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buckys-black-dress · 3 years

Text

see through

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　　˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

a/n: i dont have much to say other than that it's 1 am and i needed to get this out of my system. chapter 4 of play the game is underway, i promise. also, there will be a pov switch in this fic!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. = POV change!

wc: 4.1k words

[ neighbor!bucky barnes x fem!reader ]

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　　˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Every Friday night, without fail, you saw the light filter into your apartment.

Notice how you said night?

Yeah, it was almost two in the morning, by the way.

And why was there light coming through the chiffon curtains you had hanging on the rod above your window?

(Great choice on your part, by the way.)

Well, because of your neighbor.

You've seen him a few times, actually. Usually on the street outside your buildings, or just out and about. Never spoke to him, though. He was quiet, kept to himself. Didn't seem very friendly or willing to exchange a greeting if he ever saw you.

But you never took it personally. Maybe he was having a bad day. Every time you saw him.

But that's besides the point. The point right now is that you can see the lights blaring in your room. From the apartment across from yours.

Should it even be possible for light to travel that far? I mean, we don't even live in the same building. You think to yourself as you watch the colors dance in the dark.

You debate getting up and yelling out your window to tell him to shut that shit off or to invest in some blackout curtains. You were tired of sacrificing your sleep every week.

But then you decided against it, because you quite frankly could not be bothered to get up from the warmth of your bed. You'd tough it out for the night, but the next time you saw him, you'd have a few words for him.

The next morning, it was almost ten when you woke up. You didn't have your shift at the coffee shop you worked at until three, so you took your time in making your way out of bed.

You noticed the curtains of your neighbor's apartment were still open, but you could see his figure moving across the room. He was clearly on the phone with someone, and he didn't look too happy. You wondered what could have him so angry at such an early time of the morning. He seemed like a person who could use someone to talk to, someone who he could vent to.

But before you let your thoughts get ahead of you, you turn away from the window, heading back into your kitchen to eat breakfast and get ready for the long day ahead of you.

"Hi, what can I get started for you today?" You ask as brightly as you can muster at the moment. You were halfway through your shift, another three hours until close.

"Uh, just a large black coffee." The gruff voice says, and it takes you a second until you look up and look closely.

It was him.

"O-okay, that'll be $3.27." You say, and he hands you a five dollar note before grumbling,

"Keep the change."

"Thanks, and your name?"

He gives you a look that's asking, 'what the fuck do you need my name for?'

"For the order." You try and salvage your dignity, because it feels like the stare shrunk you to a speck of dust.

"James."

That's all he all but growls before turning back to find a seat.

As your coworker takes over the cash register, you grab the biggest cup and fill it with his desired coffee.

You try to not think about it too much, but the anxiety you feel rising up inside you and just calling his name to give him his coffee feels absolutely ridiculous.

"Are you just gonna stare at the cup or give it to the customer?" The voice of your coworker, Jenna, rings in your ears and you look up at her, snapping out of the trance you were in.

"Sorry, I'm just a little out of it today, I guess."

"Everything alright?" She asks, and you nod.

"I'm fine, it's just... that's my neighbor." You nod your head towards where James is sat, in the corner by the window as he watches the raindrops run down the expanse of the glass.

"The one who doesn't let you sleep?"

"Yeah, but I don't think he'd take it too kindly if I tell him about that. He seems to have a lot on his own plate anyways," You explain, and she just nods.

"Well, that sucks, but you still need ta' give the guy his coffee." Jenna smiles and walks back to what she was doing before.

You gently slide out from your spot behind the counter and walk to his table.

"Here's your coffee, James. Enjoy, and- uh, let me know if you'd like anything else." You tell him while placing the steaming cup in front of him.

He murmurs a thank you that you barely catch, but you don't quite have the time to sit and wait for more of a reaction.

For the next several hours, James sits right where he was. He doesn't do anything in particular, either. He just watches outside, as the rain continues to pelt down on New York City, and as people come and go from where they were.

Eventually, about an hour left until close, you offer another cup of coffee.

"Do you want a refill? On the house." You ask gently, waiting to see if you'll get brushed off again.

"Uh... are you allowed to do stuff like that?" He asks, and you're a bit taken aback at the sudden concern.

"I don't think you should worry yourself too much, James. Free coffee's free coffee." You smile lightly, and grab the cup before filling it up without his confirmation. You could tell he wanted to say yes but didn't want to seem rude.

"You didn't have to..." He grumbles, and you simply shake your head.

"I know, but you've been here a while, and what kind of employee would I be if I let a customer sit here without any sustenance?" Your lips ply into a tiny smirk, trying to get him to loosen up a bit.

He seems so guarded, defensive. Like any moment, he's ready to run if need be, you inspect to yourself.

"You'd just be a regular employee, Y/N." He says, but the way he says your name makes a shiver run down your spine; and you can't tell if it's a good or bad one.

You unconsciously look down at your name tag, pinned to your black apron that's branded with the café's logo.

"Well, I felt like being nice. I hope you can deal." Your voice comes out short, but he knows you mean no harm.

As you walk back to the counter, you see a small smile playing on his lips, but he doesn't allow it to manifest on his face. You take that as a small victory for your last hour of work.

(bucky's pov).・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The girl who works at this café is annoying.

But she's got a nice smile. And she's nice to me, Bucky thinks to himself.

He sips on the new coffee you'd just poured for him, without his consent, he thinks bitterly.

But it was a nice gesture.

Why can't you just take a nice gesture?

Because your brain's been scrambled eggs for 70 years. You don't know what to think about anything these days.

He watches you fiddle with the espresso maker, cleaning it with a rag, which you then dip into a bucket.

You look extremely familiar to him, but he can't exactly pin where he's seen you before.

Bucky closes his eyes for a moment, trying to recall where he'd seen you, but for a moment, he comes up with nothing.

Ever since he's been living back in the real world, he hasn't been outside too much.

He goes on the occasional walk, or goes to the tower to see Steve and Sam.

But other than that, he spends a lot of time in his Brooklyn apartment. He watches movies that Steve suggests, or he invites Steve and Sam over to have beer and watch TV with him.

He hates how lonely it gets, though.

Bucky wishes that he had someone.

Someone who could understand.

And don't get him wrong, he loves Sam and Steve. They fill in the gaps in his days, and they make them better.

Sometimes, thinking about having something to do that day is what makes it. He likes having something to do, something to plan for for when his friends come over.

But it feels like a teeny, tiny part of his life is missing. A person shaped-hole in his heart.

But Bucky doesn't spend too long thinking about it, or it'll send him into a spiral about failure and how he needs to 'push himself to get out there more.'

Or that's what his therapist says.

"Hey, we're about to close, and we usually throw the pastries out at the end of the day. Do you wanna take these home, by any chance?" Your voice rings in his ears, snapping him out of the impending slippery slope of his lack of love life.

He hesitates to answer for a second, looking at the brown paper bag pinched between your fingers.

Bucky can tell you were nervous when you spoke to him. He knew he made you uneasy, and it killed him inside.

He hated that. He just wanted to have a normal conversation with someone. But everyone seems to know who he is.

Who he was.

"Uh, what is it?" He croaks, unsure of what to say at your gesture.

"It's a few cookies and a chocolate croissant."

"Sure, I'll take 'em." Bucky simply answers, watching as you hand the bag over with a soft smile and watches you walk back.

You sweep up the floor and put up all the chairs, except for the one Bucky's sitting on. You leave his table alone, and bid farewell to your coworker who was scheduled to close with you.

Bucky doesn't know what drives him to do it, but he gets up after he sees you walk out the door, and follows you home.

Damn, if you like a girl, you usually ask for her number or somethin'. Not follow her home to make sure she's safe, you idiot. Bucky's inner voice speaks and sometimes, he wishes it would just shut up because he knows he has no game nowadays, but this is all he knows to do.

He realizes the way you're walking is familiar, and not at all of the way he was supposed to be going. That made him feel a little better, less like a creep. He's about half a block behind you, and when you turn onto the same street he lives on, he's really confused.

Did you know he was behind you? Are you trying to play a trick on him?

But before Bucky can speak up or say something, you walk right past his building, and into the one right next to it.

All of a sudden, images of you right on the street in front of your buildings flash through his head. He's seen you because you're his neighbor. Bucky's seen you right there, getting ready to start your run through the neighborhood, or probably on your way to work, now that he's seen where you work.

