life it’s always been you against the world. The only person you could ever trust is yourself, the only one who’s going to look out for you is you and you can’t remember a time where you didn’t think this way. Maybe it’s nature, maybe it’s nurture, but it’s how you’ve always seen the world.

However, you’re only now starting to feel what being truly alone is actually like.

Bucky’s contact lies open on your phone, but you don’t press call. You won’t. He pushed you away for your own ‘safety,’ for his own fear, and you’ll have to learn to live with his choice. Even though you still love him and always will, you can’t have him and you’ll just have to be ok with that. So you leave this contact photo up on your phone, resting on your coffee table beside your open laptop. You’ve got the input feed of the bug you planted in your dad’s kitchen open, chunky headphones on, scrolling through the audio from the past few days since you’d last seen him.

Your heart is broken by the first man you’ve ever let into your life and the only other person who knows you and who you trust, you’re currently spying on. Now, for the first time, you truly have no one left.

Focusing on work has always been an escape for you, and even when your life is in pieces around you and your heart looks no different, work still pulls through. Even if that work is your own father and the inane conversations he has with himself about the baseball teams on TV, or the calls he makes to his vet friends, or the late-night renditions of ABBA songs you remember well from your childhood. A file lies open on your coffee table with your father’s name on it and pages of notes you’ve made from nearly one hundred hours of audio recordings. You hope beyond hope that you’re just paranoid, and that this time when you go digging you don’t find anything at all.

The only thing you’ve noticed so far is your dad makes a lot of phone calls. They’re long, with a lot of names thrown around you don’t recognise as being his friends or anyone from work he’s mentioned to you before. You write them all down to look up later, but you’ve got to go meet a client so you shut everything down and collect your notes in the file. You hide them, just in case, and grab your leather jacket before you leave. You still have rent to pay. The world goes on around you despite everything being turned upside down, almost as if Bucky never happened at all.

You leave via the back of the building, to come out onto the street closest to the subway station. Usually smokers hang out around there so you aren’t surprised to see two men leaning against the wall, but you are surprised when they star following you down the alley. At this point you’re an old hand at being followed, and the petty part of you brain thinks in Bucky’s direction, see? Doesn’t matter if you’re here or not, dumbass. You sigh to yourself and plan to give them the run around once you clear the alley, but you don’t get a chance to.

From behind you hear a couple of solid thunks, a groan, a muttered curse from one of the men and then one final thunk before silence. You turn around, half afraid of who you’re going to meet once you do and half annoyed because you think you might know who it is. Sure enough, standing there in her leather jacket and a rusted metal pipe from the dumpster in her grip, is Natasha.

She blows a stray strand of hair out of her face and says, “Fancy seeing you here.”

“So he’ll break up with me but will still have me followed,” you say, folding your arms over your chest. Natasha shrugs and you mutter, “Figures.”

“I am always the first to say James is an idiot,” Natasha says, twirling the pipe like a baton in her delicate hands. She grins at you and says, “James is an idiot.”

“I’m aware,” you grit out, glaring at the red-head. “What are you doing here?”

“Making sure you don’t end up as Hydra mince-meat,” Natasha says, “What does it look like?”

“Doing whatever Bucky says even when it’s stupid,” you say. Natasha doesn’t like that, her bright grin dropping into a scowl as she steps up to you. Small, but with a clearly lethal weapon in her hands if the unconscious bodies behind her are anything to go by, she jabs the tip of the pipe into your chest and forces you a step backwards.

“James always has good intentions, even if his logic is sometimes flawed.” She drops the pipe, letting it clang to the floor between you as if to punctuate her saying, “Besides, James didn't tell me to do anything. I volunteered.”

“Why?” you ask, sneering slightly. “I think we both know you don’t trust me, or like me, and you make it very hard to like you.”

Natasha smiles at that, and you hate the face she makes every time you say something she ‘approves’ of - condescending, like she doesn’t expect you to have brain cells and is surprised every time you do. She says, very solemn despite the smile in her eyes, “I owe you.”

That makes you pause. Instantly, like you’re right back in that bar. You can see her groaning body struggling to stand after being thrown into a wall. Rumlow pointing a gun at her back, the blood-thirst emanating off him in waves. Your own hand, as if detached from your body, flinging the knife across the room into his neck before he can put a bullet in Natasha’s.

You swallow thickly, shake your head and say, “No you don’t.”

“I do,” she insists. She steps forward with her hand out, beckoning her fingers like she wants you to hand her something. You just stare at her empty palm for a few seconds before she clicks her tongue and says, “Phone.”

You hand it over without thinking, which was definitely stupid. But Natasha just types away quickly before giving it back and you see you have a new contact with her name attached entered into your phone.

“If you ever need anything,” she says, and taps your phone screen with her nail, “call me.”

It was only minutes ago you were sitting on your couch scrolling through audio from your tapped father’s kitchen thinking you’ve never been more alone in your life. Yet here you are, looking at a helping hand outstretched from the last person you expected it to come from. Your fingers shake slightly as you tuck your phone into your back pocket, and Natasha smiles at you like she understands.

“Thank you,” you say, and you hope she knows you genuinely do mean it.

Natasha nods, then says, “Get out of here, alright? I have to clean this up.”

You suppose that’s Natasha speak for ‘your welcome,’ so you leave her to it. The whole client meeting you can’t focus properly, too busy trying to decide if you feel safer or more afraid at having one of the scariest women you know watching your apartment. By the end of the day, your conclusion is that if Natasha is going to be in your life, its probably best she’s on your side rather than against it.

When you get home that afternoon there is no sign of the two guys Natasha knocked out, nor is she anywhere to be seen. You can’t help but feel watched, though, as you enter your building and climb the stairs. She’s a busy woman and you know she can’t be watching you all the time but you still feel her green eyes on the back of your neck - its not an altogether uncomfortable sensation. That’s something to unpack later, you think, as you collapse on the couch.

You try to resist, but as soon as you sit down and close your eyes the urge to forget about the case you’ve just taken on and look into your own hunches grows too strong. You get up again and fish out your dad’s file again from your hiding place, bringing it back to the couch to flip open. The list of names you’ve been compiling is at the top, scribbled in messy handwriting as you listened to your dad’s one-sided conversations. You tallied up how many times the same name had been mentioned and in what context, however it had been hard to decipher what your dad was talking about with only half the story.

You decide to go looking into the most mentioned name - more of a title, really. Somebody your dad calls Chief shows up in almost every single conversation he has over the phone, and when you were going through the audio it dredged up some strange, suppressed childhood memory. You used to hear him talking to guys downstairs when you were doing your homework, and you always thought he called them ‘chief’ as a nickname or weird, macho term of endearment like how kids in your class would call each other ‘bro’.

Maybe, he was only talking to one guy. You were going to find out.

Starting at your dad’s job, you scroll through their website and LinkedIn profiles to find any link to the name ‘Chief.’ He works as a security guard for a chain of clubs in the city so you are doubtful, and sure enough nothing really comes up to peak your interest. Your dad really only has one other major outlet to look into and that’s the VA, so you have to swallow past the dirty feeling of investigating suffering vets and start scrolling through the website for the Brooklyn VA group attached to the medical centre.

It’s all wholesome stuff and nothing of interest to your snooping at all until you get to a photo gallery from four years ago. It’s dedicated to commemorating the Brooklyn VA and New York Police Department workshop day promoting mental health for vets and servicemen. There are a bunch of photos of group activities and the lunch put on by the VA, and you spot your dad in a couple of them. You’re about to click off when you find one where your dad is posed with another vet and a very official, very dressed up cop. Nothing you haven’t seen at least forty of before in this gallery, but it’s the caption which makes you pause.

It reads, Some of the Brooklyn VA’s finest with NY Chief of Police. It has to be a coincidence, the man’s job title and nothing more. He’s tall, broad, with sandy blonde hair turning grey under his police hat. There are more medals than you can count pinned to his uniform and even in this grainy photo you can tell he would squash your dad like an ant if he gave the Chief of Police a reason to. You’ve never paid attention to this before, steering clear of cops whenever you can, but you find yourself googling him as soon as you can pull yourself away from his mile-long stare.

As soon as the NYPD profile on the Chief of Police loads, your blood turns to ice. You want to say you’re crazy, you’re crazy, you’re paranoid, but name one time your paranoia had led you wrong? Two strange coincidences don’t happen back to back, no matter how disconnected they may appear. Two worlds you never thought you would know, let alone be watching them collide, stare up at you from your computer screen. You can hear Steve’s voice like he’s sitting right next to you, saying “It is strange we haven’t heard anything from Pierce,” and right under a professional portrait of the Chief of Police is his name burning into the back of your eyelids - Alexander Pierce.

You shove your laptop onto the coffee table and stand, pacing back and forth in front of your couch. Scraping a hand through your hair and pulling half of it out of your head in the process, you try to reason your way out of connecting these dots. They’re barely dots, their echoes of dots - so your dad took a photo with the Chief of Police four years ago and he refers to someone he knows as ‘Chief’ as a nickname and Steve mentioned Pierce was someone in Hydra and the Chief of Police happened to be named Alexander Pierce. So what, right?

“Ok, ok, ok, ok,” you say to yourself, rushed and manic. You’ll just ask your dad. He’s your dad, he was never supposed to hide anything from you so why would he start now? If you just ask he might-

You don’t get to finish your thought. Three loud knocks ring through your empty apartment, your doorbell chiming impatiently straight afterwards. You stare at the door with your heart in your throat, long enough for them to ring the doorbell again and a loud, male voice to call out your full name. Someone you don’t recognise, yet they know where you live. You approach the door on silent feet and look through the peephole, reaching for the baseball bat you keep behind a pot plant as you do.

Standing outside are two men in suits, one of whom is looming at the peephole and making stupid faces while his college rolls his eyes and attempts to hold him back. Through the door, you ask, “Who is it? What department are you with?”

“I’m Special Detective James Rhodes and this is my partner, Special Detective Tony Stark,” the unimpressed cop says, elbowing his colleague out of the way who is still trying to look through the wrong side of the peephole. Holding up a badge and gesturing for his partner to do the same, Detective Rhodes says, “We’re with the FBI, ma’am.”

“Shit,” you say, before realising you said that out loud. Your hand feels numb where you grip your baseball bat tightly, and you decide in that moment you have to be dreaming. No way has the events of the past fifteen minutes taken place.

The guy who must be Detective Stark laughs and says, “Shit is right. Let us in, ma’am, we need to ask you some questions.”

You look back at the coffee table laden with copious notes on your father and your open laptop, Chief of Police Alexander Pierce’s face staring back at you. An omen, you think, but it would be even more suspicious if you asked them to wait to clean everything up. Your heart-stopping, life-changing, maybe-discovery will have to wait.

You slide off the chain and unlock your deadbolt, opening the door for the two FBI agents. They walk in without another word, and it really hits you then. It doesn’t matter what Bucky does now, if he leaves you and never comes back or if he never left at all - you’re in this, now. And now you’ll pay the price.

[kerwritesthings]

Subway Surfing

Summary: When a literal run in changes the course of a day, let alone of a life…

Word Count: little bit over 2.2k

Warning: adorable, fluff and funny

Author Notes: A bit of a birthday surprise for @fallinallincurls​ - Happy, happy birthday Bre! Big birthday deserves nothing more than the start of a new verse for the hockey boy I forced at you last year. Umm sorry not sorry.

Things have been a lot of not ok around here for a good clip, I’ve been really not ok. It’s been hard. Writing hasn’t come, life has just kept throwing me down and down. Trying to fight the way back up, not easy but I’m trying. This was a nice way to try to get back some of that light. I had been poking at this for a beat, the idea gnawing at me with some pieces written, notes scribbled around, but birthday sparkle helped get it over the finish line. Part two already has some bones, as does part three - but please to bear with me if you will.

You hate that it’s a Saturday and you’re trekking your way into the office. It’s finally truly fall in the city and it’s a gorgeous day. The last thing you want is to be stuck at your desk behind a computer screen. You want a hot spiked apple cider, a book, a good playlist and your plaid blanket on the grass in Central Park.

It looks like the rest of the city is awake early on this day for the same reason. The subway, which normally is slightly more bearable at this time on a weekend, is the furthest thing from that. It’s packed with people including the grimy, sweat-ladened guy in the chopped-up joggers and crocs who keeps trying to “accidentally” bump and grab you every chance he gets.

The next stop, you try to move but too many people are coming on and off as the doors only quickly open and shut. You just end up jostling as the car jolts in its start. You can’t fall forward. It would land you right into the situation you’re trying to flee. Instead, you try to lean back but you slip. Fully prepared to wipe out, a hand comes gently to steady your elbow while another holds you at your shoulder.

You hear a mish mosh of “careful there” and “are you ok” crossing together as you get back steady on your feet.

“Thanks for saving me for either face planting or landing in that sweaty creep’s grasp,” you say, sliding your bag back securely on your shoulder before turning.

You know those faces. You’ve seen them on billboards and most definitely on TV. Shit, shit and shit. Of course, the two star, absolutely adorable bestie forwards from the New York Islanders have come to your rescue. This would be your luck. At least you pulled yourself somewhat together for this Saturday jaunt to the office. You keep a straight face, smiling normally and not letting anything on.

“Couldn’t let you risk that. He’s been a bit of an ass since he got into the car. We said if he were still acting a fool at next stop, we would jump in. Plotted a rescue mission and everything,” the one explains, hand running through his hair.

“His mission was to cross his arms and give him the eye,” the other mocks, shoving at his friend’s shoulder. “I mean I guess he can look threatening, like a puppy maybe.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. These two are exactly as they’ve seemed in interviews. Mathew and Anthony really are as thick as thieves.

“That sarcastic asshole is Anthony and I’m Mat. We’ll stay close until he leaves, or you need to,” he remarks.

“You don’t have to do that. It’s the subway. That happening unfortunately is just another day that ends in y, you know?” you explain. “I also don’t want to take up more of your time or ruin any of your plans.”

“You deal with that? Often?” Anthony asks, eyes a little wide.

“Welcome to New York,” you shrug. “Not every day thankfully. But it’s often enough.”

“I hope you know, that wasn’t, and we weren’t...” Mat tries to stumble through.

“No, no, no. Totally. I didn’t get that whatsoever,” you respond. “Not that from either of you guys. Promise. It’s sweet to know there are still gentlemen out in this world.”

They both get a little bashful smile across their pretty faces.

“Glad to help,” they practically say in unison which causes you to bark out a laugh.

Time to shoot your shot, you think to yourself. Worse case, it’s a moment you get to have for a fun bar story.

“I think we need to become friends, boys,” you start. “Or at the very least, I owe you a drink for saving me.”

“Yes,” Anthony jumps in, nodding his head with a wide grin. “You should come to brunch with us.”

“If I didn’t have to get to the office I would,” you reply. “Unfortunately, it’s stuff I need done before a Monday morning meeting.”

“Office work on a Saturday? That’s no fun. Play hooky! We can promise a bottomless brunch,” he teases.

“Maybe after though?” Mat chimes in with a soft smile. “Get what you need to done, give you something to look forward to after?”

“I don’t want to ruin whatever plans you’ve had for the day,” you begin before the boys both shake their heads.

“It’s just brunch and shopping to try to get this one to up his style game,” Mat chides while Anthony rolls his eyes.

You bite your lip fighting back yet another giggle. These two, at the very least, would truly make some good friends. You dig around in your tote, finally snatching your card holder.

“Not sure how long I’ll be stuck. I’m hoping only a couple hours. But. If you’re serious. Text or call me,” you say, handing one off to each of them.

They both nod, each pocketing your card as the subway comes to a halt.

“Oh shit, this stop is mine. Thanks again for the soft hands and clutch assist guys,” you wink, dashing away quickly before the doors close.

“What is my life,” you mutter, the boys waiving as the train pulls away. “I need to get to the office.”

“Ok, I think that’s the first time we’ve ever had someone realize who we are in public, without a whole big scene or making a blatant ass grab type pass. We’re keeping her. Plus, you like her,” Anthony teases, shoving at Mat’s shoulder as they hit the sidewalk coming up from the subway.

“I could say the same thing to you Tito,” he snarks back, shoving in return. “You were batting the eyes. I’m not blind.”

“She seems cool and yeah she’s pretty, but I’m not jaw drop like you were when you saw her,” he chirps back. “I was trying to get a rise out of you dude. And it worked, you actually stepped up the game. And now you have her info. Don’t make me text her too. Cause I will.”

You’re just about to settle into your email with a cup of what your office likes to consider coffee when your phone starts buzzing about in quick succession.

“Looks like this is a thing,” you mumble to yourself, lips quirking up into a half smile as you formulate a reply.

“You knew?” Anthony grins over his beer. “From the start?”

You nod, sipping at your cider. You pushed through your work to be able to meet the two downtown at this tiny spot in NoLiTa that was tucked away from the crazy of the neighborhoods it was snug between. It wasn’t as sleek as you thought they’d choose; it was something much more comfortable and lower key.

“Really?” Mat questions.

“Yep. One of you not with the other? I would have had to do double take. I would have noticed, but probably would have questioned. However, the two peas in a pod together? That was a no brainer,” you explain, fighting back a bit of a giggle.

“You didn’t say anything,” Mat replies.

“How many times does that happen and it turn into a thing or a bit of a scene?” you circle the bottom of the cider bottle around on the tabletop. “There was also no point to, either. You were just trying to enjoy the day and you were being super kind keeping me from wiping out. I get it’s New York, so it’s a less likely thing but it still happens.  So, if I could keep it from another one of those moments...”

“Told you Barzy, we’re keeping her,” Anthony taps his beer against yours. “Welcome to the crazy, Evangeline.”

You can’t help but tinge a little pink.

“Well then. If that’s the case, my friends call me Evie,” you smile.

“Evie,” Mat lets the name roll around his tongue.

A couple rounds later, of both beers and darts, you realize how tight the two are and more so, how easily you could become entangled in friendship with them. And you do. Texts and memes and random photos fly back and forth, you all hang when all your schedules align. You’re also fostering relationships with each of them separately too; sharing recipes of things you want to try to bake and longing about the places you miss in Quebec with Anthony while Mat was trying to teach you more about basketball (with little luck) and in turn you trying to expand what he calls music and what actually is music. You also share some of your favorite places in the city that the two really didn’t know about. It was easy with them, together and individually but you were getting a bit more of a tug, a bit of a warmer burn with Mat.

A Saturday morning a few weeks after the afternoon drinking funtivities, you wake up to a few texts, photos really, from the group chat with the boys. First is a pair of tickets and passes to their game that night. Second is two jerseys: a blue Barzal and a white Beauvillier. The third, a text from Mat.

Choose carefully…

We’re also not taking no for an answer. You’re coming. Game and drinks after.

“Oh shit,” you exhale, quickly jumping to your closet.

“Beth?” you call out from your room, tossing through your clothes looking for two specific items. “Please tell me you don’t have plans tonight.”

“Hot date with a bottle of pinot noir and trash tv, why?” she pokes her head into your room.

“Good. You do now. You’re coming with me to the Islanders game tonight,” you mutter, flipping through more hangars.

“Wait excuse me?” she flops down, cross-legged on the end of your bed.

“So, I may have left a tiny detail out from when I told you about the two cute guys who saved me on the subway,” you explain.

“Ok and?” Beth prompts you to continue.

“They’re Islanders…” you trail off.

“What?” she screams tossing one of your throw pillows at you.

“I’m trying to not make a big deal, cause you know. But, at the same time, well you know,” you reply, finally finding the long sleeve you wanted to wear as well as one of your hockey jerseys.

“You need to give me more than this, Evie,” Beth pries.

You lean back against your closet door.

“It was Anthony Beauvillier and Mat Barzal,” you say.

Beth screams and throws another pillow at you.

“You just casually didn’t tell me that you met the damn Calder winner and his like bromance bestie,” she laments. “Evie, what the fuck?”

“This is exactly why,” you sigh. “Like it started out as ok I could have a moment, a cool story to tell. But honestly, they’re two really great guys.”

“You’re not telling me something, I can see it in that wistful look,” she pokes. “Oh god you’re sweet on one of them, aren’t you?”

You shake your head at Beth, not acknowledging the question. Shoving her over a little, you fold the jersey on the bed next to her, so the logo was perfectly visible, but no giveaway of the name on the back or numbers on the sleeves.  

Fine if you two summon I guess I must go. I’m bringing Beth, my roommate, so you need to behave. She’s already a pretty big hockey fan so I apologize now in advance for any of her crazy. She’s great but gets excited. Also, easy answer: where’s the Ebs jersey? ;) Or I can always wear this one.

You snap a quick shot of your Dallas Stars jersey.

Mat of course chimes in first.

That’s cold Evie, really cold. And that thing? That’s even worse. Who is on there? Do I wanna know?

Then Anthony.

Non. Non. Non. Why do you even have that jersey!?

“You’ve got that look,” Beth pokes at your thigh. “I’ll leave you be for now. Need to be at the arena what 6? We should leave here at 4:30. Worse case we get there early, we can snag a drink nearby. I don’t trust the train or the subway on a Saturday to be on time. Thanks for bringing me, Roomie. I’m excited and I get to meet these boys of yours.”

I have favorites across the league, you both know I liked the sport well before you two came along. I have the appropriate jerseys for my boys. Well, almost. You guys making me choose is mean af. Rock paper scissors it between you both, whoever wins that’s what I’ll wear.

“Just leave her yours, you know you want to no matter who would win at that little challenge of Evie’s,” Anthony smiles as the text comes through, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “And I know you’d pull shit to do it no matter what. She’s really your girl anyway.”

“What…” Mat starts before Anthony jumps in.

“You know it’s never been like that with her for me, dude. She’s awesome and I’m so glad to have her as a friend,” he replies. “You though? Since moment one, she’s been something else for you. You need to make a move. You’ve got game, I’ve seen it.”

“Evie’s. She’s Evie. There’s more there...” he leans back into his locker.

“More reason to then Barzy,” he volleys back. “Come on, get your shit together. We can drop everything to leave for her on the way out.”

[blahkugo]

SUUUUUUNNYYYYYYYYYYY HOLY HELL CONGRATULATIONS!! This is awesome! Your writing is so fucking phenomenal, and you deserve every follower and more!! For the event *cough* TanakaRyū? In an, oof, dangerous professions au? 👀🥊🏹🏂🤺🧗🏎🚀🔫🧨 I’m unsure how many more dangerous emojis there are but lol. Have a wonderful day!! Xxxxxx congrats again!

CLAUDIAAA I LOVE YOU!! your writing is absolutely phenomenal and your compliments make my heart HURT ♡ enjoy your tanaka baby, i had so much fun writing it!!

                                  -ˋˏ ༻ 光 ༺ ˎˊ-

「TANAKA RYŪ」

— street fighter! au

— warnings: 18+ smut, blood kink, tanaka being a merciless tease<3 

⤏ okay, okay: i know this is a ‘dangerous profession au’ and not an underground one, but this just makes the most sense for tanaka

⤏ ryū is all bark and no bite, but it doesn’t stop him from pretending he’s got the muscle to back the mouth

⤏ this is precisely why i think he’d be the perfect fit for an underground street fighter. think, ‘fight club’ mixed with ufc

⤏ he’s the epitome of a shit talker, never stops goading his opponents even when they’ve got him two seconds away from losing consciousness; he doesn’t know how to shut his mouth, even though he’s always losing

⤏ even so, he’s got a knack for being the crowd‘s #1. his grin never wavers, his fists never go down. he fights until his last breath, and that’s why he’s everyone’s favorite underdog

⤏ the fights are illegal, betting pools made in shady abandoned subways and grimy basements, but the man really has no other choice

⤏ see, he was initially better known for brazilian jiu-jitsu; in fact, he was an extremely famous fighter that won the hearts of people around the world

⤏ but he got too cocky; feeling invincible under the shroud of fame, he began to spiral

⤏ and 1 tragic run in with the police later, his public image was destroyed; so, he reluctantly decided to trade in grapples and chokeholds for bruised knuckles and bloody teeth

⤏ though he simply does it to survive, he can’t deny that the thrill of the match sends blood pumping through his veins, keeps him feeling alive and present

⤏ to make some extra cash, you decide to act as impromptu ring girl— and ryū is utterly infatuated upon first sight

⤏ honestly, you were a bit afraid at first. here’s this heavily tattooed, gruff looking man with a shaved head hitting you with an onslaught of attention every time you walk into the room. what are you supposed to think?

⤏ though you quickly realize he’s a sweetheart underneath that tough appearance, it doesn’t stop you from rolling your eyes at every dramatic come-on. and trust me, there’s a lot of them

⤏ he flirts relentlessly, will say anything and everything that crosses his mind. it’s sweet, maybe, but mostly embarrassing. you never really take him seriously anyways; every comment is paired with a sly smirk and booming laugh

⤏ one day, he proposes a bet. if he wins, he gets to take you out. of course, he never wins, so why not humor the man?

⤏ yeah, you guessed it: he loses

⤏ but watching him fight this time, you found something in your perception of ryū shift...

As everyone files out of the dingy basement, you find yourself lagging behind, eyes trained of the man crouching in the makeshift ring. You’re unsure what possesses you as you make your way over to him, clean towel in hand. He’s a flirt— a persistent one at that— but watching him fight today, you realize there’s a certain elegance to losing with dignity. His smile, though bloodied, never once wavered, his bandaged knuckles never once dropped. 

When he notices you approaching, he rubs his wounded nose; it does nothing but smudge crimson over his stained bandages, a bright red warning sign begging you to keep away. You never listen. Kneeling next to him, you blurt out the question running through your mind, 

“Why do you fight so hard if you lose every time?” 

Instead of his usual quick retorts or coy banter, he flashes you that same toothy grin and relaxed brows he bares to opponents and friends alike. Carefree, nonchalant, happy— even with the unseemly purple bruises forming on his cheekbones.  

As always, it’s utterly infectious, and before you know it, you’re grinning right back at him. 

“Do you want to hear the deep answer or the honest truth?” His words seem teasing, but they hold a sobriety you’ve never quite witnessed on Tanaka. He shifts his jaw, making room for you to wipe at his injuries with the clean rag.

“Both,” you prod, curiosity overtaking you as you have your first serious conversation with the sly boxer. 

“Would it be completely pathetic if I said it makes me feel alive?” His smile wavers a bit, as though he’s revealed something deeply intimate, a concept he’s grappled a million times over in his head. You simply nod, allowing him to speak freely. “Every bruise is a reminder that I’m not dead,” his voice falters, “like I would be if I was still on the streets.” 

The severity of his confession shakes you, reminds you that most of the members at the underground club don’t come from preppy private schools or trust funds. They’re here to make a living— to survive. 

“And the honest truth?” You don’t bother with consolation, don’t believe pity or faux reassurance would satisfy Tanaka anyways. 

“I think I look pretty damn cool in the ring,” his eyes bore into yours, smirk back in full force as he regains his usual composure. Forever a flirt. Have his eyes always been that stormy gray? 

“Want to hear my honest truth?” He nods, gaze bordering on ravenous as he awaits your admission. “I think you do too.” 

It’s as though the words have a physical effect on the tired boxer; he immediately puffs his chest up, his head is held just a bit higher. The words, quite possibly your first ever compliment towards him, instill a newfound confidence that you’re only used to seeing when he’s poking fun. 

“Ha! Always knew you found me irresistible,” he raises battered fingers towards your jaw, pulling it between them and grazing at your cheeks. He’s probably smearing blood all over you and typically, you’d push him away— but tonight everything feels different. 

Perhaps it’s the low fluorescent lighting or the charged silence filling the empty room. Maybe it’s his attitude. Any which way, there’s a magnetism in the air that pulls you to him, tugs at your heartstrings and urges you to care for the underdog. 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” lips puckering, you do your best to remain stoic, to no avail. His eyes bore into yours, darkening by the second. Though the moment becomes infused with tension, you refuse to drop your gaze, instead attempting to shift back into the comfortable banter you and Ryū share. “Who said anything about being irresis—”

He doesn’t allow you a moment to finish your sentence, yanking your face to his. He tongues you with a fervor, lithe fingers wrapping across the back of your head to tug you impossibly closer. Sweat, the sharp tang of metal, and even something a bit minty— the flavor of his mouth spreads through you, clouds your head with greed, and intoxicates you in such a way that your only thought is of wanting more. 

When you finally pull away, flushed and breathless, Ryū notices the kiss has split his wound once again. Deep red drips across his soft lips, down his chin, and dribbles onto his knee. But it seems he’s been stupefied, utterly amazed by this unforeseen turn of events; his thumb inches towards the blood, but he doesn’t seem to care to clean it all up. So, you figure you’ll take matters into your own hands. 

“Let me,” you offer, bringing his rugged fingers towards your mouth. Licking a long stripe from wrist to thumb, you never once break eye contact as you peer up at him through thick lashes. He’s unable to do anything but watch, enchanted by your wet tongue lapping at his digits. 

Gradually, your lips travel upwards, kissing and suckling at bruised knuckles, making sure to soothe over every gash, every groove of pained flesh. The hair on his arms rises, a throaty groan caught in his throat. Heat and heat and so much heat— the warmth in your stomach, across his cheeks and the tips of his ears— flows freely, intertwining. 

It doesn’t matter that the enormous room is empty, or that the air is chilled outside; the ring is filled with a feverish longing, a craving for touch you never even realized was there. Not until you reach his defined collarbones, teeth grazing at his skin. 

As soon as your mouth sucks at the sweet spot on his neck, a switch flips in him. Before you know it, you’re on your back; Ryū’s body looms over yours, his knee pressed between your legs. His hands roam, loosely tied bandages traveling your waist, dashing beneath your top and over your taut stomach. 

Though his touch is gentle, a ghost of a breath, it sends your nerves into a frenzy. Slowly, slowly, ever-so slowly, slender fingers toy at your breasts, squeezing and circling your hardened nipples. A bite at your neck, a wet lick to soothe the burn; he’s teasing, even now, as you mewl and writhe for more. 

And yet again, you’re flipped, this time onto hands and knees. You’re nothing more than a rag doll to the hearty boxer, a feathery thing to the man who lifts almost twice your weight daily. Your back meets solid muscle as he cages you between him and the ring’s chilled floor. 

He wastes no time tugging your shorts and panties down, drifting his palms over the globes of your ass, and squeezing. But still, he never touches your cunny. And God, does it ache for it. 

“You’re still teasing,” you pant, arms reaching behind you to tap at his bicep. 

“Maybe,” a finger slips towards your cunt, brushes across the sopping slit and onto your clit, “Wanna hear you beg for it.” 