But he feels like there's somewhere else he's seen you; somewhere familiar.

He shakes his head, wondering why he's so caught up in you. He thought you were beautiful, but he feels a pull to you that he's never felt with anyone else before.

Bucky's hands move to unlock his door, sliding the key in and twisting the lock open.

He enters, staring at his dark apartment. It's moments like this, when he spends a long day alone, that he wishes there was someone.

Someone to come home to, to hug, to kiss, to share dinner with.

Some to fall asleep with at night. Someone to keep the terrors of the dark away.

But there was no one.

And then his mind thought back to you. Your hair, your face, your warm hands that touched his while you passed him the brown paper bag of treats.

Bucky wishes he was man enough to ask you out. Not even that, just to talk to you. Have a normal conversation, to get to know you.

But that wasn't in the cards for him anytime soon, he thinks.

For now, he focuses on taking things one at a time. And right now, all he wanted was a nice, warm shower and to get at least three hours of sleep tonight.

He's in his room, forgoing the lights for now, before he looks out his window.

For a moment, he believes his eyes are playing tricks on him.

There's absolutely no way that you are standing right there, right outside his window.

Well, in your own apartment, of course.

And there's absolutely no way in hell that Bucky is watching you undress right now.

As soon as you pull off your top, Bucky turns around before he could get more than a peek of your black lace bra, and he feels a burn in the pit of his stomach.

He can't tell if it's shame, guilt, or arousal.

(y/n's pov).・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You couldn't stop thinking about James all day.

After yesterday, you wondered why you couldn't shake this feeling about him.

He'd made it quite clear that he's not a people person. Or maybe he just wasn't a you person.

But again, you tried to not take things too personally these days.

Sometimes, you wondered, though, as you looked through your bedroom window to his some nights.

You imagined what it would be like, watching one of those movies with him at night. Making dinner with him. Having coffee in the mornings before work, wondering what he did for a living.

You chastise yourself for your thoughts, thinking that you were crazy for these ideas you were coming up with out of nowhere.

As you pull off your clothes to get ready for bed, you feel the same emptiness fill your heart when your head hits the pillow, and another day has gone by where you're all alone.

The next day, your shift was at ten in the morning so you were up early.

You took your time in rolling out of bed. The warmth of your duvet was holding you down, and you couldn't help take a peek out your window.

You see that the room facing yours is finally housing a body in the bed. In all the time you'd been living across him, you've only seen him on the floor.

You feel a warm flutter at that. Whatever reason led him to actually sleep in the bed last night was, you hope you played a role in it.

You make your way to the café, and although walking in the rain wasn't ideal, you made it, somehow.

You clock in and head to the register, ready to take the millions of orders that come in through the day.

"Hi- oh! Welcome back. What can I get you?" Your tone of voice made it clear you were surprised, but was trying to not let it show.

"Uhm, just the same as yesterday, and... Can I get a chocolate croissant?" Bucky's gruff voice tells you.

You ring him up, wondering if you should say something about him being your neighbor. Although, he didn't seem too keen on looking you in the eye right now, and you wonder if you did something to make him uncomfortable yet again.

He seems to have this issue quite often.

Little do you know, this time, it isn't because of you or anything you did.

Well, nothing you did on purpose.

Nothing you were aware of at the time.

Anyways, you tell James to go take a seat and that you'd be right out with his order.

"Here you go, James," you place the plate and mug on the table, and this time, when you hear him say something, you turn around with furrowed brows.

"Sorry, I didn't catch what you said." You apologize, waiting for him to repeat himself.

"I- nevermind, it was stupid anyways. You probably have to get back to work." He mumbles while looking back down at his pastry.

"James, whatever it is, you can tell me." You offer with a kind smile. "I can come sit with you during my break, if you don't mind?" A hopeful smile crosses your face.

"Uh, I- yes, yeah, that would be nice." He struggles for a moment, but finally nods his head in confirmation along with his words.

"Alright, James. I get off in an hour for my break." You simply tell him with a soft grin, and you can practically feel his eyes burning into you as you walk away.

The blush creeping up your cheeks also stays there until the remainder of your shift.

As you plop in the chair across from James, you inspect him for a moment.

He was attractive, you'll admit.

Okay, he was more than attractive.

"So, James, where are you from?" You ask, your own cup of coffee in front of you on the table.

"Well, I'm Brooklyn born 'nd raised. Never was a time I didn't live here. You?" His lip twitches, looking out the window fondly.

"That's nice. I moved here when I was nine, so I guess I've been here a while. But no matter where I go, there's nowhere like home." You smile.

"There really isn't, huh? This place is irreplaceable." He gives you a crack of another smile, and you find yourself yearning for more from him. Just a tooth, something.

"Well, do you live around here?" You ask, deciding to play coy. You wanted to see what he'd say.

"Uh, yeah, actually. Over on DeKalb and Clinton." He clears his throat, the hint of a smile on his face melting right off.

"Huh, that's so funny. I live on those streets too." You grin, waiting to see his reaction.

"O-Oh really?" James doesn't really know what to say without giving away that he knows where you fucking live.

"Yeah, isn't that funny? Which building?" You're pressing, and you know he knows, but you're having your fun right now.

"T-the uhm... I live in the Washington." He's now making zero eye contact with you, and you're close to breaking.

"What a coincidence! I live in the Oakley!" You're in a fit of giggles when his face drops, you just can't help it anymore.

"James, can I tell you something?" You ask in a coquettish manner.

"Yeah, I suppose you'll tell me even if I say no." He gives a tight smile as a joke.

"I don't wanna sound like a creep, but I knew you lived in the Washington."

"Oh," James releases a breath of relief, "thank God. I knew you lived in the Oakley, but I didn't wanna sound like a stalker either." He says.

You laugh, sliding a hand on top of his resting on the table.

"Y'know, you do this really annoying thing where you leave your movies running on full brightness on your TV, and I can see it through my windows at night." You laugh at the incredulity of the situation.

"Oh... I never even thought of that. I'm sorry, Y/N." He looks genuinely remorseful, and now you feel bad for any bad thought you've had about the man that lives across from you.

"It's alright. No big deal." Your smile does a good job of convincing Bucky that you truly weren't bothered by his actions, but he still felt bad.

"Y'know, maybe I could make it up to you?" He asks, and you feel a blush moving up your chest. "Like, maybe over dinner?" His voice is timid, you can tell by the way he tilts his head down while speaking.

"James," you slide your hand into his this time, your smaller one resting in his large metal one. "I'd love to go out with you sometime."

Before he could react, you stood up from the chair.

"My break's over, but I get off at 3." You lean down and pull a pen from your apron, scribbling your number onto a napkin. "Here."

You walk away before he could say anything, but there's something about him this time that you notice.

He's blushing, too. And he's smiling. A bright, white, blinding smile.

You think of that smile throughout your whole shift, until you see he's still waiting for you when it's time to go.

"So, do you like Chinese or Italian better?" He asks with a crooked smile.

bonus scene:

six months later

You and Bucky are laid across your bed, the TV blaring a movie that neither of you are paying attention to. Your head is resting on his shoulder, leg thrown over both of his, and his hand running through your hair.

"You wanna know somethin' doll?" Bucky asks, and you feel his chest rumble under your head.

"Yeah, everything okay?" You ask while leaning up on your elbow to get a good look at him, trying to gauge his mood.

"Everything's okay, just remembered something." He laughs, his hand moving to hold your jaw in it. You shivered at the touch, but smiled fondly at the action.

"When I first saw you at the coffee shop, that first day when you gave the free coffee and pastries... I followed you home."

Your brows furrow and it's clear that you were confused as to why.

"I wanted to make sure you got home safe, and then it turned out that you lived right next to me. So I went up to my apartment and wondered what I'd done right in a past life to have you live right next to me, and then I saw you lived right across from me." His face was tipped upwards, like he was replaying that night in his head.

"You followed me home just to make sure I was safe?" You asked in disbelief that he did something so nice for you, when at the time you thought he hated you.

"Of course, sweetheart. It was dark out and there 're some real jerks out there, y'know." One corner of his mouth lifts up in a soft smirk. "Didn't want anything to happen to ya."

You lean down and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, appreciating his gesture.