His answer stuns you, so unlike the buoyant man that fawns over you day after day. It’s a pleasant change, to say the least.

“Ryū,” your whine echoes through the vacant room, “can’t.” There’s no way in hell you’ll be begging for him. 

“Can’t,” his voice is raspy, teeming with desire, “or won’t?”  He inches a digit in, stopping just short of a second knuckle, while the other rubs at your swollen bundle of nerves. You stifle a groan when he begins nipping the shell of your ear, but as soon as he begins his movements, he stills once again. 

“F-fine,” whimpering, you admit defeat, “fuck, please.”

“You can tap out if it gets too much,” he chuckles under his breath. 

And then, finally, he’s pumping into you again, stretching you once more; one finger, then another, his thumb drawing cruel circles at your clit. It’s shameful, immoral even, the way you plead and moan with every push into you. Curling his fingers, he dips further into your doughy walls, pushing against a spot that you swear has you seeing God. And his name, it leaves your lips like a prayer, over and over— a sinner at confession. 

You search for something, anything, to grasp at. But the floor is smooth, the ring’s ropes just a hair too far for you to pull at. So, you settle for wrapping a hand around the arm that pushes into your lower back, your other rapping, fingernails scratching, at the mat below you. 

“I said you could tap,” another deep pump into you elicits a lengthy mewl, “but I didn’t say I would listen.” 

                          ᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ 光 ⚘᠂ ⚘ ᠃

[world-of-aus]

Hearts At Stake

Pairing:Vampire!Bucky x Reader

Word Count:7,322

Warnings:bit of angst, fluff.

Author’s Note: I’m sorry for the delay y’all this should have been out yesterday but it got away from me and i apologize profusely. I swear i changed the plot three times till i finally stuck with this one, and i hope you’ll enjoy it! Thank you so much for reading it means so much.

Find My Other Works Here: Main Masterlist

Sunset.

Your breath hitched in your throat as you watched with an unwavering gaze, as the yellow-orange orb of light slowly sank beneath the horizon. You needed to get home and quick, it was unsafe for you to be out once the sun had settled, everyone knew that. Your feet pick up pace; barely there threads of light lingering in the darkening blue sky mingling with the rolling clouds above your head.

You were still ways away from your apartment, and from the way the sunset melted into a stygian darkness that took over the sky, you knew you would be in for it tonight. You just hoped your feet could carry you home quick enough. As soon as the first sequined star lit up the night sky, howls of laughter tore throughout the streets. You tried to even you breathing, the racing of your pumping heart, why hadn’t you left the office earlier!

Your running now, legs pumping as the howls of laughter echo around you, “she smells sweet boys!”

A scream wants to tear from your lips, but you know that will only make your already dire situation much worse. Your legs are threatening to give out on you, your feet burning as you push your heeled feet further turning a sharp right onto your block. You hit a wall of muscle a scream threatening to escape your lips, but your frozen. His face is stoic, he’s bringing a finger to his lips, “If you don’t want to end up bleeding out in a grimy alleyway, I need you to do exactly as I say.”

His voice sends a shiver through you, freezing you into submission.  

Footsteps sound from behind you and you can’t help but cower closer to the equally as intimidating man before you.

“Ah shit.” you hear from behind you, and it's enough to send skin on your arms rising in fear.

“James, how’s it going see you caught our little escapee,” another voice different from the first calls out, “thanks for cutting her off for us man,”

Your heart beats heavily in your ears, eyes widening, oh god you were going to pass out, you were going to pass out. You can feel yourself sway, but the strangers hand shoots out, steadying your swaying form with his hand on your hip, a cold pressed through your cardigan, past your silk cami, till its spreading through your skin. Your eyes widen again, your feet pace, ane he must catch onto it because he stares down at you, jaw ticking, eyes flashing red, and it takes your breath away.  

His eyes slide back to the men behind you, “Look James, we don’t want any trouble with you or yours we just want the girl and we’ll go.” You watch his jaw clench, a shake of his head, “You asked for trouble the second you came to these parts.”

A growl sounds from behind you, “We didn’t know the bitch was a runner, just hand her over and we can all go about our way.”

“now why would I do that, she doesn’t look like she wants to go with you, she looks like she would rather be anywhere else than in the company of the two of you.”

“Barnes we don’t want to play any games tonight, just hand the damn girl over.”

James chuckles lowly, the sound resonating within you, “and you think I want to play games, that’s about the last thing I want to do with you two buffoons,” he sighs “the girl isn’t leaving with you two it’s best to just cut your losses.”

“And we said we weren’t leaving without the girl.”  

James lets out a sigh, a coolness washing over your face making you shiver further, “I guess we’re doing this the hard way,” he muttered.

It all happened so quickly, you were pressed behind him just as quickly as you had smashed into him minutes before.

“All this for a girl Barnes, thought you were better than this.”

“And we thought you were better than this, he grunted, “guess we can’t all get what we want.”

You peer over the burly man’s shoulders the two men that wanted you staring right back at you, their eyes glowing an almost black red.

You wondered if you could make a run for it, “wouldn’t suggest that,” a cool voice whispered into your hair.

Your legs buckled from under you; strong hands caught you from behind, James looked over his shoulder eyes looking over you, “get her home, and be quick about it.”

You wanted to scream but you couldn’t find your voice, “I'll be back don’t have too much fun without me,” the voice called from behind you, “come on let's get you out of here.”

You want to dig your heels into the rain slicked street, but you're not match for the hands wrangling you, “which apartment complex is yours?”

Your head shoots back to him eyes wide, “w-what?”

The shaggy haired blonde laughs, “surprised aren’t you,” he questions, “we’re not all like those you hear about in the news.”

“i- I just-”

He’s shaking his head, a smile pulling at his surprisingly pink lips, “don’t have to explain yourself to me, just make sure you leave work earlier, as soon as the stars are out, so are the “undead”.

“which is yours?” he questioned to the complexes, “that one over there,” you replied shakily.

He nodded “I'll see you in, and if you see those two, as long as you don’t welcome them into your home, they can’t step foot in there.”

You furrowed your brows, “that's actually a thing, we have to invite you in?”

He nodded his head, “yeah, we need your permission always.”

“even those other two back there would have to follow?”

He’s chuckling, “they might not choose to live like we do, but they still have to follow certain rules.” A pause “why don’t you get inside, I think you’ve had enough for one night.”

Your nodding your head before turning away intent on grabbing your keys and thanking him, but when your eyes are sliding back to where he was, he’s not there, he had disappeared into the shadows of the night, you hadn’t even gotten his name.

With the wind picking up around you, so did the noises of the night. Another shiver rolled through you as you raced up the steps of your home, your mother would never believe this, you thought as you leaned against the closed door of your home.

And she really hadn’t.

It was a week later and you were on your lunch break your mother badgering you over the phone.

“Y/n I cannot allow you to walk home alone, not after what you went through, and why has it taken you a week to tell me about this incident, would you have rather me find out in the news that they found your body in a dark and grimy alley?!”

You rolled your eyes, “mother this is exactly why I didn’t tell you anything sooner, look at how you're getting,” you sighed, “I’m fine mom really, there’s no need to send anybody to walk me home, I’ve started leaving the office earlier it was one night, it was just a slip up I promise I don’t need somebody to walk me home!”

Your mother huffed over the line, “Oh y/n you know your mother only worries for your safety, look if you ever have to stay late and you ever need help getting home please call me before you leave that office, I will make sure there is someone there to get you home safely.”

“Of course, mother I promise should there ever be any reason for help, I will let you know I promise, now look my lunch is almost up and I must finish my work if I want to head home early.”

“Alright sweetheart, well I'm glad you advised me, but really I wish you would have said something sooner, please call me the second you get home I need to make sure you get home with all the craziness now in our world, I can’t fathom losing you too.”

“I know mom,” you whispered into the line,  

“I’ll call you as soon as I get home.”

“Y/n honestly sweetheart I’m just thinking about you at this point,” she sighed, “I’ll let you go sweetheart, I hope you’ll make time to come visit me and your father soon.”

“I’ll try my hardest mother.”

“ I love you sweetheart be safe.

“I love you too.”

The line cut off shortly after, your eyes drifted to the frame that sat on your desk, it was of you and your brother, before these times. The two of you had been two peas in a pod, you wouldn’t catch one without the other. You never imagined you would have to be laying your brother to rest before you parents but when News of the undead had begun to rise throughout your quiet town, not many had headed the caution that came with said news, your brother one of them. It wasn’t shortly after that news of many of the residents of your quiet town had begun to be found dead in the grimy alleyways your mother cautioned you of, when you had gotten news of your brothers fate, your mother had done all she could to keep you from that very same fate. You were lost without your brother, and ultimately it had drove you away from your parents, leaving home had been inevitable.

While on your own you had been lucky enough to never have an occurrence happen, but the news had been there to show you all the horrors. So you had been cautious, repeating a daily mantra that you would not be another body in the alleyway where so many had been found. That was until last week of course; that had been your first ever occurrence, and you couldn’t get that night out of your head, you couldn’t get James or his friend out of your head, you couldn’t understand why your life had been spared.

The news had depicted the undead as blood thirsty humans that would stop at nothing to feed on the next living human soul. They had advised every morning to be in the safety of your own homes before the sun went down, and lock and board every door or window so that none could enter, and that if you were to be caught in the streets after sundown, well god be with you. You had never once heard of the ones that were like James and his friend, the ones that protected the likes of you, that made sure you got home, that disappeared into the shadows once they had made sure you were safe. Why wasn’t the news talking about them?

A sigh left your lips as you returned to your computer, you sat there for hours just looking at the damn project that you know needed to be completed by the end of the week but you couldn’t bring yourself to actually getting anything done. Maybe calling your mother had been a bad idea. You allowed another two hours to pass you by before you were done, shutting down your desktop, you began to gather your things, you could only hope tomorrow would be a better day.

You were exiting the through the building's doors making your way down the street when a shiver rolled through you. You pulled your suit jacket closer, as you continued your trek home. The walk home had been a lot quicker this evening, ever since that night, you had increased the speed in which you walked home, you never wanted to be put in a situation like that night ever.  

You were throwing up the door to your apartment, when you froze mid-step, eyes wide, he was standing in the middle of your apartment, eyes on your unmoving form. He’s moving towards you, your breath catching in your throat, your hand falls away from the door as he shuts it silently behind you. He’s feet away from you eyes glowering, you want to look away but your entranced. Thick, lustrous, dark brown hair framed his face; mesmerizing ocean blue orbs with flecks of hazel throughout held you in place. His face was strong, defined porcelain features molded from granite. Dark brows rested above his eyes, sloped down into a solemn expression.

You finally find your voice, “w-what are you doing in here,” you questioned shakily, “h-how did you even get in?”

His head tilts to the side slightly, brow raised, “I’ve been on your mind haven’t I,” he questioned.

“w-well y-yes but -”

“that’s why I'm here,” he replies, he almost looks bored, but then again you can’t really get a read on him.

“but I thought, you had to be welcomed in, I-I didn’t welcome you in.”

Hie eyes study you, “would you like me to go?”

You weren’t sure what you were thinking when your shook your head ‘no’ you both are unmoving as the seconds tick you by before you can find your voice again, “why are you here?”

“like I said I've been on your mind haven’t I, my names running through your mind, you’ve been curious about me, I can only let this pull I have to you go on for so long before I must do something about it.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, “pull,” you questioned, “what ever do you mean by that.”

“I’m sure my friend Steve,” so that was shaggy blondes name, “who helped you home that night explained that the only way for us to enter your home is for you to welcome us in, well doll, since my name and the event of that night have been running frigid through your curious mind I have a pull to you it’s like your calling for me,” your brows furrowed further in confusion, “but I wasn’t speaking your name,” you replied.

He chuckles lowly, the sound resonating deep within you, “you don’t need to speak my name for me to hear it,” his words take you by surprise, your feet backing up as he draws closer. Your back hits the door, breath catching in your throat when he runs a finger over you cheek, it should have left you cold like that night that same hand rested on your hip, but instead there’s a warmth left in its wake, a warmth that spreads within you.

“W-what is happening, y-you,”  

“You feel it don’t you,” he questions.

What were you supposed to be feeling because you were sure the warmth flowing within you wasn’t it. He’s cupping your cheek now, “what do you feel?” He questions and his eyes are shining something different.

“Warmth.”

He’s pulling his hand away as if he’s been burnt by your touch.

“I have to go,” he murmurs and he’s turning on his heel making his way through your apartment.  

Your confused as you chase after him, “James, James wait, what is going on, why are you-”

His body tenses by the open window, “I’m sorry if I have confused you any further, but I really must go.”

Needs to go? But you need answers and he’s the only one who has them.

Your moving forward again, hand falling to his bicep, “James please I-”

His head snaps towards you, eyes glowing red, the same red you saw that night a week ago from the two who were likely to have left you lifeless in an alleyway. Your hand falls from his arm, you take a step back.

His jaw is clenched hands tightening to fist by his sides, “i need to go, I’m sorry,” he grunts.

Just like Steve he’s gone in the blink of an eye, except this time he isn’t disappearing into the shadows of the night, he’s disappearing with the last warm rays of sun, he’s disappearing with what feels like a part of you.

Another week passes and just like the week before your mind is on James, you don’t mean to think about him, but your world has shifted since that night two weeks ago, and with his visit last week there was so many things left unanswered for you. You had tried to throw yourself into work, tried your hardest to stay on task to put the finishing touches to the project, but whenever you came to a halt in the project your mind would wander back to him.

“Y/n head home, this project is wearing you out, you can barely keep focus on it, go home get some rest and you can finish this project up tomorrow, you know I’m willing to wait one more day.”

Tired eyes look up from your computers screen, your partner assigned to the same project is looking at you with worried eyes, “I’m almost done, give me two hours max, I’ll have it ready.”

She’s shaking her head, “it’s fine y/n, just head home this project is draining both of us, we can take one more day, please go home and relax you need it.”

That’s not the only thing you needed.

A sigh leaves your lips, “are you absolutely sure we can take another day?”

A smile tugs at your coworkers lips, “I already spoke to our higher ups they knew this project was going to need more time so they offered us another week for completion, so please for the love of god go home early and relax you look like you’ve been through hell and back.”

You chuckled softly as you shutdown your desktop gathering your things, “thank you, for doing this,” you murmured as you met her outside of your door.

“We both needed it,” she smiled, “now go and I better see you ready to kick some ass tomorrow.”

You thank her once more as you made your way out of the office. You really needed to get it together, you couldn’t be letting this or rather him affect your work. You didn’t even know the man, there was no way you could let yourself get so taken with him.

Your walk home is a little slower this time, there’s something about this afternoon that has you slowing down to enjoy the scenery around you, you feel calm, at peace, safe. Walking up the steps to complex you push open the front door trekking up another flight of stairs to get to your floor. Your stopping at the top of the stairs, two pairs of eyes turn to greet you, your brows furrow, “Steve?”

The shaggy haired blonde offers you a small smile and wave, you don’t move from the tops of the stairs, “was wondering If you could spare us a few minutes of your time, there’s some things we need to speak with you about, and its rather urgent.”

“us?” you questioned looking between the two of them.

“where are my manners,” the man next to Steve chuckled, he was moving forward then, hand stretched out towards you, “Sam Wilson, pleasure to meet you.” your brows furrow in confusion when your met with nothing but warmth, you glance down at your joined hands before they’re flitting back up to meet Sam’s eyes, “we’ll explain everything, we just need a few minutes of your time, if after we’ve told you everything we feel you need to know and you decide you want us to leave, you won’t ever hear from us again.

You were staring at the two men incredulously, your head shakes slightly, you hope the movement will make processing the information they chucked at you clearer, but it seemed to have only left you more confused.

“so what I'm like his soulmate?” you questioned.

Steve’s mouth parted, “well not exact-”

“If that makes this easier to process you can very well see it like that,” Sam cuts him off.

Your head shakes again, fingers pushing your hair behind your ears, “okay, okay,” you breath, “so say I am connected to Bucky on some level, is that the pull he was talking about,” you questioned, “you sure it wasn’t me just thinking about him as frequently as I did, as frequently as I still am that is causing this thing between us?”

Steve runs a hand over his beard, “y/n we know what we feel when a person is just merely thinking of us, or inviting us in, and we also know what it's like to be on a spiritual level with someone albeit Bucky’s was never as strong as it is now with you, that’s why he left as quickly as he did that evening, he had had every intention of giving you all the answers you needed, but when you said you felt warmth when he touched you he freaked, he didn’t think it would ever happen to him.”

You frowned taking in Steve’s words, another question sat on your tongue, though you're sure their answer would just confuse you further than you already felt. “might you know or rather did Bucky mention to you why his eyes flashed red, when I tried to get him to stay.”

You watched both men tense slightly, a sigh leaving their lips at the same time, “Y/n you promise you won’t freak out on us?” Steve questioned. You raised a brow, your heart racing in your chest, “why would I freak out?” you questioned calmly.

“I can hear your heart racing,” Steve chuckled, “look what you’re about to hear will likely have you wanting to run for the hills but I need you to just hear us out.”

You chuckled nervously, “isn’t that what I've been doing?”

“and you’ve been doing a great job at being understanding,” Sam added, “but what your about to hear, is something a lot of those bonded with the undead have a hard time hearing much less processing, we really wouldn’t blame you if you ran for the hills.”

Your eyes widened, “Sam,” Steve hissed smacking him in the gut, “What,” Sam grunted, but then he saw your frozen form.

“look y/n the reason for Bucky’s eyes flashing red is because,” Steve paused mulling over his words, tongue running over his bottom lip as he tried to find the right way to phrase this next part, “y/n when a person like yourself and a person like Bucky bond on a spiritual level somethings shifts within us.” he paused gauging your reaction.

“Something like what,” you questioned.

“well y/n, I'm sure you know that vampires must feed on blood to survive, and while we can feed on animal blood it isn’t quite the same or as fulfilling when its human blood,” there goes your heart again, “this feeling tends to become heightened when you’re around that person you’re spiritually bonded too.” oh god.

“So bucky wanted to feed on me?” your voice come out in a panicked squeak, oh god you would suffer the same fate as your brother, except it wouldn’t be in a grimy, wet, alley, it would be in your home.

You were suddenly feeling lightheaded, you needed some air, “y/n, you okay?” Sam questioned watching your swaying form.

“oh yeah, yeah,” you replied feet struggling to keep you up as you pushed off the chair, “Just peachy,” you murmured, taking one step before the world around you went black.

“What the hell did the two of you do to her,” his voice broke through your hazy mind, “when I told the two of you to come speak with her, I didn’t mean send her into a damn panic!”

Your eyes fluttered slightly as you struggled to get them open, “Buck, you asked us to come talk to her and we did, everything she needed answers to we provided them as best as we could,”

Buck sighed, “well what made her get so worked up she passed out?”

“she asked about your eyes flashing red,” a breath, “please tell me you didn’t Steve, please tell me you didn’t tell her.” the tone of Bucky’s voice is tense.

“Bucky I had no other choice she needed to kn-”

“Bullshit Steve, she didn’t need to know, you could have said anything else, why the hell did you have to tell her that, she has a right to chose not to go through with any of this, she has a a right to send us straight to hell!”

“Bucky I was just -”

“Steve that decision isn’t ours to make, I'm not going to force her into anything for fucks sake Steve we barely even know the girl and to throw her into something like this, she has a normal life Steve, it doesn’t matter what happens to me.”

“But bucky,” Steve tried.

“but nothing, the decision is hers and hers alone, if she wants us out of her apartment the second, she wakes up that’s what she's going to get understood?”

Both men gave their silent agreement the moment your eyes finally snapped open, Steve cleared his throat the second your eyes met his, Bucky looked over his shoulder his eyes falling to your form.

He looked tensed and wound up, his eyes were no longer that captivating blue you had come to know from two weeks ago, instead they were an almost lifeless grey. Your heart clenched something odd in your chest, you felt a tug from somewhere deep within you, a tug that wanted you to go over to him.

“How are you feeling y/n,” Bucky questioned voice slightly strained.

“Probably no better than you, I would imagine, you look like hell.”

Steve stifled a laugh, “I like her, Bucky can we keep her?” Sam laughed; Bucky grunted turning his head likely to glare at his friend.  

“we are not keeping anyone, enough.” he hissed before turning back to you, “m’sorry if these two gave you any trouble y/n they may have the best intentions in mind, but sometimes it doesn’t always come out the way they intend.”

“It's fine the news was all a little much to take in is all,” came your reply.

“We can leave if you’d like I think we’ve overstayed our welcome anyhow,” there’s that tug again, you rub at your chest.

“You okay y/n,” Sam asks from behind Bucky, “you having chest pain?”

You shake your head, hand still rubbing over your chest, “just have this weird feeling, in my chest is all.”

“yearning.” comes Bucky’s quiet reply.

Your eyes slide back to his, he feels it too, that’s why he’s so tense and wound up, he wants to be by your side, but he isn’t allowing himself any closer.

“Sam, Steve, do you think you could give me a few minutes with Bucky?”

“Of course, either of you need anything we’ll be out in the kitchen,” he smiles.

“thank you,” you reply, “and thank you for bringing me to my bed instead of that god-awful couch.”

“No problem, we’ll be right out here.”

Bucky's turning to you the second the door is shutting behind Steve, he remains in his spot, “do you want to sit,” you questioned moving up the bed, “promise I don’t bite.”

Bucky chuckled shaking his head, “I don’t think that would be wise, it’s not you it’s me,” he takes in a breath his body relaxing slightly, “what is it that you wanted to ask me about?”

“Do you feel it too, do you have that tugging feeling in your chest?”

“I do, and as much as I'd like to act on instinct, I will not.”

You tilt your head to the side, “why deny yourself something that you want, need to survive it seems.”

“because that instinct should I choose to act on it doesn’t only affect me, as you know it affects you as well, and that decision should solely be yours to make, I won’t force it upon you.”

“Steve said you were different from the other’s, now I'm seeing just how much.” you replied, “I heard you tell Steve it didn’t matter what happens to you,” you paused, “what happens to you?”

“It's nothing for you to concern yourself over y/n, really, I'll be fine.” he tries.

“Except that you won’t be,” you argue, “Bucky you’ve never had a bond like this one, Steve at least told me that much, you say you’ll be fine but look at how it’s already affected you.”

“Like I said those two mean well but they blow things out of proportion as well its -”

“It's not fine,” you cut him off, “Bucky you look drained, your eyes aren't the color they used to be, they’re gray and lifeless, your face is sunken in,”

“and this is nothing new, look y/n, you don’t know me, you met me two weeks ago when I saved you from Zemo and Brock, and even then I wouldn’t call that an introduction, and the second time we met, same thing, you don’t know me, and I don’t know you, you might think you do from the little that Steve and Sam told you, but I assure you, you don’t know the real me.”

“So then let me get to know the real you.” you challenged; his jaw clenched.  

“Y/n no, there’s nothing to know, you don’t want to do this, to give yourself to this life, to give yourself to me.”

“Because you’re not letting me,” you hissed, “you’re not letting me try to get to know you, you ran away the first time without so much as giving me answers and I'll be damned if I let you escape again, Bucky you’re not the only one suffering from this, like you said the decision not only affects you, it affects me as well, and it has been affecting me!”

“you don’t know what you’re asking for, you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into!” he growled.

“and that’s on me,” you fought back, “this is my decision, because like I said it hasn’t only been affecting you, it's also affecting me.”

His patience runs thin with you, and he’s snapping in an instant as he stalks towards you, jaw clenched as he grabs a hold of your feet pulling you down your sheets. He’s on you in an instant, eyes reflecting red, stealing your breath, he’s surprised you haven’t screamed, "you don’t want this to be your life,” he hisses, hand trailing up your side till it rests on the side of your neck.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for y/n,” he murmurs fingers pressing your head up exposing more of your neck to him, “you think it's as easy as just saying yes, but it's not,”

“tell me y/n, what are you feeling hmm,” his voice has a shiver rolling through you, the tip of his nose running along your jugular vein. “do you know how easy it would be to just sink my teeth into your skin, right here,” his lips press to the spot, the feeling has your breath catching in your throat, fingers curling into the sheets.

“I could end your life in a second y/n,” he coos. A hiss leaves your lips as he presses a nail into your skin, a stinging pain left in its wake. He’s pressing into your neck again, tongue running over what you can only imagine to be a cut he left behind, your body acts on its own volition, back arching up into him, hand finding its way into his tousled locks that have been pulled into a low bun.

A growl leaves his lips, “tell me to stop y/n, I need you to tell me to stop,”

Your mind is hazy, your fingers curl further into his hair, “I can’t because I don’t want to.” you whisper. And it’s the truth, there’s a peacefulness encompassing you, a feeling you can’t bring yourself to part from.

Bucky grunts as he removes himself from your neck, and you know it's taken all of him to do so, he’s looking down at you and stealing your breath once more, “Bucky, your eyes,” you breathe.

“I can’t let you do this y/n,” he tries, “you're not thinking, whatever you’re feeling it's not you.”

Your hands come up to cup his cheeks, and you can’t help but smile at the warmth that lays beneath your hands, “it’s my decision James, let me have this, life has always been decided for me, let me have this.”

Bucky looked away from you, there was an eternal battle going on within him, he knew what would happen if he refused you, but he also knew what would happen if he didn’t.

He was slipping off of you then without so much as a word from his lips, the ache in your chest growing the further he drew himself from you, you watched with baited breath as he showed himself out of you bedroom door, you swallowed down the knot in your throat rubbing at the ache in your chest.

You wanted to be optimistic but the ache in your chest only grew the longer you stared at your closed bedroom door, he had made his decision. You weren’t sure how long you sat there on your bed staring at the damn door, but it was getting harder to get air, you had even debated going out to sit on the stairs outside the apartment complex with how heavy your chest had begun to feel, you felt like a heavy rock had been placed on top of you, it was driving you insane.

You had barely gotten any sleep that night, you were miserable, and it showed the following day at work, but you would be damned if you let this be the thing that takes over your life. You had stayed locked away in the office skipping lunch to get the project proposal done, if you could get this done, and the right way, maybe you’d have enough time before the next project was hurled at you to figure out how to rid yourself of this ache in your chest. God damnit Bucky Barnes.

You were typing furiously at the proposal, one more sentence, and DONE. A smile took over your features as you uploaded the proposal onto an email sending it to your partner and the higherups looking over this project. You leaned back in your office chair looking over the sent email, you had done it, though you had dreaded it the entire time, you had actually done it, looking at the time on your desktop your eyes widened at the time, 8:30 p.m. “shit” you hissed gathering your things, you didn’t bother shutting down your desktop as you raced down the hallway, you knew you had told no one to disturb you, but you hadn’t meant not to disturb you at all! By the time you got down to the front doors of the office your heart sank in your chest, dark blue with speckles of silver filled the night. “shit, shit, shit,” you groaned.

You pulled at your purse looking for your phone, you weren’t sure what help your mom would be, but maybe she had some sort of solution to offer you. Looking for her contact, you pressed her name before bringing the phone to your ear. You tapped your foot impatiently on the floor, your eyes focused on the tiles as you waited for the answer that would never come. A groan fell from your lips as it went to voicemail, “damnit ma, c’mon,” you groaned, you were ready to press the call button one more time when a tapping against the glass doors had your eyes shooting up.

Your lips parted, before they were falling into a thin line, eyes glaring.

You moved forward cautiously as you pushed open the office door slightly, “what are you doing here?”

Bucky sighed rubbing at the back of his head, “came to offer you a ride home,”

You scoffed, “well you can leave, I'll find my own way home.”

Bucky groaned, “please don’t do this y/n, you know what lurks out on the streets right now, let me take you home.”

“your right I do know what’s out there, I'm looking at one,” you grunted braving it out as you stepped out onto the streets, slipping off your heels, you’d be able to run without the wretched things on.

“Y/n, I won’t ask again.” his eyes flashed red.

You got into his space, eyes glaring, “your right, you won’t, now if you’d please, I need to be getting home.”

A hand wrapped itself around your arm, “and you’ll be getting home safely by taking a ride from me, I’m sure your mother would be devastated to know that the last time she could have heard from her daughter she missed the call.”

You glared at him over your shoulder, snatching your hand out of his hold, “fine,” you hissed, “but as soon as you get me home, I want you gone.”

Bucky doesn’t answer as he leads you to a black car, he helps you in before he rounds to his side.

The drive to your apartment is short, the uncomfortable silence suffocating. You almost couldn’t get out of the car fast enough. On top of the already heavy weight on your chest, and the thick tension, you were sure you would collapse from not being able to get enough air.

Your racing up the steps of your apartment shoving open the first door as you race up the stairs, “I told you to leave Bucky,” you grunted trying to get the keys into the slot. He’s plucking the keys from your hand getting your door open swiftly his hands guiding you through it. You want to push him away, tell him to fuck off, but his hands on you relieve the weight.

He’s leading you over to the couch, helping you down, a silence falls over you, “you can go now I’m home safely, you don’t need to stay any longer.”

“Not until you let me apologize, and explain.”

You look over at him, “apologize and explain what James, you said enough last night, what more could you possibly want to say?”

“I’m sorry for leaving last night, I thought I was doing the right thing,”

“Right thing,” you questioned “you thought you were doing the right thing even after I told you that I wanted this?”

“Y/n we don’t know each other, you don’t know my life, and I don’t know yours we’re not the same sweetheart, that’s why I couldn’t let you do this to yourself, that’s why I couldn’t let you agree to something like this, it’s bigger than me and you.”

“It was still my choice Bucky, and you took that from me, you’ve had me hung up since that first night and your right I don’t know you, but it doesn’t change the fact that for some reason I’m drawn to you, and when you’re not around it’s absolute hell!”

“Y/n you don’t know the dangers even if we’re drawn to one another I could still hurt you, kill you.” He argued.

Your glaring at him, “you say I don’t know the dangers, but I lost my brother to those like you, so trust me I know the dangers, I know them very well, but that doesn’t stop how I’m feeling and it sure as hell isn’t going to change my mind.”

Bucky’s shaking his head, averting his eyes from you, and you wonder if he’ll leave again.

“Bucky if could fight this feeling I would, I would tell you to get the hell out of my home and never show up again,” his eyes shoot up to you widening slightly, “but I can’t, I know you say I don’t know you, and you don’t know me, but we could get to know each other you just need to stop running, I know your scared and so am I, but I also can’t take you coming and going, it’s affecting me in more ways than one.”