"I really thought you didn't like me back then, so this is a nice little secret you've been hiding from me." You giggle when he pulls you back in for a real kiss.

"Yeah, well, I don't think I could'a hated you if I tried, baby. You're too sweet. And at the time, I was still getting used to being out in the open without being a national security threat." You both laugh lightly, dropping your head down.

A moment passes where you bask in his words, letting them soak in. And then a thought hits you, and you can't help but become more curious. Now you need to know the answer.

"Hey, can I ask you something?"

"Sure, hon." Now Bucky's brows are pulled together, and you reach up and smooth out the wrinkle with your thumb.

"Did you ever... see me doing anything in here? Like, I usually keep the curtains open, and even if they're closed, they're pretty see-through..." You trail off, giving him time to craft his response.

You have a feeling you know the answer, considering how he turns red like a tomato in an instant as words leave your lips.

"I... there was this one time, but I swear, I wasn't trying to peep on you or anything, it was the same day I followed you and I just so happened to look into your window, and you were getting undressed, but I swear, I turned away as soon as I saw what you were doing, baby-" He was rambling, trying to save himself from sounding like a complete creep after all he's just told you.

"Did you like it?" You ask, innocently, but he knew what you were trying to do.

"I-I- You were getting undressed, sweetheart, of course I liked it... are you kidding me?" Bucky's grasping for the words, trying to make you understand.

"Well... we could always recreate it, but maybe in the same apartment this time?" You cock your head to the side, your doe eyes stirring a feeling in his abdomen.

"I think that's an excellent idea, honey." Bucky's hands grasp your waist as you slide on top of his lap. "After all, I am a hands on learner."

fin. i hope you enjoyed!

#bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes smut #bucky imagine #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes reader insert #neighbor!bucky #bucky barnes au

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ereawrites · 4 years

Text

Dick Grayson x Reader - Mania

this was requested by: anon

word count: 10.5k / rating explicit

a/n: sex pollen so auto dubcon (?), but both reader and dick are affected so idk

taglist: @daddyissuesmademe @idkmanicantenglish

It's your fault, really. You should never have got involved in the first place, but the temptation was just too great to resist. How could you pass up the opportunity to investigate Poison Ivy's pollen? This was the first decent sample any of you had ever managed to get - even Bruce, though you suspect there have been a few times he's managed to get up close and personal with the pollen - and normally Tim would handle it, but he's away on business with Bruce, and Damian's too young to deal with intensive research, and Jason just can't bring himself to care. So, that left Dick, and you could've left it at that. You should have. Then again, Tim did text you to recommend that you helped Dick: actually, you would never have left your room if it hadn't been for his intervention. It's Tim's fault.

The thing is, everything was fine at first; you've, perhaps, been harbouring the slightest crush on Dick for a while now, and it's always nice to spend time with him. He's fun to be around, even if his classic charm sometimes borders on teasing flirtation, and he's got such an incredible mind. You forget that, at times - he has a bad habit of putting himself down as the 'kind one' of the family, the emotional support or the comic relief, and he forgets to let himself be brilliant, too. He doesn't realise you've noticed that. Or maybe he does, but he doesn't say anything, and you've happily spent the past two hours studying Ivy's pollen together.

"It's definitely pheromonal, but I've never seen a chemical composition like this before-", you say, eyes glued to the computer screen. Dick is leaning over the back of your chair, one hand on your shoulder and one hand on the desk beside you, and you shouldn't feel as tense as you do. "-look, this section doesn't occur naturally in any species we've seen. She's synthesising these pheromones somehow, it's not like she's injecting them, but I just - I don't get how."

He pushes off from the desk, grabs the back of your chair, and spins you to face him with a half-smile. "I hate to break your train of thought, but I think we need a biochem specialist.", he says, and you suddenly notice how tired he looks: his eyes are still vibrant, warm, but exhausted. "We've done as much as we can on this, right? No shame in calling in the big guns."

"Tim?", you reply, knowingly, relishing in the way Dick's smile grows into a full grin. He's still gripping the edges of your chair, effectively caging you in: you are not looking at his arms, and you can be certain of this because you are looking very, very intently at his face.

"Having a genius brother has its perks, I know. I'll call him now. It's late in Tokyo - he won't be in a meeting, he'll probably just be awake in his hotel room, tapping away at his laptop.", Dick says, finally moving away to fetch his phone, and his voice trails off into a mumble that he clearly doesn't mean for you to hear. "God, he worries me. He really does."

It's much too warm in here: you sigh, and shrug off your jacket, slinging it over the back of the computer chair before calling out,"You're such a mother hen sometimes, Dick."

"I care. Sue me.", he replies with a faux scowl. "You don't complain when you're ill and I bring you hot soup."

"You're a good cook, what can I say?"

"Husband material!", he chirps. You feel your stomach leap and your cheeks heat up at his words. He's only teasing, but the truth of it is, it has more effect on you than you would like to admit. Thankfully, he's quickly distracted by the crackle of Tim picking up the phone. "Timmy! How's things?"

Tim's voice is dry, as always, but with a noticeable undercurrent of frustration. "Shit. I hate it here."

"Hey, Tim. Bad day?", you say with sympathy. You feel a little bad for bothering him, now; as hard as everyone in the family works, Tim definitely pushes himself the hardest.

"I'm the youngest person here by at least twenty years, and my stomach can't handle sushi. Plus, Bruce gets separation anxiety from the rest of you. The one upside is that I've been able to practice my Japanese.", Tim replies. You feel bad for him, of course, but the image of him having to comfort a homesick Bruce has you suppressing a snicker.

Dick shoots an amused smile at you - he's too beautiful when he smiles, it isn't fair - that starkly contrasts the comforting tone he uses to respond to Tim. "Don't worry, darling brother - I've got something exciting for you! Check your emails - wait, only the most recent one, though, I sent you a link to a Red Hood fanpage-"

You interject with an accusatory wave of your finger. "Why the fuck didn't you send me that? Red Hood is sexy." If Jason were here, he would probably threaten to shoot you, but as it is, Dick's amusement only grows. His smile is so infectious, like it spirals out into the air and right into your chest, and you can't help but smile back at him. You don't know if it's the warmth of the room or simply from Dick himself, but you feel as though you're going to need to step outside for some fresh air soon.

"Because of your raging crush on Nightwing, probably." Tim cuts in, and you could fucking kill him. Dick gives you a pleased wink. "I'm looking at a pheromonal compound, right? Ivy's special formula?"

You muster as much venom into your voice as you can, without pissing Tim off so much that he leaves you to deal with this on your own. "Fuck you, Tim - and yeah. It's a newer version, though - I think she's evolving, if that makes sense? Her physiology is definitely changing." Tim gives a thoughtful hum in response to your words: you imagine it's in agreement.

Dick continues your train of thought. "We think she's working with someone else, or she's been experimenting on herself, maybe. Do you have any ideas about how she's making the new chemicals?"

"I'll need a few hours. Send me all the data over. You're right about it evolving, though - it's definitely airborne. Shit, this is actually really interesting - the molecules are more compact, smaller, so she doesn't need to rely on physical touch through her plants anymore-"

The rest of Tim's words are lost to a wave of horror. Airborne, he said - you'd doubt it if it wasn't for the similar shock that's written over Dick's face - and you have not been treating this sample as airborne. Ivy has always relied on physical, tangible contact to use her chemicals: you couldn't have known, there was no way you could've known, neither of you are experts on this kind of thing - you've fucked up.

"Airborne? How... airborne are we talking? Like, don't-sniff-the-test-tube?", Dick asks, cautiously, maintaining eye contact with you all the while. *Please, God, let it be don't-sniff-the-test-tube and nothing more than that. Please.*

"Shit, you haven't been wearing respirators - have you?". Tim sounds positively horrified. It does nothing to allay your fears, the worries that you've both been infected with Ivy's pollen; in fact, he all but confirms it. Everything is beginning to fall into place now. The tension around Dick - more so than usual, at least -, how warm you're feeling, the mental sluggishness that had you calling Tim in the first place.

You're angry at yourself, for your own stupidity - not Tim, but you're panicked, you're so unbelievably freaked out, and so you can't help but snap at the phone. "How were we meant to know, man? Ivy's never even hinted at having something of this level before!"