“I can’t hurt you y/n,” you know he’s talking about feeding from you something Steve had said would eventually be inevitable, “it’s going to be hard, but your right I can’t keep coming and going something has brought us together and as much as I’d like to fight it I don’t think I can any longer, that’s why I came tonight, this is what I should of told you last night, but I was scared, so scared that I tried to push you away but it only drew me closer.”

“So then we take it slow but you have to let me help you when you need it, Steve said you wouldn’t feel satiated with blood you drink because of our bond.”  

“Bucky,” you warned.

He raised his hands,”fine, fine, I’ll try.”

And try he did.  

Most  days or rather evenings after that night had been spent in Bucky’s company and as much as you tried to get him to satiate himself he wouldn’t have any of it. He would simply brush you off, pulling you in close telling you he would be fine. You wanted to argue till you were red in the face but you knew it would get you nowhere.

It wasn’t until one particular evening when Bucky called and he always did, and you always answered that something had shifted. Steve has said the moment would come but you just hadn’t expected it to take a month for him to finally snap.

A rushed knock had sounded at your door, your brows furrowed as you stood from the couch making your way to the doo, Bucky usually knocked but never like that.

You barely had the door open a crack before he was pushing his way in, “Bucky what’s wr-“ your words were cut off by his lips pressing roughly to yours, his foot kicking your door closed. Your hands gripped at his sides as he lead you through your home, his lips molded to yours as he pushed you into your bedroom.

He was pushing you down onto your bed, his breathing heavy as he looked over you like that first time, his eyes were blood red, “I need fuck y/n I need to,”

A shaky hand came to rest on his stubbled cheek, “it’s okay Bucky, I trust you.”

He’s shaking his head, even know he was fighting what was meant to happen, “ I-I tell me to stop.”

“Bucky I trust you,” you murmured leaning up to press your lips to his, an intimate gesture.

He chases your lips when you pull away, a grunt leaving his lips when you expose you neck to him.

“I trust you.”

Bucky lets out a shaky breath, “fuck sweetheart,” and something in him has shifted as he leans down warm breath ghosting over your neck, nose roaming over the expanse of sweet skin. He licks over your neck, licking, nipping, it’s enough to have you writhing underneath him. Silently pleading for him to do something, anything.

“Tell me you want this doll, tell me you need this just as much as I do he murmurs into you skin.

Goosebumps rise throughout your skin, a shiver rolling through your body as he breathes you in “Bucky please.”

His hand that wasn’t by your neck searched for yours lacing your hands together as he pressed his face deeper into your neck his lips parting, you sucked in a breath when you felt the sweet pain of his fangs breaking through your skin. A moan bubbles from your throat as you arched up into him, your hips rolling into his. You couldn’t describe the sensation that came with feeling your blood flow through you and into his mouth, but it was absolutely euphoric. It’s almost as if you were on cloud nine. 

You never wanted the feeling to end.

.

WorldofAUs Forever Tag-list: @cap-n-stuff-main​ @bucky-cinnamonroll-barnes​ @kseniiafirebrace​ @sideeffectsofyou​ @pinknerdpanda​ @thefridgeismybestie​ @b0nkybarnes​ @oliviastan17​

[13atoms]

Close Protection (Davos x F!Reader)

Chapter 1: An Introduction

Bodyguard AU, post-S2. Davos finds his way out of prison, and straight into trouble. Fortunately he meets a woman who's in even more trouble.

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The rain hammered down on New York, making the scent of garbage and concrete and people stew in the air, a cocktail of misery which made Davos’ chest ache for the open air and biting cold of K’un-Lun. Life in the mountains had been difficult, survival more challenging at altitude, at the whims of the climate, but at least it had been fucking simple.

Behind him yet another Kung Fu kwoon had slammed their doors closed at the sight of him. He could teach their students discipline, mastery of the craft he had dedicated his entire life to, and instead he had been shunned. Turned away. Davos had expected to shed a few surly words, perhaps give a mild demonstration of the martial arts he had learned as a child, and an easy ticket to his own kung fu studio would be available shortly thereafter.

In the half-dozen establishments he had visited, none of these weak imitations of Shifus had given him a chance to speak.

This watered down version of his entire livelihood, taught to children after school and bored, middle-aged office managers, was an insult. More insulting, he was not even deemed worthy to teach it.

Davos growled with irritation at himself as the rain made him shiver, his body betraying him in its coldness. His hair had grown out in prison, for the months he had been left to rot before his charges were abruptly dropped, and beads of the grimy American rain clung to his dark hair. He ran his hands over his face, wincing at their softness after months without even a spar, ruffling the shaggy mess which had taken root on top of his head.

The beard, too, was irritating. He hadn’t had the chance to shave. A shaggy moustache brushed his top lip and nose, making him look as bedraggled as Danny as he wandered the streets aimlessly.

His cheap rubber shoes slapped against the sidewalk, making smashed glass skid and trash crinkle with each step. Car headlights cast unnatural white-light, skimming across the puddles of the road, their drivers taking it in turns to cut one another off and create meaningless traffic as Davos trudged past them.

He scowled at a taxi driver, the irate man yelling at someone in a black car who had blocked an intersection, spitting with anger as his words were lost to the chaos of the city before they reached their intended recipient. Was this all these people did? All that was beyond K’un-Lun?

In cities across the world, was this man’s meaningless argument being replicated and replayed, night after night? It was enough to make a man give up.

He stared down at the cracked screen of his smartphone, barely functional with a soaked screen, trying to find the next dojo he was looking for. Perhaps they might offer him lodgings, if not work. Surely someonepracticing Kung Fu in this city had a sense of honour.

As he approached the cheaply printed banner outside the building he saw the lights switch off, the heavy doors already firmly closed. Bastards.

Davos stood for a moment, silent, trying to listen for voices inside. Another taxi driver was screaming at a drunken boy for throwing up in his car. A rat skittered across the pavement, searching for its next bin to scavenge through. There was no activity in the dojo.

With a groan of frustration, a kick at the door just substantial enough to bask in the pain of the collision, Davos turned back to the unforgiving city.

New York’s skyline was not high-rises here, none of the grandeur of the city centre which Joy had so nonchalantly enjoyed. This version of the city consisted of three-story buildings and fluorescent signs, shabby facades to concrete buildings which hid a multitude of sins.

A multitude so great that Davos had decided he no longer cared. He slumped on to the curb, his soaked feet perched at the edge of a river of disgusting water which rushed down the tarmac. It was unhygienic, it was uncomfortable, and Davos no longer cared. The slab of cast-concrete curb he sat on was loose, one more piece of this hodgepodge city which was falling into disrepair, wobbling as he shifted his weight on it.

Overhead a helicopter was circling. It seemed to happen endlessly, in this city, always one chase afoot. A huge rat run, filled with eyes and yet powerless to stop the proliferation of vermin throughout the streets.

A stray cat roamed past him, fur plastered to itself and revealing a bony skinniness after years of struggling to survive, a dead rodent in its mouth. The feral creature looked up at Davos lazily, unfearingly.

It walked right past him, on its merry way. He wasn’t even a threat.

*

The crack of your knees against the cheap plywood floor was barely more than a whisper, but you winced at the noise, hoping the honks of irritated taxi drivers and the shouts of pedestrians outside would conceal the indiscretion of your body. You contorted your torso down, out of sight, feet braced and ready to run if you had to.

You cursed yourself for being barefoot. For being unarmed. For choosing such an obvious place to hide. Scrambling out of bed in the wee hours of the morning had left you a little disoriented, and you forced yourself to blink sleep away, tensing your body against the threat in your house.

A heavy footstep crossed the threshold, distinct and deliberate as the hunter got closer and closer to your hiding spot. The living room was a small space, the kitchenette an even smaller corner of it, and the man coming after you looked big. His shadow was fuzzy from the low lighting as he took another taunting step, daring you to move. You stayed as still as you could manage, fingers reaching for the lip beneath your cabinets. Crouching behind the counter, reaching blindly, you muffled a breath of satisfaction as you found a knife concealed beneath the kitchen island.

The handle of it was dismally small, the blade barely any bigger and not even fixed, but it was something. With the steel in your hands, you felt a little bit stronger.

The intruder was rounding the counter deliberately. You felt sure he knew you were there, with nowhere else to hide in this damn place. You had the same training, and you knew he was toying with you. Trying to flush you out.

You unflipped the blade, and waited.

“If you come out now, we can get takeout on the way to prison,” he sing-songed, and you forced yourself not to laugh at the taunt.

You had always liked Agent Byrne, all things considered. He was a little heavy-handed, but he got the job done. But you would certainly never see a prison, if he was the one sent to capture you. You could picture the butt of handgun cradled in his non-shooting hand now, dwarfed by the giant of a man, as he braced to get a clear shot of you.

It was his distinctive move. He liked to fire a single bullet. Usually through the forehead.

It was merciful, in his strange way. He had always liked to take the shot himself, overruling his partner, and for good reason. He was one of the finest assassins the Firm had. Regardless, it would almost be embarrassing, to be taken out on the floor of your own kitchen, armed with only a knife.

An assassin of that skill deserved a much better fight.

As the scuffed nose of his sneaker edged around the kitchen island, you knew you had to give him a hard time. Clutching the knife in one fist, you drove it clean through his foot, leaving the blade there was Bryce screamed in pain and anger. You were out the door before he had time to draw his weapon, ducking as a bullet perforated the drywall above your head.

“Sorry!” you called behind you, another bullet rocketing dangerously close to your arm as you grabbed your go-bag from beside the front door.

Then you paused, hearing your name bellowed by the man as his limping footsteps approached the front door. You felt a little bad for him, wincing at the memory of your own injuries.

Still, it was part of the job. And one of the reasons you had been so desperate to leave.

He screamed your name again, colourful threats and curses spewed after you. You winced at the harsh insults, taking a second to cut the building’s intercom wires and close the door for good measure. Another bullet punctured the door as your keys left the lock, and you bolted.

Without an elevator, the fastest way to street level was the stairs.

You thundered down them, uncaring if your neighbours were woken up at this ridiculously early hour. The city itself could be louder, and the gunshots would have tipped them off that something was wrong. It didn’t matter if you were heard, you had to leave. Fast.

You heard the slam of a door upstairs, one heavy footfall followed by a lighter one, screams of your name. Your heart pounded, grab-bag thumping against your back, as you took the steps faster still. Agent Bryce was limping as he followed you, but he was certainly giving chase. Your gaze was fixed on the ground, one hand ghosting the railings, as you descended stairwell after stairwell, sticking to the outer perimeter where Byrne couldn’t get a clear shot at you.

He was following, slowed down the by agonising wound to his foot, and raging with anger at the escape of a bounty.

Perhaps he had thought you would go down easily, that you wouldn’t be waiting for him. No one left the Agency. You knew it. You had sprung out of your bed when he had snuck into your apartment with a gun in his hand, perhaps hoping if he creeped enough you wouldn’t hear him.

No. You had heard him coming, sensors on the stairs tripping and the man’s heavy tread unable to be disguised even by tiptoeing.

His feet were louder now, slapping against the stairwell, echoing alongside his roars. The whole damn place stank of piss as you inhaled raggedly, lungs heaving as you reached the final stairwell and took it two stairs at a time.

You had no idea what you would do once you were at street level. You couldn’t go to the police. You certainly couldn’t go to your new employer, not at this hour, and not with an assassin on your tail.

When you burst out onto the open street you cursed at the heavy rain, instantly drenching you, ruining your visibility as you looked around wildly for somewhere, anywhere to hide.

Unarmed and unskilled in fighting, you knew you couldn’t take on Bryce. The man was a mountain of muscle, wielding a pistol with enough bullets left to take you out half-a-dozen different ways, faster and stronger than you.

Though perhaps not smarter.

A taxi driver was idling outside the building, and you moved to wrench the back door open, ignoring the driver’s shouts of irritation through a puff of cigarette smoke. You threw yourself into seats, ducking down to hide, ignoring the irritated glare the driver gave you.

“Please, drive. Get me away from here,” you panted, glancing back nervously at the building. The man scoffed, glaring at you in the rearview mirror.

“I’m waiting on a job, lady. Get out.”

“No! Please, it’s dangerous, you don’t understand,” you begged, but you could already see the driver’s uncaring stare, rejection in the premature wrinkles lining his face.

“Out.”

When you ducked down, staring once again at the doors of your apartment building, he sighed. Climbing bodily out the car, leaving his lit cigarette smouldering on the dashboard’s ashtray, the driver opened the taxi door. He attempted to haul you out of the vehicle, and even in your terrified state you were forced to comply. What else could you do?

Out on the cold road again, you stared wide-eyed as the taxi driver slammed his door shut, moving the car up the block and away from you.

As you stood in the middle of the street, dismay sinking agonisingly into your stomach, you found your feet frozen to the ground. The front doors of the building finally slammed open, a sickening grimace spreading across Bryce’s face.

His roars of anger had been terrifying, but that silent smile sent a chill through you like nothing else.

“You’ll pay for this, you bitch.”

He lifted his injured foot, blood seeping through his sneaker and glinting in the streetlight as it mixed with the oily water on the road’s surface. Then, he lifted his gun. Sirens were blaring in the distance, but you knew the cops would be too late. You would be bleeding out on the road, your blood joining the city’s bilge, and Bryce would get a pat on the back for a termination well done.

You hated your voice, your shaking, as you started to beg.

“Please! I’m sorry! I did nothing wrong I… if you knew what they were doing. All the fucked up shit I saw in those files, they’re not the good guys! The Firm… they’re –”

At the mention of your ex-employer’s name, a gunshot ricochet through the night, skidding off the road.

It was a warning shot. Agent Bryce would never miss otherwise.

Your head ached, pre-emptively, at the thought of the bullet which would smash through your skull and separate the tissue in your frontal lobe as soon as the assassin stopped having his fun.

“Shut up, you traitor bitch,” he growled, and it gave you some measure of satisfaction to see the pumice red crawling up his face, the shaking and the frustration building in him “I know what you did!”

He spat as he yelled, his voice echoing around the streets even louder than the pounding of the rain and the whine of distant cars. You noticed the taxi which had kicked you out creep around the corner, and tried to push down a sense of irritation at the man’s cowardice.

You turned back to Bryce, wondering how to stall for time. And if stalling for time would even help. The sirens seemed to have gotten further away – maybe your neighbours hadn’t even bothered to call the cops.

“I did what was right!”

Your voice shook, body trembling in the rain, grab-bag limp on your back as the barrel of the Agent’s handgun stared you down from the sidewalk. You tried not to jolt at the whisper of movement behind you, unable to break Bryce’s stare. To give him the window of non-judgement he could use to kill you.

This was good. You knew that Agents should never get personally involved. Should never let emotion cloud their operations. Clearly, he felt very emotional about this particular job.

“You have no idea what’s right, you disloyal –”

Your jaw dropped, the gun clattered to the ground, and Bryce crumpled.

Behind him stood a soaked man, significantly smaller than Bryce, a concrete slab in his hands. You stared wide-eyed at the attacker, watching as he crouched smoothly to inspect his victim, sprawled unnaturally on the ground. The gunman’s head was split open, and you didn’t need to get any closer to realise that he was dead.

“You…” your voice came out strained as you looked at the man who had saved you, the piece of concrete curb he had wielded smashing as it dropped to the ground.

Both of you seemed as surprised as each other, your jaw hanging open while the stranger’s was clenched painfully tight.

“You needed help,” he offered, stunned.

You nodded.

“Thank you.”

The pair of you startled, your standoff interrupted, as wailing sirens seemed to get closer.

“We should go,” you declared, watching as the stranger nodded his head firmly, glancing at the entrance to the street.

You took off, bare feet protesting against roughness of the ground, surprised to hear the slap of rubber on tarmac as the stranger followed you.

“Where to?” he asked, wide-eyed as he took one last glance as Bryce, bleeding out in the taxi lane.

“Not sure,” you admitted, “away from here.”

In truth, you hadn’t expected your sudden accomplice to stick around. He kept up, following you as you avoided glass and obstacles on the ground, mere inches from your side.

“That works for me.”

__________________________________________-

A/N: This is due to be chapter 1 of 8. The fic is still being written, so let me know what you think! I'm hoping to get a chapter out every few days, as I write them.

This one requires a little cheesy-trope-tolerance, but it'll be worth it.

[violetnotez]

Izuku x reader

⤷ Genre: Fluff, Mafia Boss AU!

⤷ Word Count: 3600+

⤷ Warnings: i think cursing? I think?

⤷ Synopsis: Working in a rundown bar kinda sucks, especially when the owner is you ex best friend, your crush, and now a mafia boss.

This is for the Izuku Month! Pls check out the awesome writers participating for this month!

You wiped down the grimy surface of the bar, your shoulders sagging from fatigue.

God you hated this job.

It seemed like such a long day, such a long time since you’ve been able to truly be completely calm. You felt how rigid your shoulders were, always seemingly expecting a fight or confrontation. 

Working and managing a bar under the control of the mafia wasn’t the most calming job in the world, you had to admit that, but you had to get money somewhere. You would be on the streets, scrounging for anything that resembled a meal if you didn’t have this job. 

As much as you hated it and all of its requirements, from the drunken brawls you had to pick apart to the back room deals in the dark, you at least were able to eat, to live in a somewhat decent apartment, to pay your bills. 

You constantly had to remind yourself of this, every time you had a man cat call you or a fight happened on the sickly white porcelain tiles. You would bawl you fists into balls, your lip quivering to finally let loose the pain and frustration being caged in your chest.

If you allowed yourself to be truthful to yourself, you'd admit just stuck, trapped, and powerless you felt in this moment. You felt like a little ant scrambling in a hug hive, under control of one leader who wouldn’t ever let you stop working. 

You wiped a brow of sweat off your forehead, your makeup long gone from the strenuous workday as you glanced a look at the corner of the room.

Each table was clean and pristine, (all thanks to you), the wooden surface glistening under the hazy yellow lights, the crystal vases holding a single rose bloom, the petals dark like blood. 

Some tables were occupied, men having late night conversation with a beer in hand, their tones surprisingly quiet and calm, as if  the alcohol had somehow changed their rambunctious demeanor from 2 hours ago. 

Everything around you was a typical late night on a Saturday, the clock reading 12:45 am as it ticked like a bomb ready to explode, the men oblivious to the ominous countdown as they chit chatted away on their tables. 

The only thing strange, the only thing that had thrown you off since he had arrived…..was the man in the corner, casually drinking at an empty table.

He was sitting in the VIP lounge, his shoulders hunched like yours as he surveyed the scene like a slinking cat, his scarred hands swirling an amber liquid. 

You had been watching him all night, after your boss had been thrown into an uncharacteristic frenzy when he first saw the man: it was him. Izuku Midoriya. The owner of this bar and the mentee of Toshinori Yagi, the late Mafia Boss.

Midoriya's rise to fame was infamous, it seemed-Yagi had plucked the poor boy off the streets, declaring him as his protege that very same day. All the mafia bosses in the city couldn’t understand why Toshinori had picked the boy at the time-he was barely 16, his short height and timid voice practically making all the others bosses double over in laughter.

He would never survive this hardened lifestyle, and the talk was they would slowly pick apart the Yagi legacy, taking over all of his territory once the boy became the new leader.

You were barely 16 yourself at the time, a poor girl who had watched her best friend get thrown into a world that wasn’t his. You had been friends with Midoriya since you were a child, playing with him in the streets after school and protecting him from all the bullies that would try to take advantage of his shy personality.

It was strange to see him now after all those years of silence, his change shocking you.

He was older, in age and in spirit. He looked so burdened with knowledge, his eyes coated underneath with a purple hue and his brow fixed in a tired expression.

 But he still had a youthful look, his eyes wide and doe-like and his freckles like stars in a clear night, his curly green hair as unruly as it was in his youth.

You couldn’t fathom why he was at this bar so late at night, or why he was even here in the first place. He was well known now-everyone knew who he was, whether they respected him or not. There was no need for him to be in a shady bar at 1 in the morning, drinking his alcohol as if he was bored by the whole scene in front of him.

But there he was, looking as placid as ever as his two bodyguards stood at the ready, surveying the spotless room for any intrusions or enemies that could hurt Izuku.

You looked down at the bar, the white rag turning brown with the dirt that had collected on the surface.  

You wiped a strip of sweat from your eyebrow again, the humid heat feeling suffocating as  your hand returned to the rag, swirling it in lazy circles on the shiny surface.

“Another whiskey please,” you heard a young voice ask, his voice sounding hesitant and slightly worried.

You looked up with exhausted eyes, only to feel all the air leave your lungs.

Izuku was looking at you with wide, apologetic eyes, his face expecting your response. He was wearing an expensive suit, the gold embellishments on the sleeves gleaming in the warm lighting.

You gulped as you willed your heart to slow at the sudden movement, moving a fallen piece of hair back behind your ear.

“Isn’t it a little late for that?” you asked dryly, your voice free of any emotion as you continued to clean the counter, your cheeks blossoming with red as you tried to contain your shock.

Even though you knew Midoriya for many years, it was embarrassing for you, seeing your once best friend becoming such a high and mighty figure in the underworld, so full of power and luxury, while you were stuck in a grimy job that gave you just enough to survive.

It also didn’t help that you used to have a crush on Izuku since grade school-you had thought you had gotten over those feelings, but apparently that wasn’t the case. Your heart still swelled at hearing his voice, it’s pace quickening like you were running a race just from the sweet sound.

He chuckled, a soft chime rumbling out of his chest. He sat himself at the counter, not minding the dampness as he rested his shoulders on the dark surface.

“Still always out to protect me,huh, y/n?” he asked, his voice sounding bitter sweet, “You were always looking out for me.”

You looked up, your eyes blown wide with shock. 

He still remembered you? It was strange to see  him after all these years, those pink cheeks bright against his brown freckles, as if he was cursed to always be blushing so adorably.

“More like I don’t feel like dealing with another drunk this late at night.”

He smiled yet again, his face lighting up at your sarcasm.

How the hell was he still so him, so innocent and sweet after all he must have seen, must haven been through?

Was he really still the same boy from your past?

You sighed, your heart feeling heavy with emotions. No, he wasn’t the same-he was a mafia boss. He was the boss above your own boss, the CEO of your whole damn life. You couldn't fall for his sweet antics, no matter how much they pulled on your heartstrings. 

You sighed, your hand slowly stopping the rag.

“What is it you want Izuku,” you quickly asked, your face stony and harsh. “Somebody like you doesn’t just come to a bar like this just for some whisky-at 12 in the morning might I add.”

He chuckled again, this time the sound more nervous as he scratched the back of his head. 

Izuku had to admit it, you were right-there was no reason why he should be here. No reason why he should be here at 12 in the morning, looking like a pompous rich brat with his two bodyguards as he peered at you from his lounge, watching you work.

When he had heard you were working at this bar, one that he owned on his part of the city, he felt like bricks had been dumped into his stomach. How did he not know you were here? 

After getting recruited by Toshinori, he had somehow lost all contact with you, his life becoming so hectic and terrifying that he has decided he didn’t want to see you. He was fearful of bringing you into this terrible life-you were his best friend and his crush after all, he didn’t want to see you get hurt because of him.

But you had somehow already gotten twisted into this lifestyle, this swirling mish mash of legal and illegal, family and foes, loyalty and lies. Now you were apart if it, being a manager of a mob bar. If you were apart of it, he felt like he could actually approach you now, because the fear of getting you hurt was far less. 

But he was scared for you still-you were around many shifty characters daily, dealing with your fair share of criminals. With his high status, he could help you now-he could keep you safe.

“I just want to know how you are,” he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he looked at you with concern, “it’s been so long I-I-didn't realize you were here.”

He grimaced slightly, weighing his words out slowly and carefully. “You don’t seem to like working here much.”

You grinned slightly, your eyebrows cocked up in an amusement and exhaustion. You set the rag down, your hands spread against the counter.

“You’re still very observant-did you catch that from talking to me or watching me for the last 2 hours?”

Izuku chuckled nervously, his cheecks on fire as he hands swirled the gold watch in his wrist like a worn out habit. Your eyes widened slightly at the expensive accessory-another reminder of how different this Izuku was from you. He had power, he had freedom, control, and everything in life- and you didnt. You were a bird caged inside, unable to spread your wings and free yourself of the troubles that followed you each and every day. 

Your smile lessened as the lump of misery in your stomach grew, his eyes catching the small gesture. He leaned against the counter, his green eyes searching your face. 

He felt so close, those tufts of green hair cascading against his forehead as his eyebrows scrunched in worry.

“Are you okay y/n? I’m worried for you,” he said quietly, as if he was revealing a secret to you.

Your cheeks blushed in red-how did he still seem so-him? He was so kind and caring like he was as a child, always making sure you were okay, taking care of you when you had scraps on your knees or tears on your face. His heart was made of gold, and you honestly couldn’t fathom why Izuku had turned to the life of a hardened, merciless mob boss.

You noticed his hands twisting again, wringing in worry as he waited for your response. Your eyes trailed down to those digits and the plethora of scars on his fingers, wrapping around his skin and trailing under his tailored suit, turning his smooth skin into a rippled, pink pattern.

Your heart broke at the sight, just imagining the terrible things he must have been through to attain those marks. 

Your fingers wrapped around his hand, your nurturing nature kicking in once seeing those pink tiger marks decorating his skin. Your finger trailed against the skin, following the pink river lines rising against his skin.

“You don’t look so good yourself Izuku,” you said, your digits touching and caressing the scars lightly as you examined each one.

Izuku gulped, his brain going into overdrive-you were touching him. 

No matter how much time had passed, he couldn’t forget how much he had fallen for you as a kid, and it was following him into his adult life. He missed your sweet smile, your laugh, your bright personality that could light up his whole day and week.

But now his sun was so bleak, your face cracked with fatigue as you stared at his scars with such intent it was as if your eyes were burning a hole into his skin. 

He sucked in air harshly, trying to figure out how to breathe again.

“How do you get these ‘Zuku?” You asked quietly, looking up at him, his wide, green eyes staring back at you.

He shimmied his hand away from yours, his cheeks a rosy red as he averted your gaze. It was sweet to see him so vulnerable, the hint of nervousness gracing his complexion, but you missed the feeling of his skin on yours.

“I-It’s not that important-“ he stuttered slightly, “I’m hear you see you, not talk about me-“

You gave him a thin smile, your lips curling inward from exhaustion as your head tilted onto your shoulder.

“So, what did you want to ask me?” you asked. You watched as he exhaled a small sigh, his body willing him to speak his next few words. You held your breath watching him look so nervous, like watching a dam slowly crumble and release the flood of water it had been holding back for so long.

“Are you happy-doing this?” he looked you square in the eye, those forest green eyes expansive and sucking you in whole. 

 “And you have to answer, no going around the question,”

He quickly pointed his finger  at you, his body manner stern yet his face betraying his thoughts. His face was still so soft, still so innocent looking and concerned as he leaned closer to you on the countertop.

You squinted your eyes at him-you honestly didn't want to sound mean, or well, bitchy, but-what was he playing at? Over the years you had learned that trust isn't something easily won over, even if you had known the person for years. You and Izuku had been friends since you could remember, that was true-but it had been so long, and you weren't quite ready to be rubbing shoulders so closely with the mob boss yet.

“I work at a bar where I get paid enough to survive and have to deal with drunk idiots who catcall me every 5 minutes,” you chided slightly, your voice dripping with sarcasm, “ So, no, not that much,”

“Do you want to change that?”

“Of course I want to but-“

“But what?”

You stared at him again, not knowing what to say. He was a puzzle to figure out- there were so many questions and clues surrounding Izuku’s nature and motives and personality. Once you found a piece to the ever growing puzzle it felt like 3 other pieces were missing, making the picture of who Izuku was full of gaps and holes. You couldn't understand him, why he was here, if he was truly the Midoriya you knew or if he was just a memory-but the way he looked at you with his doe eyes and his lips parted with concern made your heart pace and your hands squirm.

Maybe this was still the kind, nurturing boy you knew from your childhood-just maybe.

You sighed, willing your heart to stop beating so quickly and  to say your truth. “It-it’s scary. This is a mob bar after all, who knows what would happen if I left,”

“But what if you didn’t leave?” he interjected, his face still laced with concern but his voice quickening from anticipation,  What if you just-got promoted,”

You chin tilted up, your eyes scanning the boy with suspicion.

“What are you implying Izuku?” You asked him slowly, hesitantly, watching as he squirmed with uncomfort in his seat. A breath collected in his lungs, being held for barely a second as he slowly let it escape his body.

“Y/n, we’ve known each other forever- we were best friends and, well, you were the one who ever believed in me. I-I never forgot about you, and always wondered how you were. Once I found out you were working here, I had to come. To see how you were. I just wanted to know you were okay-and now I know your not.”

He leaned into the bar yet again, his hands folded, his green tresses bouncing against his skin.

“Please y/n, I want to make you my personal assistant. You’ll be safe, I’ll make sure of it-all you have to do is help me with my daily tasks and events and-“

“No, I won’t do it.” you interjected, your voice having a desperate quality, as if you were anxious for him to stop talking

Izuku gazed at you with confusion, blinking a few times with shock- you didn't want this job? He watched your face turn into a grimace, as if the mere idea was painful for you to imagine.

“You-what?” he asked quietly, unable to understand your words.

“Izuku, I cant just get a free card from you,” you revealed, your eyes looking down from guilt, “I’m not going to just be your desk girl so I can be a little bit better off.”

“But-but your not, I want you to be my assistant-You know me better than anybody else!” he exclaimed, his eyes wide as he tried to convince you, “ You’ll be the best person for the job because you’ll be able to make the best decision for me-“

“I’m not taking your pity Izuku. People pity me enough, I don��t need you to add to the list.”

Izuku gave you a good, hard look, his big green eyes searching your face. He could tell you were hurting inside- the way your shoulders sagged like you were carrying a heavy burden, your tired eyes signaling you hadn't had a good night’s sleep, the way your voice broke and your face cracked when you allowed yourself to be vulnerable. You felt scared. You felt trapped, and alone. Powerfless. He had never wanted to comfort anyone more in his entire life, to hug them and tell them that it would all be okay.

He took a breath, letting the air escape through his nose as he gazed with you with empathy.

“You want to know how I got my scars?”

He watched you blink from confusion, to then give him a numb nod in response. He smiled nervously, settling in his chair as he opened his mouth to speak.

“A lot of people didn’t believe in Toshinori when he said he had gotten a 15 year old kid from the streets to be his successor-many people laughed at him, laughed at me, even talked down to me. I wasn’t good enough. I wasn’t strong enough. I’d never be able to take over his empire.