"You're working with chemicals, unknown chemicals, I hate-"

Dick cuts in before this can turn into a full-on confrontation. You've got no idea how he's managing to keep a level head. Perhaps the pheromones are already taking a more severe effect, or maybe it's a placebo effect, and you pray that it is, but you can already feel your heart beginning to pound against the confines of your chest. "It's just pheromones, right? We know it's not toxic, at least - Ivy's victims only take a few days to come around, at most. They're just kinda fucked up for a few days."

You admire Dick so, so much. He's right, he's always right, he always manages to keep you calm and make you feel safe: you'll just have to stay with him, and you'll be okay. If you stay here, he can comfort you, and maybe the impacts of the pollen won't even be that bad. And, if they are, well, there's no one else in the manor tonight, and Dick's so handsome and kind and strong, and maybe he'll - fuck.

Tim snickers. "Fucked, indeed. Only when Ivy's in a good mood, though. You guys better get ready for a tough night. I've heard it can get really bad, especially if you're deprived of - oh, fuck, I can't talk about this, this is too funny but it's so weird, oh my god-", and he dissolves into a fit of awkward, stunted laughter. Dick fixes you with an apologetic look, but you swear his golden cheeks are tinged with red.

"How long until it kicks in?", he asks. It's a stupid, stupid question, because you feel like you're close to dying already. You know what he means, though: when will it get bad? You've seen Ivy's victims before. They're entirely without dignity, practically begging to be touched, sobbing from the pain of it all - and you've only heard rumours about the depraved things they let Ivy do to them. What they ask her to do to them.

The huff of Tim's breath crackles through the phone. "Uh - I don't know, maybe an hour? A little less, since Bruce never opens the windows in there. Just seal the sample up, drink plenty of water, and try not to freak out. It'll pass. You won't die."

///

You thought you could do it - stay in your room, deal with this alone, avoid any potential awkwardness with Dick -but you can't. It's barely been an hour. Sixty-seven minutes since you left the cave, to be exact. Sixty-seven minutes since Dick grabbed you by the waist to halt your speedy departure, touch light but insistent, and said if you need anything, come to me. His eyes were dark when he said it. Deep, dark blue, an ocean that you could get lost swimming in; but pupils already dilating, breath already speeding up. He meant it as nothing more than a kindness. Still, though, that hasn't been enough to stop you from coming onto your fingers with the image of those eyes burned onto the backs of your eyelids.

Ivy's pollen is designed to induce lust, yes, but only for the first person you see after you're infected with it. This means two things: firstly, that you need Dick more than anything right now. Your head is pounding, your lungs feel like they're on fire - the sensation between your legs isn't aching, it's agony, and you've spent fifty-two of the past sixty-seven minutes trying, and failing, to fool your body into believing that your fingers are his. The first thing you know, is that you need him, because you saw him right after you were infected. The second thing you know - there was no one else in that room. You were the only person Dick could have seen.

So, stupidly, you seek him out. You go back down to the cave, without even taking the time to wash your hands, because that's what your body is telling you to do, and you're acting more and more on instinct. Potential awkwardness be damned. He'll fix this.

Dick's facing away from you, reclined in the computer chair: his posture seems almost relaxed, just almost, legs sprawled out and left elbow visibly sticking out from around the back of the chair, like he's got one hand close to his head. You'd assume he was still looking at the computer, if you weren't so hyperaware of everything right now, but you are, and you notice more. From what you can see of his body - it's low-blue-lit from the computer screen, enough that you can make out the muscle of his legs through his sweatpants if you squint, but it's not enough, you need to see more - he seems tense. Too tense. Normally, you'd sneak closer, but your head is practically spinning now and Dick will help you. He'll make this better. Your voice is hoarse and dry when you manage to call his name.

He immediately jolts in his seat, spinning to face you, and now that he's backlit by the computer, you can barely see more than the outline of his body. God, he looks so lean, so tall - "Are you okay?", he asks, and he sounds almost as bad as you feel. You swallow thickly before responding - and, through the fog in your head, you realise that your jacket is clutched in his left hand.

You, miraculously, manage a weak smile. "I just - I thought maybe it would, you know, be better to... be together, during this. In case - if one of us needs help, or something. I don't know.". You sound stupid. Dumb. You feel it, too, and you can't even bring yourself to care. The mere sight of him is helping: it doesn't remove the pain, or any of the physical sensations, really, but at least the panic of not being near him is being soothed.

"That's - yeah, okay. How are you feeling?", Dick replies. His voice is barely more than a whisper, but you hear it as clear as if he were right up against you. Chest pressed to your back, lips on the curve of your jaw, that voice going right through you and into the pits of your stomach.

It's wrong, to think of him like this, when all he's doing is trying to check that you're alright. He knows you aren't, but he's trying.

The best thing you can think to do is make a weak attempt at a joke. "I've got a newfound fear of Ivy." Dick even huffs out a laugh, but it's just as half-hearted as your words. "I didn't think it was going to be this bad at first, Jesus - but it keeps getting worse, and, it just-"

"-it hurts. I know.". Dick nods. As you take a step closer to him, you realise that your eyes have finally adjusted to the relative darkness of the cave, and you realise that you can see his cock straining against his sweatpants. He's hard. What's more, there's a distinct wet patch leaking through the material.

When you entered the cave, you couldn't see one of his hands; the chair wasn't moving enough for him to be stroking himself, and you're not sure whether you're glad he wasn't, but now that you think of it, there was definite movement. Like he was palming himself through his sweatpants, maybe. And the hand that was close to his head, it's clutching your jacket, he was holding your jacket close to his face while he-

"Dick - were you...?"

He sighs, halfway between embarrassed and resigned, and sinks back down into the computer chair. He keeps your jacket clenched in a white-knuckle grip. "I had to take the edge off somehow, right? I'm sorry, I didn't think you would be coming back down here, I never meant to make you uncomfortable or anything-"

"I'm not uncomfortable.", you blurt out before you know what you're saying. Dick's expression visibly shifts - you don't have the mental clarity to figure out into what, exactly - but you can feel your own eyes widen as you process the implications of what you just said. "Oh, fuck - I didn't mean it like that, I - sorry."

Dick just shakes his head. He must mean for you not to worry. You stand in silence for a while, not exactly awkward but certainly thick with tension, before he pats a hand onto the desk beside him. "God, this is worse than I thought. Do you wanna come sit down?"

Do you? Although being closer to Dick sounds like the only thing you want in the world right now - god, you can't help but think about how good he would look, if you were close enough to really study him, now that you're beyond giving a fuck about etiquette - you're also acutely aware of how difficult it'll be to control yourself. Undeniably, you want him. You've wanted him for months, really - but the pollen has taken that desire and multiplied it tenfold, made it so that it's all-consuming and painful. In your room, nothing more than imagining him, it was bad enough. Now, now that you can see his fucking cock, now that the image of him rubbing himself with a blissed-out look on his face, it's almost impossible to control.

You move to sit next to him. You can't help yourself. Once you start moving, you feel like it's all in slow-motion: Dick's watching you, dark eyes trained so closely on your form, and you're wearing nothing more than a tight-fitting pair of leggings and a thin t-shirt. After what feels like an age - too long to be apart from him - you reach the desk, and upon clumsily perching yourself on it, you see Dick looking as though he's about to pass out.

"Fuck, did I - did I do something wrong? I'm sorry-", you say hastily, but he instantly shakes his head and trains his eyes on yours. The blue is nearly gone. It's all blown-out pupils now, so much that his eyes are nearly black.

He licks his lips as if to wet them. "-no, no, but - when you were in your room - when you were alone - did you do anything to take the edge off? Did you touch yourself?"

You could say no, if you wanted to. You could lie. He would know, but he wouldn't press it, and you could save yourself the shame. For all that Dick must be struggling just as much as you are, he's exceedingly kind, so much that no amount of fucked-up drugs could change that: he's still your Dick, underneath all of this.

"Yeah.", you admit after a heartbeat, and your stomach lurches when you see his cock twitch through the sweatpants. Still, you're embarrassed, and you feel the need to explain yourself just a little. "It felt like my skin was on fire unless I did. It still feels like that, though - like it just wasn't enough, I guess."

"I can smell it on you.", Dick says lowly. Oh, God. That's hot. That's so, unbelievably hot - especially when you see his cock twitch again - but absolutely mortifying. You're torn between wanting to jump on him, right here and now, and retreating back to your room. You compromise by burying your face in your hands, and letting out a pathetic whine to signal how fucked-up you are right now. Maybe you can calm down, now that you don't feel on the verge of a panic attack from being away from him, if you take a few deep breaths.

Naturally, Dick hardly gives you the chance. You feel his hand come to rest on your knee out of nowhere; it's a gentle touch, but you can feel him trembling, and the touch sends a bolt of electricity through you that's strong enough to make you jolt. "I want to help you. The whole point of these pheromones is to make it so that you need touch - it only hurts because we're not getting that. So, I can-", he says raspily, punctuating the pause with a reassuring squeeze to your lower thigh, "-touch you, just... platonically, if that's what you want. What you need."

His voice drops down an octave with the last sentence - you whine again, involuntarily, but you just about manage to turn the sound into words.

"Dick, you don't have to - we can just push through this, I know it'll be uncomfortable for you - I mean, I know it's not like we haven't hugged and stuff before, but this is different, I don't want you to feel forced because you feel bad for me."

Dick must lean forward, closer to you, because his palm slides further up your thigh. The pain that prickles insistently under your skin is beginning to turn into fiery heat: not unpleasant, but desperate, hot, and you're starting to feel like you're not going to be able to stop if he asks you to touch him. "I don't feel bad for you.", he insists, reaching up with his free hand to peel your hands away from your eyes. He curls his fingers around yours as he continues. "I just want to make you feel better - both of us feel better. See, it's already helping, right? Just relax. This is bad enough as it is."

His thumb starts to trace circles on the inside of your thigh. It's nowhere near high enough to be considered sexual, but the movement has your legs almost trembling. You wonder if he can feel the tension of your muscles. "It's... it doesn't hurt anymore. Thank you.". And, technically, you're not lying: it doesn't hurt, in fact it feels fucking incredible. You spent fifty-two minutes trying to replicate this sensation. He's only touching your thigh, it has no business feeling this good, but each little beat of his thumb has waves of pleasure crashing through you. God, how good would it feel to fuck him like this? You're shaking, and you know it, and it only makes him tug you by the hand to stand up.

Even the loss of his touch on your thigh feels devastating, but Dick's next words are more comfort than you could have imagined possible. "Here. Come sit, if you want.", he says - whispering again, voice so low and so deep, but it's just the effects of the pollen, you tell yourself - and gestures to his thigh. "You can lean back into me, don't worry, it'll be better for your back."

This has to feel as good for him as it does for you. Logically, it has to. You've both breathed in the same pollen, his skin has the same sheen of sweat that you can feel on your own skin, you're both trembling in every part of your body, and he's still rock hard. You can feel yourself leaking, god, enough that it might have dampened your leggings and left a wet spot on the desk. What would Dick do, if he saw that? He's clearly turned on, but maybe he still has the good sense to avoid fucking: maybe his view of you as 'just platonic' is so deeply ingrained, he would never touch you down there to feel how wet he's made you. Or, maybe he wants you like you want him.

"Are - are you sure?", you stammer. You can't stop looking at his lap. His cock, painfully obvious (and he mustn't care, because he blatantly drew your attention to it), and the corded muscle of his thighs, spread out straight to form you a perch.

"Mhmm...", he hums from somewhere deep in his chest, and suddenly you're grateful that he's still holding your hand, because the sound almost makes your knees buckle. He tugs gently. "Only if you want to be close to me, though."

He says that like an afterthought - like he knows exactly what you want, and like he's hungry for your touch and doesn't want to consider the idea that you don't want to give him it. You can't bring yourself to look at him before you move to sit in his lap, because you know he'll see the desire, and for now, you're still pretending that you don't want to push him down in that chair and ride him for hours. He'd like that, you think. He'd like it if you pulled his hair while you did it.

Dick lets go of your hand so he can take your waist in both hands, guiding you down onto his lap and gripping harder when your ass inadvertently brushes over his cock. You don't mean to do it, of course, and you jump like you've been shocked: you shuffle further down his thigh to avoid another mishap, but the movement causes your pussy to just barely drag against the hard muscle - you hardly manage to control your moan, forced to sink your teeth into your lip. Thankfully, Dick doesn't seem to notice, and he helps you lean back so his chest is pressed to your back, before lifting his arms to rest on the armrests. From here, he begins to rub soothing lines up and down your arms, and he tips his cheek down to rest against your shoulder with a relieved sigh.

"Fuck, that... yeah, that feels better.", you practically gasp. Feeling him pressed up against the entire length of your body, as torturous as it is, is the most relief you've gained all evening; his legs are shaking just enough that you can feel it in your core, though, and you're forced to tilt your head back to rest on his shoulder. You'll lose your fucking mind if you don't start to relax, he's right.

With your neck exposed, though, you can feel Dick's hot breath tickling your skin when he speaks. "Good, right? It feels good?". For the first time, you really hear the tension in his voice. So much so that you can't pass it off as your own projections, or a trick of his tone - he's just as desperate as you are, holy shit, he sounds halfway to begging, he sounds like he's dying to know that his touch is making you feel good. Your hips twitch of their own accord.

"Yeah... Dick?", you whisper after a few moments. He nods in response against your shoulder, a slow, dragging movement that feels like honey dripping through your veins from the point of contact. "Are you really warm, too, or like - is that just me? I - I feel like I'm burning up... Do you mind if I..." - you trail off, instead opting to tug cautiously at the hem of your shirt.

He sucks in a deep, rapid breath that you feel press against your back. For a moment, you worry that you've gone too far - it feels so good, but it's too weird, too strange for him even now - but then he slowly curls his fingers around the hem, replacing your own hands, and starts to pull upwards at a torturous pace. His knuckles drag over your lower abdomen for just a second and your hips twitch again, and he definitely felt it this time but he says nothing, and his breathing is warm and fast against the skin of your neck; with the shirt discarded, you're left in nothing more than a thin bra. Although the room feels warm, furnace-hot, you're all too aware of the blatant hardness of your nipples, and you tell yourself it's okay, he won't notice, because you're facing away and he won't - his palm drags against your breast on the way back down and it feels so good, too good, and you can't help but whimper, "Fuck, yes-"

Three things happen in quick succession. Dick freezes, you realise what you've done and move to jump up and run for the hills, and then Dick grabs your hips and pulls you back into him, right over his cock, this time. The friction makes both of you let out a breathy sigh, but where you clap a hand over your mouth, Dick follows it up with a hoarse proposition. "I can touch you properly, if you want. It'll make all this go away, I promise - do you want me to?", he rasps, pressing one, quick kiss to the skin where your neck meets your shoulder. "Do you want me to touch you?"

His grasp on your hips is tight, wanting, but gentle enough that you know he wouldn't stop you if you tried to leave again. When you make no move to do so - you're frozen, you can't believe he's just offered to do what your body is screaming for - Dick pulls at your hips, slowly, dragging your ass over his cock and then pushing you back down. He repeats the motion a few times, rolling his own hips up into you a little more with each motion, and soon your muscles start to work so you can grind down onto him. Dick rewards you with a quiet moan - oh, you want him to do that again, you're going to make him do that again, louder and louder - and then, with a touch so light you could cry, he traces one hand over your hipbones and down to your pussy.

One finger traces your slit through your leggings, and you hear yourself moan, but you're hardly aware of making the noise - just this simple touch feels almost as good as the orgasm you had earlier, even just this feather-light pressure through two layers of fabric, and every nerve ending in your body sets alight at once. This is what you needed, more than anything, for Dick to touch you and drag you down onto his cock, and you're so overwhelmed that every muscle in your body goes lax, leaving you to collapse into his chest.

Dick rubs gently at your pussy a few more times, like he's exploring you, and then suddenly he taps right where your clit is. You cry out, and he sighs against your neck. "God, I can feel how wet you are already. You should have told me, I would've done something sooner, you know that - fuck, you're so wet, let me - let me finger you, huh? Please?"

"Yeah - please, Dick.", you whine, and when you say his name, he moans and shoves his cock up against you again. He mumbles something into your skin that you don't quite make out, and then his hand is fumbling with your waistband, clumsily slipping into your underwear and then he's there, his fingers are brushing right against your clit, you sob out a broken cry - you're so wet that his fingers brush right through your folds, gliding like silk, and by the time he reaches your hole, two fingers easily sink in right to the knuckle.