“But I trained. I fought. I learned everything I could so I would never feel inferior ever again. Toshinori gave me leverage in life, yes-but I took advantage of it. I have some blood on my hands, I can’t say I don’t- but I proved my worth. I proved I deserved everything life had to offer and more-all I needed was a boost.”

“And that’s what I’m trying to give you-“ he gave you a reassuring smile, his eyes soft and his cheeks rosy, “a chance at a better life. A chance to prove your worth.”

“What do ya say?” His smile turned into a bright grin, his scarred hand outstretched and welcoming as he waited for your answer.

You stared at him, your lips parted and your eyes wide with conflict-where you going to do this? To just throw away everything in your life right now in the hopes it would be a little better? You were putting all your trust in Midoriya-would it all end up okay?

You looked down at your hands, the fingers sticky with grime and spilled alcohol, making your spine crawl with disgust. 

Fuck it-never again did you want to be underestimated, to be barely surviving and another ant in the hill. No-you were going to make a name of yourself.

“Fine-,” you placed your hand in his, your heart pacing. His skin was surprising soft on the inside, the pads of his digits coarse against your own flesh. “But if my uniform is a tiny ass skirt I’m going to kill you.”

A bright laugh tumbled out of his chest, his curly tresses bouncing with the motions.

“I promise I won’t,” he smiled at you, his cheeks as red as ever.

He loved the feeling of your skin on his, and the way your eyes light up like lightbulbs on a dark night. A glimpse of your previous self seemed to surface, for barely a moment, but he drank up the rare moment and locked it in his memories. 

You sighed, your hand leaving his reluctantly as you looked up at the clock, the ticking entering your mind and banging against your head like a headache. 

“I gotta lock up the bar…” you grumbled, your hand reaching out for your rag, “thank god Ill be out of this place-“

Izuku smiled, his green eyes trailing up to the clock. His eyes widened as he noticed the placement of the hands, the irises glistening with stars as he recognized something in those numbers.

“It’s 1:11,” he stated, his pointer figure drawing your attention as he nodded his head at the clock, your eyes trailing to the device. “You know what that means?”

You cocked your tired head, a small smile gracing your lips: Izuku was always the bookworm, his brain soaking up information like a sponge and giving it out at the strangest times. It was quite endearing, and you surprisingly missed it.

You leaned against the counter, your face closer to his.

“What’s it mean?”

He grinned at your face, his cheeks bright and on fire- 

“New beginnings.”

Taggings:

@weebartistinc​ @orokayagi​ @leeeah-loooser​ @bakarinnie​

[seb-owns-these-tatas]

Witcher Of The Night (Chapter 1)

WITCHER OF THE NIGHT MASTERLIST

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: You've woken up being hunted by an Alghoul. You were in a death race and hollered for help. Though, it seems like the human you've first seen didn't exactly appeared to look human all through out as his eyes glowed beneath the moon light. You've talked to him but he didn't seem friendly at all except for his awakened friend. The words coming out of their mouth seemed baffling because they were acting like they didn't live in earth, and deep inside you were in denial because they really weren't.

Warnings: Monsters? The word 'whores' and cusses? Blood? A lot of modern references because reader lives in modern day era in earth.

Words: 3,800+

A/N: Hello! Yes, this is my first Geralt fic! There will be eventual smut in the future chapters. I can just tell. LMAO. I ain't good with medieval things but I'm trying! I hope this isn't a failure nor a disappointment, spuds! 😅 Reader lives in modern day earth in this fic but magically woke up in The Witcher’s dimension, alright? This turned to be comedic because of the modern references from the reader. 😂🤣🤣 I had fun writing this! FOR REAL! 

TAGLIST IS OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS FIRST PART! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE!

Taglist: @alyxkbrl @himarisolace @barkingbullfrog​

Disclaimer: PNG's used in edits are not mine even the GIF's too. However, the edits and oneshots are definitely from moi. Characters and said monsters aren't from moi as well. (GIF taken from Tumblr!)

MY WORKS ARE NOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

Tweaks of branches echoed around the unspecified woodland. The satisfying crack of the frail wood felt on the soles of your feet which wore some nasty pink Havaianas slippers as the night sky became colder than from what you were accustomed with.

You were running away from god knows what as you've heard a loud thud beside the tree you've woken up with. Taking a trip down the memory lane, your forgetful mind could only recall a lake in which you were drowning in and the sudden flash of lightning occurred above you as the water rested upon your face.

Then after that terrifying nightmare, you suddenly woke up in the middle of nowhere. A slightly dead looking forest before you've heard the rustle of some twigs and leaves beside you.

Having a vacation in the forest of Switzerland has never been a dream and considering how God smacked you in the head unconscious and teleported you in Switzerland was entirely bewildering from the start.

Your heart was hurriedly pounding out of your chest as you sprinted as fast as you can. Abnormal shrills whistled with the wind that made you mewl as you ran for your life. There has been cuts and bruises across your knee from how you've stumbled upon a large log that hid beneath the earth-like soil. No pain has been sent to your nerves yet because of the adrenaline rush rising in every part of your veins with the need for the hushed voices to stop.

"Ah!" Another loss of one's footing, you've tripped over a large rock and fell face flat. Face now covered in grime and soot as you've heard the intangible whisper of words for the tenth time.

"Leave me the fuck alone! If this is a prank, it's not funny because I'm hurt!" you shrieked in the night and no one in particular. Limbs were turning feeble and shaky, but you've offered all your will power to survive in the damn forest if you were about to get murdered and be found after a year where your body has already been eaten by some wild animal.

The hushed voices were coming closer to a definite scare that took your heart out of your chest. You've pushed yourself up and began sprinting with a limp as you saw the end of the forest; like a meadow was waiting for your damn demise as you won't be outrunning the murderers behind you.

You stood in the middle of a grass field. So, this was the end for you. The voices inside your head spoke as you've scanned the whole area and saw a peculiar wooden house in the middle of the vast area.

The wooden house seemed to be made of Hazel twigs, daub and wattle. Its whole structure was darn weird to be seen in the era you knew you were in. Year 2020. It looked medieval, old and superannuated. The house's structure had a timber frame with a light glowing inside the open panels of its windows.

Human. Someone can help you. Based on the clothes that hung on the sides of a wooden fence in logs, you knew there was someone living inside the peculiar looking house.

Then, you've heard a loud roar. It was enough for you to spun on your heels and see who had been chasing you like a wild boar.

Yet, it wasn't a normal wild boar that could calm you down just a slight because it was just an animal.

The one chasing you didn't seem a murderer nor an animal. Its body appeared to live on the ground, like a zombie who came to life and had no lower body. Though, it had a large stomach and uses his burly arms to chase you down the forest. With Bright cardinal eyes wrathfully staring you down as you stood rooted on the ground in the middle of the field; your heart seeming to run out of oxygen because of what you were witnessing.

You didn't know if it was an alien or a zombie. Proper thinking thrown out of the window as you were running away from the nightmare that was bound to kill you in your sleep, if you were even sleeping.

Your feet ran a trek to the house; looking behind. Focal point completely at the fast carcass crawling to where you were, tons of disgusting looking saliva dripping out of its eroding jaw and you were screaming for help as you skedaddle away.

Until your head hit a hard wall, but not enough for you to fall unconscious.

Vision falling like a kaleidoscope world, you blinked repeatedly and squinted you eyes up at the wall. Though, you were met with a clothed robust chest and a strong warmth he radiated through the crispy, cold Autumn wind. You've scanned him from chest to face and noticed a coin-like silver necklace just a meter away from your face that had a symbol of a wolf.

You didn't know if you were just still dizzy from your newly awakened-self but it was as if your world spun around you as the brawny, marvelous man towered over you like a lion over a mouse. His jawline impressively great enough to cut a bitch; a prominent, cleft chin that can be quite tempting to poke at and eyes that were glowing in Aurum like a star in the night sky or a pot of gold in the other end of the rainbow, with majestic half-tied hair that ended below his shoulders tinted in ivory that stood upon the Tartarean night.

Though, despite of how dashing, grimy and haggard he appeared before you. The scowl on his face was enough to take you to step back from how disturbed he looked like.

You've seen him somewhere. In the movies back in your laptop when you were having a marathon of something.

Lord of the rings. Right, you were dreaming about it in the middle of being chased in your nightmare. That explains why he appeared.

You clapped excitedly as you lifted your chin to stare into his beautiful blazing gold eyes. The grumpy looking man cocked his head to the side as he scrutinized and studied your filth-filled face and you couldn't help but notice the concealed scrunch of his nose if you weren't staring a little bit too closely.

"Hmm," it was the first word you've heard from this intimidating man standing in front of you and hearing such an impossible, low timbre of a hum that vibrated from his chest could get your knees weak from such a tone because you didn't know if it was scaring you or telling you to run for the hills instead.

"Legolas?" your voice croaked out loud, voice turning small when you've received only a grimace that wouldn't be considered as a fake smile, much to your dismay. Your scrutinizing eyes noticed something different from one of the Lord of the Rings character and it was the maturity of his face, "--a middle aged Legolas! Help me! Use your arrow thingy--" he pushed your shoulders to stay behind him, making you stumble from the impact but not enough to ignite another bruise to your knees. Your eyes staring weirdly at his back as you studied the long metal knightly looking steel wrapped around his thick, large, powerful looking palms.

"---Oh, a sword would suffice." you muttered, suddenly uninmpressed because you wanted him to have an arrow instead of a sword to live in your fantasies and continued to hid behind the large build of his body, taking a peek as you saw the bizarre looking creature who screeched so loud that it echoed all over the meadow. You've unconsciously held onto the hem of the wool sweater behind the first human you've ever encountered other than the creature who planned to eat you alive.

"There's a zombie!"

Geralt felt the hand tugging at his sweater. He was close to jumping from the sudden physical touch because of how sudden you've reach out for him regardless of meeting him just tonight. His eyebrows in a tough knot and expression unreadable as he eyed the Alghoul running towards you. The hand holding the hem of his clothing was instantly right out of your hands as he prepared his stance and tread towards the critter like he was confident enough he could eliminate him.

He swung the sword, aiming for the head using just one hand as he lifted it with no trouble; like it was his own weapon and you couldn't help but watch the whole scene unfold before you. The Alghoul jumped using its arms but he was stronger, faster, braver and definitely had no sweat with the upswing of his sword as he slashed the head off the creature with one blow.

Well, he was great. Too great with the sword indeed.

Black blood spurt as he'd cut his head off with no remorse, some of its blood flying off to your grimy sleeveless top and face as you winced from the gore and stared at the head rolling on the ground till it hit your toes.

You just wanted to scream out loud but it seems like your jaw has been stuck and you had no voice to start.

The man seemed to be unruffled at the fact that he just cut the creature's head off with his sword, turning his back at face front that you saw black fluids on the smooth wrinkle of his forehead and cheeks.

"It's an Alghoul," he abnormally grumbled so deep that you mistaken it as a growl. You could feel your tongue stuck in your throat and heard his heavy footsteps coming close. Your eyes still focused at the monster's head scratching your feet that you haven't realized that the man who saved you was actually in front of you already, grabbing its head and throwing it away to save you from another nightmare.

Faded set of footsteps came echoing in. Lighting up a startle from you as you heard a door swish out loud in the open. Until, a budding pitch of a man has said the name of your gory savior in the middle of the night.

"Geralt?" Jaskier hesitantly stepped on the creaking, wooden porch. Eyes still weary of sleep and fatigue as he blinked to the both of you who stood at each other in just an arm reach.

Your savior mumbled another distasteful hum as he observed the short woman before him who seemed to be in total shock; staring at the ground where he'd took the head of the Alghoul away before sighing and taking a step back and away from you to take a look at his bloody sword. "Why, who is this adorable, small grimy lady here in the middle of the night?" the light tone of the man's voice made you blink twice; snapping you out of your reverie.

You turned your head and studied the somnolent man standing outside of the porch, hair disheveled like he'd been disrupted by such a beauty sleep. He looked younger, like he was in his 20's and had a youthful beam with lean muscles beneath the white undershirt wore under a Tunic. Jaskier placed both hands on his hips before pointing a finger at you, sending you a bright smile other than the moue you've received from the man named 'Geralt,' "You came here for Geralt, I suppose? One of your..midnight sashays with him?"

Geralt didn't need to look at his friend and ignored everything he said by walking towards a beautiful brown horse, "Jaskier," he lowly reprimanded as he eyed his horse with an indecipherable expression of his.

Jaskier deeply sighed, his shoulders going up and down from how he did and you eyed him with a baffling twist of your eyebrows.

"First and foremost, you ruined his nap and now he can be as grumpy as an--an Alghoul! An amputated Alghoul!" he blinked in surprise, peeking behind you to see the creature who had its head cut-off laying on the muddy ground.

Geralt continued to pet his horse as your eyes snapped to him, his back on you as you heard his horse neigh, the man named Jaskier still rambling about the creature who laid dead on the ground.

"Alghouls appear in old necropolises and crypts," he scratched his temple with a finger, walking down the path till he was studying the corpse on his foot, "It's a miracle that they've hunted you down. They seldom appear in the forest! Also, they knock down their victims and eat them alive. Right, Geralt? You've taught me these!"

Geralt ignored him and continued petting his horse.

You eyed the man named named Jaskier and watched him walk back to you, a solemn smile on his face because of your unfortunate experience with the forest. Suddenly, realizing about the information he'd uttered, you were sure it was just like those creatures in the movies like Resident Evil or The Walking Dead.

"So, it's basically a zombie!"

Jaskier stared at you like you've eaten a dead mouse. Forehead creasing as he tried mouthing the word you've said, giving his friend a once over as he does, "A zom--what? please do enlighten me, Geralt as to what is a Sombre when I can see with my own splendiferous eyes that the monster he'd killed is an Alghoul--"

You've huffed and bit the insides of your cheeks, fists tightening on either side as you stubbornly bantered, "Z O M B I E. Zombie."

Thus, at the retort; Jaskier had his hands on his hips with his chest puffed out like he was trying to intimidate you. But, it was a failure because he never looked intimidating from the start, "A zombie. Alright. I understood you but not entirely, dirty maiden. Geralt--" he looked over his friend who was now already on the side of you, startling the both of you and sky-scraping from your side as you lifted your chin to see him oddly closing his eyes, breathing you in.

Was he smelling you?

You eyed Jaskier like you were finding it peculiar and he just gave you a shrug, "Your scent..It's...It's...otherworldly, " Geralt uttered, completely resonant and low-pitched that vibrated your calming nerves, "It attracted the Alghoul," he continued with a frown and another sniff before humming in disdain.

"Very out of the ordinary," the latter muttered beneath his chest, a snarl coming out of his mouth as you swallowed the butterflies wanting to come out of your mouth by how monumental he was and you feel so small, "Who sent you?"

You took a step away from the man, eyeing him weirdly as he stubbornly took a step close like personal space wasn't known to the world you are in, "Uhm, no--no one?" a pathetic stutter came out of your lips and felt the tremble of your fingers because of a thought running in your mind that he was also as dangerous as the Alghoul they were saying; maybe even more treacherous, "I came out from my mother’s reproductive organ? You know what, Geralt--"

Jaskier suddenly cut you off, crossing his arms behind him as he watched his friend tower over you, an amused grin etched on his face because you were actually crumbling like a rat before the ginormous cat, "Geralt. A letter G. Not a J. G E R A L T---"

"---Alright, GERALT!" you stopped taking steps back and declared out loud, mocking their accent that you couldn't distinguish. Your palms were outstretched in front of you, ceasing Geralt from pushing you away but not enough to be touching his torso. A pleading look in your eyes that made him breath out of his nose, "---Just please tell me where the airport is and I'm off to my country,"

The man in front of you stared you down, completely uncanny at what you were voicing out. You winced and realized you wouldn't get an answer from him and tried to ask help from his friend instead, but Jaskier was fast to distract you and criticize the clothes you wore, "What even is that clothing?"

You blew out air out of your mouth loudly, not believing their words. They were acting like they weren't actually living in earth at all, "It's casual! Don't judge!"

Jaskier also gave a huff, not believing the outlandish behavior from a lady and continued complaining to the Witcher who seemed to never have the decency to give you space, "Cas--what? Geralt, this woman is foolish. Don't even attempt to ravish her in any way. Utterly not worth it! She's a cuckoo with that flimsy short trousers, an odd looking footwear and a thin top like the Alghoul has taken all of her silk. Unless, this woman is actually your type, well--I wouldn't judge you for your taste in women because most of the time it is utmost round the bend--"

His spouts were cut short as you managed to get a proper look at the strangely, beautifully rugged man before you, giving him one of those tired, puppy eyes that made his frown much less more like it as he waited, "I just wanna go home," your voice sounded so vindicated and you were sure his eyes were really glowing under the night sky, "---please tell me where the airport is and I'll go, or you can probably help me with my wounds first before you shoo me away,"

You've felt the burns from your wounds and ungracefully tried to avoid those glowing eyes that seem to suddenly make your heart pound. Damn you and your horrid types, "Do you...have a car?" you asked no one in particular as you watched the stars that also seemed to be peculiar because of how many they were.

His horse neighed from a distance which gave you an idea that their house didn't have a garage nor do they have a car. You peeked behind Geralt and saw his horse standing behind the stables, "Oh, you have a horse. A beautiful brown horse, I take it we're in a province, I see."

Again, no response from him other than Jaskier's sighs. It was like taking to the wind, but actually talking to a corpse.

You could feel the heat of his stare and it was making you conscious of how you actually looked like, so you continued to avoid his eyes and looked at anywhere but him, "We're in Switzerland right? Or in a province in the U.K, Scotland or Australia considering your accents?"

The only response you've gotten from him was a mere seven word that made you scrunch your nose by how weirder they get, "You aren't from here, I can tell."

"Way to tell her that she's a woman and not a man, Geralt. Stop stating the obvious,"

You ignored their utterance as they've also ignored your question. All you needed was an airplane to get you back to where you came from and escape from this madness. Yet, they seem like to be beating around the bush which began to slightly irritate you because you were sounding like a broken record, "So where's the airport, gentlemen? I still need to feed my cat at home and I'll tell the entire universe that its the end of the world with the zombies. Gotta' tell them a zombie apocalypse is happening--my phone!" you patted the pockets of your shorts and felt your Android phone inside. You've fished it out and pressed the home button, the bright light gleaming beneath the night and both men couldn't help but stare at you in oddity.

"Your what?" was the only thing Jaskier has muttered, looking at what you were holding. Geralt  observed the unfamiliar looking thing in your hand and squinted his eyes shut at the bright light, "It's--there's no signal! Where are we?" you tapped on your phone repeatedly and found the GPS not working as the results were indefinite.

Jaskier marched till he was beside his friend, clasping a cold hand on his burly shoulders, cocking his head to the side and clasping his other on his own hip as he gave you a look, "Not just simply absurd but also a strange one, Geralt. You definitely pick the best ladies, First was Renfri; the rebel princess, second is Yennefer; that cunning beautiful mage in which you’ve been in love with and the other hundred are your whores--"

Geralt cocked his head to the side, an unexpected small smile lifting his lips as he continued laying his golden eyes on you, "Year 1268. In the far north kingdom of Kaedwen,"

You nervously nodded, crossing your arms at how exposed you feel from the man before you especially that your clothes were also thin for a weather you were in. Fingers were feeling like ice and you couldn't help but shiver, "Kaedwen? Padawan? Star wars references, I see. Okay, okay, this is getting out of hand and I know you're still in character but please tell me that this is a prank and you're just fond of cosplay,"

"Hmm," His smile was quick to fall, like it has only been a hallucination of your imaginations. Geralt studied you from head to toe. Your breath catching in your throat at how barren you felt with just a simple scan of his eyes and also by how beautiful he looked. Such a pain but soothing for the eyes. He caught the bruises and wounds all over your body and heavily sighed another one before turning his back away from you and letting Jaskier lightly stumble on his feet after giving him a manly tap on the shoulder.

"He's letting her in," Jaskier mumbled to himself and watched Geralt walk away, completely amused as he couldn't believe it, "He really is!"

He scratched his disheveled bed-head and huffed another one, pointing at the retreating man who entered their wooden cavern. "Based on how long I've been a friend with this grumpy Witcher, that answer was either a yes, or a no."

"---Unfortunately, it seems like a no because he took off without a word," he gestured with a finger and used his other to welcome you like a humble gentleman giving way for a princess, "---but also an approval that you can stay in our humble abode to cure that wounds you have which is oddly strange because he never lets anyone in, yet here you are. A grubby ground breaker,"

He eyed the Alghoul's blood on your top and face, his face morphing into disgust as he pointed a playful finger at you, "---And you, small rat. Need a bath," before waggling them around to tell you his point, "---However, you don't get to take my bed,"

The hopes of having your sleep or tightly shutting your eyes, repeatedly wishing inside your head to wake up on your mattress back at your apartment would definitely be a difficult task especially from what you've witnessed. Though, maybe closing your eyes shut and having a nap was the only cure to the nightmare you were living in; taking note at how long this dream of yours have been occurring. It was technically a nightmare full of magical creatures and magic that promised you would only be a mere dream of yours.

That is, when you've opened your eyes after repeatedly wishing up at the sky to wake you up in your dream and saw Jaskier walking in, leaving the door open for you to make yourself at home completely answered your questions.

You weren't dreaming and it appears to be like you were in a different dimension.

"Oh, I'll be damned,"

A PART 2? YES? Y’ALL WANT THIS TO HAVE A SECOND CHAPTER? HEEEHEE!! TELL ME WHAT YA THINK ABOUT THIS! 

[remmushound]

Bay/rise 17! @errorfreak88 @brightlotusmoon

Cassandra forced Hueso down the streets of the Hidden City. Any yokai that dared get too close was met with Cassandra’s annoyed wrath and, if they were truly pressing their luck, a slash from her weapon. They passed through the same rift Cassandra had come in through, and came out through the statue on the other side.

“The human world?” Hueso asked curiously, looking around. “Though there doesn’t seem to be many humans here… wonder what happened.”

Cassandra growled and yanked Hueso’s arms as far back as they could go without snapping.“Stop talking.”

“Humans are social animals.” Hueso dared speak softly. The streets were remarkably empty... “You must be awful lonely with no one to talk to.”

“I said be quiet!” Cassandra jostled Hueso harshly.

“Is that why you need me? To bring them back?”

Cassandra growled and shoved Hueso to the ground as they arrived at their destination . The Yokai was silent a moment before he made an attempt to rise.

“Listen here.” Cassandra said finally, letting the skeleton sit up. “Some… friends of mine went through a portal right here and you’re gonna bring them back for me.”

Hueso considered. “What kind of portal?”


Cassandra blanked. “What?”

“What kind of portal? There are various types. Twelve of them to be exact.”

“I don’t know— a-a a blue one? Why does it matter!”

“Different portals have different rules. If you give me the weapon used to open the rift, I can do a ceremony to bring forth its history. Have you got the weapon?” He turned back to look at Cassandra.


“Well, no…” Cassandra tapped her fingers together a moment before snapping again, “But it shouldn’t matter! Big Mama said you knew about portals!”

“I do…” Hueso said slowly. The name of Big Mama brought images of gore and coliseums and cruelty toward yokai, mutant and human alike. “I can read the energies they leave and locate their espíritu—“

“You can’t open a rift?!” Cassandra practically spat in his face.

“Well— no. Not without a mystic weapon…” His eyes followed the frustrated stomping of Cassandra as she stormed off.

“STAY HERE! I'll be back…” 

~~~

The Shredder was waiting where Cass had left him, watching over Big Mama with cold, hollowed eyes. Cassandra touched her ring to announce her presence to the great monster and made him look up to acknowledge her.

Big Mama looked up weakly as well, her beak curling into a smile. “See? Didn't Big Mama tell you—“

“A lie.” Cassandra growled softly.

Big Mama’s eyes went to pinpricks. “What?”

“A LIE!” Cassandra repeated, charging Big Mama with a loud scream and slashing the yokai across the face with her Naginata. “You told me Señor Hueso could open a rift for me! You lied!”

“I did not lie— I— Big Mama told you—“

The Shredder pounced on Big Mama and dug his claws into the soft of her abdomen, making the Jorogumo’s words fade into agony as her wails echoed around the stadium.

“TELL! ME! THE! TRUTH!” Cassandra yelled, and through her anger she was starting to cry, “You have one more chance to tell me how to find where that rift went! ONE! MORE!”

“BARON DRAXUM!” Big Mama wailed, black oozing from her mouth and the punctures where The Shredder had brutalized her. “You-you’ve met him yes? If Hueso can tell him where to go, Draxum could open a rift anywhere! I… I promise…”

Cassandra brandished her blade and held it in front of the bigger of the spider’s many eyes. “You better be right about this.”

~~~~

Draxum didn't know how to feel. He wasn’t quite sad, but there was definitely something there. Something that made him feel almost hollow inside as he sat in the empty lair that his creations called home. They should have been back by now. Everything was awfully quiet. He could hear the faintest sounds of machines at work in the smart ones room, and he could hear the gurgle of water surrounding from every direction. The filthy, putrid sewer waste produced by the humans that Draxum still tried to hate. For the first few hours alone he had the TV on in the background so the silence wasn’t so silent, but it turned off by itself and Draxum for the life of him he wasn’t sure how to turn it back on. He hadn’t been listening to it, of course— human shows were of little entertainment to the Yokai. The droll in the background had helped to keep his thoughts from straying too far. But now there was nothing stopping them from flooding and blinding him with insecurity and anxiety and, overall, just a feeling of… well, nothing. There was nothing.

He stood up. His muscles still felt weak from his experience with The Shredder almost three months prior. His face was still sunken, his powers mediocre at best. He had to get stronger, and the constant care of Michelangelo could only carry him so close his ultimate goal. He couldn’t just sit there being miserable, feeling sorry for himself. He didn’t want to. Not when he had all the time in the world to train and an array of weapons at his disposal. His muscles needed to work, and he had the dojo to himself. There was only one sensible thing to do.

Of all the weapons available, he felt the tonfa suited him best. Strong and sturdy, built for both defense and offense and able to deal a significant amount of damage even with the slightest of blows. He took a set of them in his hands and gave an approving grunt at the weight. Then he stepped into the dojo, making sure to stretch a few times before he dared approach the first dummy he saw.

For several hours more, Baron Draxum was there training. He trained until four of the dummies lay broken and dejected in a pile and his hairless palms were slick with sweat. He dropped the duo weapons to the ground and ran his hands through his fur to try and cool himself while he trotted off to find a shower area.

Another hour passed. Baron sat once more on the couch with his mind aimless and surprisingly blank, wearing one of the robes that the big one had made just for him. He was tired, but his thoughts wouldn’t let him sleep. His creations still weren’t home. Something was wrong.

“Baron Draxum!” A loud voice disrupted the silence.

Baron groaned. Moments ago he had been begging for a break from the silence, but in just a few seconds he was begging for its return. Still, he stood to face the soldier he knew all too well.

“Cassandra.” He said as he approached the excitable youth, “Am I to assume you are the reason for my creation’s disappearance?”

Cassandra almost vibrated with excitement as she saluted the Baron, a wide smile splitting her face at the sight of her comrade.

“MASTER DRAXUM, SIR!” She shouted proudly, “I require your assistance with something, sir!”

Baron smiled. “Oh? Do go on.”

As Cassandra recounted her version of events, Baron listened intently. His ears flattened against the sides of his head as the story neared its end and, once it was finished, he was silent for the longest time.

“Master?” Cassandra asked softly, walking close enough to touch Baron if she wanted to. “Will you help me return our Foot Clan to its rightful power?”

Baron gave a long inhale and then exhaled sharply. “Yes, General. I will assist you in this endeavor. You know I hate the turtles as much as any.”

“Then… why are you in their house?” Cassandra scratched her head. 

“I think the better question would be how did you find me?”

Cassandra only stared.

Draxum sighed. “I was awaiting their return. I figured this would be as good a place as any to rendezvous after I got separated from them. I have been using their kindness to heal myself from our Great Master’s feeding off of me. Is there something wrong with that?” 

“Not at all, Master sir!” She saluted again.

“Great.” Baron smiled. “Then let us return to the Great Master. Together.”

~~~~

Baron and Hueso sat together with their eyes closed. Lit candles were scattered in a peculiar pattern around them. Hueso held with him artifacts from each of the turtles, retrieved from their home by Baron Draxum, humming softly and occasionally breaking his silent concentration with a muttering that neither Baron note Cassandra could quite hear. Cassandra sat back anxiously and tried her best to keep quiet despite the sharp impulses to talk stabbing her like a needle.

“I am seeing a place… not close.” Hueso said slowly. “A place separate from ours.” He gripped Leonardo’s stuffed unicorn securely, “It is there that Leonardo and Michelangelo exited the rift.”

“Go on!” Cassandra covered her mouth a moment too late. 

Hueso almost lost the vision, but a moment more of meditation brought it back.

“There is an Oni there. The Oni is an ancient one similar to the Oni who created your master. He is… furious. His rage burns like cold fire.”

Hueso grabbed Draxum’s hands and started to join their minds together.

“I see him.” Baron mused quietly, “He is…”

“Not from here.” Hueso finished. “He is Oni.”

Baron opened his red eyes quite suddenly and stood. Cassandra gasped and scrambled over to get a better view as Baron Draxum held his hand out to the dumpster in front of him. Two vines came from where his feet were rooted in the ground and slowly, agonizingly, they formed into a doorway. Once the vines stopped their slow, snake-like joining that brought the frame of the door together, they spiraled down and made a strange Kanji. The Kanji for demon. Oni.

The doorway exploded into a bright pink. Like a vortex, started to draw everything into it— scraps of loose trash, water from grimy puddles, loose stones from the asphalt. Anything in its path that was light enough. Hueso’s eyes slot open and he clung desperately to a dumpster to avoid being sucked in, grimacing as the dumpster started to be dragged toward the rift as well. Baron simply dug his hooves more securely into the stone while Cassandra clung to his arm with that excitable smile she often had.

“YES!” Casey screamed, bouncing in place while looking quickly between Baron and the rift.

“Por Dios it worked…” Hueso gawked.

“Yes.” Baron made a fist, the heat of the portal starting to seep into his very being and fill him with the taste of the power he had lost months ago. The sensation was fleeting, like a wind whistling through his mane on a hot summers day, or like the faintest scent that would remind one of their childhood. It was good. It was… perfect.