Your pussy instantly clenches down, hard, and you feel more full than you thought could be possible. Dick moans into the skin of your neck and gives you a moment to calm down, to soothe the desperate jolting of your hips, before he starts to pump his fingers; slowly, at first, but soon picking up into a faster and more urgent pace. With each movement, he scissors his fingers a little, spreading you wider every time, and he starts to mouth at your neck with hot, wet kisses. "Do you like that, yeah? Am I making you feel good? Is this what you need?"

You fling an arm behind you to grasp at his hair, and when you tug after a particularly delicious curl of his fingers, he bites down hard onto your shoulder. "Fuck, yes, yes - please don't stop, please, Dick, don't stop-"

"I'm not going to stop, don't worry, I've got you - I'm here, I'm not gonna stop, you sound too pretty for me to stop, fuck - I knew you would sound pretty, keep making those noises for me."

Your body feels like it's going through the most intense orgasm of your life, especially now that he's given up on pumping his fingers in favour of curling them in rapid beats against your g-spot, but you know that you're not even coming yet: you're close, though, judging by the way the room is spinning around you, and the pressure building in the pit of your stomach - "I think I'm close, Dick, - oh, oh, oh my god, I don't - it's never felt like this before, I don't - fuck-"

"I know, I know, baby-", he croons, and the pet name has you tugging at his hair again, the other hand white-knuckled on the armrest, "-it's okay, it's gonna feel different - it's gonna feel better, I promise, it's going to be so good, I'm going to get you there, baby, come on."

"Fuck - fucking - Jesus, Dick, keep going, just like that-!", you all but shout, and Dick continues the massaging movement right up on your g-spot: the positioning of his hand means the heel of his palm is dragging over your clit, and your hips are frantically grinding up into his hand - god, you're gonna come, the world feels like it's crashing down around you, you feel the contractions start a few seconds before it actually hits you and it's going to be earth-shattering, you know it, every muscle in your body tenses up and through it all you hear Dick whispering, come on, that's it, I've got you, come on, come on, and then you're coming-

Distantly, you can feel his fingers continue their movements inside of you, unrelenting - and the other hand keeps a firm grip on your hips, grounding you onto his lap - but other than that, all you know is the white-flash across your vision and the pleasure slamming into each nerve in your body, one by one and then all at once: this is better than anything you've ever felt, better than every orgasm put together, and it feels feels for a moment like you're actually going to black out from the sheer intensity of the pleasure.

Then, suddenly, you're back in reality. Dick is heaving for breath against your shoulder, but it's nothing compared to the way your own lungs are screaming for air - god, you think you were screaming, given the scratching sensation in your throat - and his fingers are back to a slow, steady pumping, in and out of your swollen pussy. It hurts, a little, but this one orgasm has done nothing to sate your desperate hunger: in fact, it's only made it worse, only increased your desire for him, and you swear his cock is impossibly harder against your ass now.

"You - you're dripping onto my hand, baby, oh my god...", Dick pants, and there's a heartbeat where neither of you move - then, you feel his breath hitch, and suddenly his other hand is shoving unceremoniously under your waistband and going straight for your clit. He picks up the pace with the two fingers still inside you, matching each curl with a flick over your clit, and the motions are all so frenzied, those of a man possessed with some ravenous desire, like his one purpose is to have you writhing in his lap, and you give a wordless cry - too overcome with blinding pleasure to actually make a sound - that allows you to hear his ragged words. "Please, give me another one, one more - I want to make you squirt this time, it's going to be so good, I promise, just give me one more, pretty girl-"

This time, it's not just one wave of pleasure, spreading from your core and emanating outwards; no, it's wave after wave after wave, violently crashing over you and completely overcoming every part of your body, unrelenting and constant - this one lasts at least twice as long as the last, but you're hardly in the right state of mind to keep track of time, and every wave of pleasure that rushes through you is tenfold stronger than the last. You hear yourself shriek his name in the most pathetic, broken tone, and Dick cages you in against his body as best as he can as he keeps both hands working at your pussy, and you realise you're sobbing when he finally, finally stops.

When his fingers slip out of your pussy and exit your leggings, they're dripping wet. Dick audibly gasps, and then he brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks, moaning around the digits, and through hazy eyes you can see the most fucked-out look on his face just at the taste of your cum. He licks his fingers clean - you feel your pussy clench down again at the sight - before opening his eyes, fixing you with an intense stare, and panting, "You taste so fucking good - baby, I'm not going to be able to stop, I'm sorry, I need this, I need to fuck you - please."

He's asking permission, you realise. Neither of you are in control of what you're doing anymore, and he's still asking, as best as he can, if he's allowed to fuck you. There's a terrified look in his eyes, behind the frenzy and the lust - you clumsily crash your lips against his. He tastes of your juices, but it's one of the hottest things you've ever experienced, and he moans openly into your mouth, eagerly meeting your tongue with his own. You're exhausted, but kissing him renews your energy tenfold. You're suddenly overcome with the urge to feel his cock - inside you, yes, but you want to see it first, you want to make him cry out and moan and gasp for you - so you manoeuvre in his lap, keeping your mouth against his, to straddle his narrow hips and face him.

"Ah - ah, god, that feels amazing.", Dick moans, broken up between sloppy kisses, saliva starting to drip down both of your chins - but it's hot, so hot - as you frantically reach down to palm at him. The instant you finally touch his cock, you're gone: there's no stopping now that you can feel how achingly hard he is, now that you feel how he twitches under your hand each time you kiss him, and it takes much longer than you would like to undo the drawstring of his sweatpants, pull them down, and wrap your hand around the exposed length of him. He hisses as his whole body jerks.

Instantly, you set a frenzied pace of stroking him, relishing in each ragged moan that you rip from his throat; he's leaking into your palm, you realise, dripping over your fingers as you pull him back by the hair and attach your lips to his neck. When you suck a bruise into the softest part of his skin - the salty-sweat-tangy hollow beneath his Adam's apple - he shouts out your name, loud, followed by, "-fuck, fu- let me fuck you, baby, please, I - I'm close, you have to stop-"

"Come on my hand, Dickie.", you plead, and you're granted a thick spurt of precum when you lick a stripe up the column of his throat: he tastes so good, his skin so hot under your mouth, you can't stop, and you croon right into his ear, "It's - it's gonna last for hours, still, you're still gonna be hard - I'm still so needy for you, Dickie, look - come on my hand, let me see it, please. You can fuck me after, just come for me where I can watch it, oh - oh, please." His moans start to pick up in volume and frequency, coming from a place deeper in his throat. He's close, you know.

You've started to grind onto his thigh somewhere along the way. It feels amazing, it feels even better because you know he's twitching and aching for you just inches away - once you finally drag yourself out of the crook of his neck, you see that you've left a damp streak on his sweatpants in the wake of your hips, and the steady stream of precum leaking from his cock has soaked the material higher up. "Come on, Dickie, come on, let me see you come, I wanna see it, I - I'll, fuck, I'll lick it clean after, Jesus-", you blurt out, too far gone to be horrified at the ease with which the words spill from your lips.

"Oh, baby, shit-” he cries, and then his voice dissolves into a broken jumble of incoherent mumbles and whines. His cock twitches hard in your palm, once, twice, three times against the rapid pace you maintain on him, and then Dick bucks his hips up into your hand, back arched, perfectly still and tense; he comes hard, almost whimpering, head thrown back and eyes tightly shut, looking so, so perfect as you stroke him through it and grind feverishly onto his thigh. It's the image of his cock that has the breath snatched from your chest, though. Several thick ropes of cum spurt from him as you work him through it, some hitting the skin of your abdomen and some dripping down the length, and it just keeps going, no sign of stopping until Dick completely collapses, after almost a minute of moaning and coming - your hand is drenched with him.

The sight of his cum dripping from your palm makes something in your stomach clench hard, painfully, and suddenly you need to taste him, you have to, it hurts so much and it'll go away as soon as you get your mouth on him. You scramble off the chair, almost falling to your knees in front of him - he rushes to steady you, even with weak and shaky arms - but you don't care about how graceful you look right now. As soon as you manage to nestle yourself between thighs, you lick flat up the underside of his cock. The taste of it makes your eyes roll back in your head. Dick spits, "Holy shit!", and it trails off into a deep gasp as you wrap your lips around him and sink down as far as you can go. You'd take your time, usually, but everything in your body is screaming for you to taste him, let him fill you, and you're in no position for argument.

With each dip of your head - punctuated with a moan from the man above you, each one becoming closer to a growl, animalistic, and you think the pollen is beginning to send your bodies into total overdrive now - you take him as deeply as you can. You're nearly gagging, but that's what you need. His hands tangle into your hair; at first, you can tell he's trying to be as gentle as he can, but that's soon overcome with a tight, guiding grip that pushes you further down onto his cock with each bob of your mouth. The burning heat under your skin is killing you now, too much to ignore, so you manage to shuffle out of your leggings and underwear and kick them away: Dick groans roughly, maybe because he can smell you more clearly now-

"Come here, pretty girl-", Dick says, sliding his hands from your hair to lift you up by the jaw. You mean to whine, perhaps beg him to let you back down, because he feels so good in your mouth - then you see the look on his face. He looks totally gone. Nothing like the Dick you know, warm and gentle and relaxed: his eyes are completely clouded over, lips parted and slick with saliva, brow furrowed with something between pain and carnal desire. You imagine you look much the same, with spit dripping from your chin, the heat you can feel burning your cheeks, and the wetness you feel running down the insides of your thighs. He meets your eyes, and there's a moment of stillness. One thumb slips from your cheek to trace over your lower lip.

Then, both of you move at once - you surge forward to kiss him again, those perfect, pink lips - you fumble with the hem of his shirt, ripping it up and over his head while barely leaving his mouth for a second - Dick's hands slide down your body to your waist. He pulls you into him as he leans forward, half-supporting your weight, and suddenly your back is against the floor and he's on top of you, kissing you hard and bruising, the chair long since kicked away and forgotten about. Every inch of freshly exposed skin feels like molten silk under your touch: you slide greedy hands over his torso as he licks into your mouth, feeling the network of ridged scars and each ridge of muscle. Thankfully, Dick grants you a few precious, savoured moments to feel his skin, while he alternates between rolling his hips against your bare pussy and kicking off his sweatpants.

It's all ungraceful and clumsy - wet kisses stolen between your movements, each of you moaning against the other's lips - and it takes much, much too long for both of you to finally shed yourself of all your clothes. Dick's hands grab greedily at your breasts as he ruts his hips against you a few times, and you can feel how your wetness spreads over his cock. Then, his hands fly down to find your knees, and he drags them to fit around his waist, pulling up until your hips are fully tilted, the stretch of your muscles verging on uncomfortable. "Oh, fuck, that's it, baby. Keep your legs there for me, won't you? Come on, wrap your legs around me - I want to get as deep as I can, it's gonna feel amazing, I promise.", Dick says, bordering on a growl now that his voice is so deep and strained, and you do as he says immediately. You need him inside of you, now; you hook your ankles behind his back, kiss him, and desperately grind your hips into his.

And then, with one deep roll of his hips, he's inside of you. One quick thrust and he's buried to the hilt, and, God, he fits inside you so perfectly: your body all but melts at the feeling of finally being filled, and you keen as you instinctively use your ankles to press his hips further into you. Dick's just large enough to stretch you out, even with how wet and ready you are, without becoming painful, and the pollen means it only takes you a short moment to adjust to his size before your body is pleading to be fucked. He's shaking and panting with restraint above you whimper, "Ho-holy fuck, Dickie, please... please move, oh my god."

"I know, baby, I know.", he says, breathlessly, voice tight with pleasure but still sympathetic. Even with him motionless inside you, it already feels so good, better than anyone you've ever fucked, and you can hardly stop yourself from grabbing him by the shoulders, pushing him down, and riding him. "It just feels so good, you feel so good - I don't want to rush it, I want to make it last. Jesus, my body feels like it's on fire while I'm touching you, I - oh, fuck, I want to take it slow, make you feel so good you cry-"

"-We have all night to be slow, Dick, you can do whatever you want to me, just fuck me-"

Dick's hips roll into yours and a drawled curse falls from his parted lips. He pulls out, almost completely, enough that you panic and squeeze him tighter with your thighs, but then he pushes back into you, slowly, letting you savour the way each nerve ending inside your pussy is set ablaze; he repeats the motion, faster, his curses morphing into sweet mumbles of your name each time he bottoms out. You can hardly breathe - it feels so good, and each thrust of his hips is met with a pollen-driven roll of your own, so it's half-grinding, half-fucking - the slight curve of his cock has him dragging deliciously against your g-spot every time. His movements are picking up in intensity now, and you can tell the pollen is taking him over completely. The same is happening to you: fuck it, you don't want to think about the pollen anymore, you just want him.

"Ah, yes! Yes, right there-right- keep going-", you cry out after a particularly hard slam of his hips. Dick is propped up on one elbow, hair clinging to his forehead with sweat, and the other hand slips down to grab at your ass and pull you up into him. He's deep enough that it hurts, but it's the best pain you've ever experienced. "Fuck, faster, please!"

He obeys, mercifully, and you think you can see sweat starting to bead on his temples. "Is this what you need, pretty girl? Come on, tell me what you want - tell me I'm making you feel good, because you're making me feel so fucking good, I swear, better than I ever even imagined - fuck, you're so wet, are you going to come again? Please, please let me make you come on my cock."

The combination of his cock inside you, and his pelvis bumping against your clit, and the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body: it's all too much to bear, your body is going into total overdrive, and it's so embarrassing that he's got you like this. You never normally beg, you never normally come so fast, but this is different and addictive and incredible - you cry out an affirmation to his words, and suddenly his hand is gripping your chin. He's fully collapsed onto you now, and his movements are more frantic rutting than anything else.

"Look at me-", he pleads, using his hand to guide your face so you're staring right into those glassy eyes. "-look at me while you come, and it'll make me come."

You can feel your muscles beginning to tense up as your orgasm starts to grow. Already, your world is spinning, and you feel halfway to blacking out from the sheer intensity, so you tangle your hands into his hair as a way to ground yourself. "Please come inside me!", you whine - the idea of being filled with his cum, letting it drip out while he fucks another load into you, it's fucking mind-blowing and you can't imagine anything better than feeling him shoot into you while you come on his cock.

Dick's jaw clenches tightly. "Are - are you sure, baby? Is that what you want?"

The next thrust hits you perfectly, and you can't help but pull him tighter into you, so his head drops to the crook of your neck. "I need it, Dickie, you know - you know that - you need me too, right? Fuck, fuck - it's gonna feel so good, I'm so close-". He spends a few moments sucking a bruise into the most tender skin of your neck before moving to press his forehead to yours. Each rough movement of his hips has you jostling against the floor; your nipples are dragging against his chest every time, making you keen, and your swollen clit is being hit so perfectly by his hips, and he's making the most perfect and breathy noises against you - he looks so fucked-out, so gone, so completely absorbed in the feeling of his cock inside you, and your vision is starting to blur at the edges as the spark in your stomach finally bursts into flames-

"That's it, baby, come for me just like that.", Dick gasps, just as your orgasm rips through you. You've got no choice but to clutch at him desperately and ride out each devastating wave as a scream tears itself from your lungs: it feels like your body is tearing itself apart with each ripple of pleasure emanating from your core. Like your body is folding in on itself like a black hole does, when everything becomes too much to bear. You actually feel like you've died, you must have, this is too good and too much and too overwhelming - you hang on to Dick through it all, and your pussy clenches down so hard he can barely move inside you, and he chokes out your name before his own orgasm hits him.

You've come down just enough to process the way he looks and sounds as he comes. Your eyes are still hazy - you kept them on him, you must have - but you nearly come again at the mere sight of him. He's too far gone to even make sounds, and instead he stutters out broken breaths through wet lips, cheeks flushed and eyebrows furrowed hard, and his eyes stay fixed on you the whole time. Even as the rest of his body spasms and rocks into you uncontrollably, even as the hand on your chin slips down to your neck and squeezes, he keeps staring at you with all the lust in the world. The best part of it all, though, is how you feel his cum spilling out into you; even more than he shot onto your hand, somehow, and you realise you're crying from how relieved your body is. Fully, fully, crying, and Dick kisses away your tears as he collapses against you.

Despite how both of you are wincing at the overstimulation, neither of you ever stop moving through it all, and you keep grinding gingerly, carefully but sloppily, against each other even while you gasp for breath against each others' lips. It can't be more than ten seconds from when you come down, before you can't control the urge to whisper, "Give me another one, Dick, please. Keep fucking me." It hurts - it hurts because he's not fucking you, he's not moving enough - you need more.

Dick keeps rolling his hips against yours in shallow movements for a few seconds. His mouth is occupied with sucking more bruises into your neck, up your throat and across your jaw: he's mumbling something incoherent, slurring his words. Each fresh bruise has you gasping his name. You're going to be covered in marks after this - not just your neck, his grip on your ass and hips has been tight enough to leave bruises there, too - and you're entirely certain you've left scratch marks down his back. You nearly come again just at the thought of that; Dick, walking around for days with your marks left on him. Scratch marks under his dress shirts when he's on business, or under the tight material of his Nightwing suit, or blatantly visible through the obscenely sheer shirts he wears out clubbing. He's going to be marked as yours.

"You look so pretty like this, holy shit-", he says, pulling his head from your neck to admire his work. "You're so gorgeous - you always are, you always fucking are - but you look even better when you're mine, fuck-"

“-make me yours, then, please-"

You gasp in shock and disappointment as Dick suddenly pulls out, and his own face crumples at the loss of touch, but his palms are firm and insistent on your waist - he kisses you once, firmly, before he's manoeuvring your body like putty in his hands. You're flipped onto your stomach with another whisper of how pretty you are, and then Dick runs calloused palms down the soaked flesh of your thighs, up over your ass, over the curve of your spine and all the way up to gently, gently, press your cheek flat against the floor. He follows his hand with hot tongue, and when he reaches your ear, he murmurs, "You taste so good, pretty girl. Stay there for me. It's okay, let go. I've got you."

Uncontrollably, your ass jerks up and backwards against where his cock is pressing into you. He chuckles. He fucking laughs with his lips pressed to your cheek - maybe having came inside you has cleared his head enough that he can think straight enough to find your desperation funny - and one of his hands slides back down your body, spreading your pussy open for him to look at. You sense his body tense as he gazes at you. "...My cum is dripping out of you, oh my god."

Fuck it back into me, you think, but you're too far gone to string together a coherent sentence anymore. Your body can do the talking. You keep your cheek pressed to the floor, maybe because your muscles are too exhausted to lift your head, or maybe because it was so fucking hot how Dick pressed your head down, but you manage to meet his eyes. You plead with him as well as you can.

Dick's piercing blue eyes roll right back into his skull when he pushes into you again. From this angle, he feels even deeper than before: with one of his hands running lines up your spine, and his lips wet against the backs of your shoulders, and the steady, strong pace he sets fucking you, you're brought to the verge of tears again within minutes. You can hardly move your body to work with him in this position: he uses the weight of his body to press you into the floor, and each thrust of his hips has you moaning loud against the floor.

He brings a string of kisses and nips up your nape, so he can kiss your cheek again. It's sweet, a gentle gesture, only amplifying the pleasure that each deep snap of his hips brings. "I - I'm not hurting you, am I? I know it must be sensitive, baby, I understand if it's too much, I know - you can tell me if it's too much-"

"-no, please-", you whimper, terrified he's going to stop, "-it's so good, please, Dickie, you're exactly what I need-", and then your voice cuts out into a broken sob as one of his hand snakes between your body and the floor to find your clit. The rough pad of his finger brushes over it a few times, eliciting whimpers from you, before he settles for simply resting his finger on your clit. With each thrust, your hips are jostled against his finger just enough to send sparks of electricity shooting through your veins - every time, it feels like flames licking through each limb, and he's fucking into you so perfectly, claiming you with teeth at your neck, rasping your name against your skin - there's wetness against your cheek, like you're drooling, and you're almost certain you can feel the wetness of your pussy dripping onto his hand.

You're so swollen with desire, you can feel how tightly you're clenching down onto his cock. The mind-blowing pressure Dick's applying to your clit is only making it stronger. "You feel so good, baby. So, so, fucking good - holy shit, you're taking me so well." Then, there's a savage thrust of his hips, one that has both of you crying out in surprise and pleasure: he freezes buried to the hilt inside you. "You're going to make me come again soon, sweetie."

That means more of his cum inside you, more of his delicious moans and groans as he comes, and you say, "God, please-"

"-not yet, I want to make you come for me again. You feel so tight and hot when you do - I need it again, I want nothing more than that, please - you think you can give me another one, huh? One more for me?"

"I - I - yeah.", you stammer. You can, you know you can - your body is practically vibrating from how hard you're trembling on the edge of another orgasm - but you don't know when it's going to stop, you don't know it ever will - maybe this will go on all night, maybe he'll fuck you for hours on end and make you cry and let you lick your mess of his cock. But maybe it won't. Maybe your body will give out, or the pollen will leave his system: this will end and nothing will ever compare. You don't want to come again if it means the end of this pleasure. "...Promise you'll keep going after, Dickie."

Dick starts rubbing rapid circles on your clit with his ring and index finger, and kisses your hairline to soothe you as you sob again. "I'm only going to stop if you ask me to, baby, I promise. You feel too good to stop, I swear - I never thought you would be so fucking perfect, but now I know, I can't stop - I'm right here, I've got you, I'm going to make you come so many times you forget your name if that's what you want."

God, you're going to come again, holy shit-

He hardly gives you the chance to come back around before he's crooning, "-one more, one more for me, right on my cock like that-"

You can't even breathe. Your lungs are on fire, your vision is completely blacked out even once the second orgasm ends, your muscles and bones have turned into mush and you can't feel anything other than the sensation of flying. You're weightless, Dick is the only thing grounding you - he coaxes you down from the aftershocks with soft kisses to your cheek, and his hand tracing circles onto your aching hip, and the muscles of his abdomen are flexing with restraint against your back. "I'm gonna come, baby-", he hisses, and you manage the barest nod and then he sinks his teeth right into your shoulder as he starts pounding into you like a whore, fuck, it's sending you spiralling out of control again-

"Fuck, yes, take my cum like that, that's it, keep coming for me, holy shit-"

You're both boneless and drenched in sweat by the end of it. You're collapsed against the floor, Dick's collapsed against you, and he's still hard inside of you. You can feel his cum - it must have spilled out onto the insides of your thighs, judging by the wetness you feel there. His cock twitches inside of you with every ragged breath he takes. You're so exhausted; this is destroying your body, it's ripping you apart from the inside out, and you're terrified that if you come again it'll split you into pieces. And you want that. You twist your body, wincing against the waves of pleasure that crash over you at even the slightest movement of his cock inside you, and kiss him.

#dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #nightwing #nightwing x reader #dc #dcu #batman #batfam #kinktober #smut #dick grayson smut #sex pollen

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yuulina-vre · 3 years

Text

Cuddles

Fauna’s save heaven

Summary: Y/N has trouble sleeping and shifting only helps for that long. Bucky and Steve are the best help.

Pairing: Steve x Bucky x Reader

Wordcount: 4555 words

Warnings: mentions of kidnapping and violence, Nightmares

Masterlist

“Y/N? Are you even listening?”

“Huh?” Y/N’s head snaps up from the spot she had been staring at. The others around the table stare at her. Tony especially looks annoyed since she hasn’t listened to the mission briefing at all. This time he actually tried to turn his rambling down. The others just look amused, maybe with a little bit of concern. Bucky’s the only one who really looks worried. He grabs her hand under the table, squeezing it lightly. “No, I’m sorry, I’m listening now.” She ducks her head in shame, clearly embarrassed but Tony seems satisfied enough and continues talking. She tries to listen and pay attention. She really does but her head hurts and her eyes are heavy with sleepiness. “Did you manage to sleep at all?” Bucky’s voice whispers in her ear as he leans in a bit. “No.” She whispers back. Her voice is so silent that she worries if he even had heard her. “Y/N…” Bucky sighs knowingly but defeated and squeezes her hand again. She only looks briefly at him before her gaze falls back to her lap where Bucky’s hand clutches hers. “Alright. I have enough. Do you two want to share something with the class?” They both look up. Tony’s arms are crossed, glare directed at them, though, he’s the only one who seems annoyed. The rest are just watching, waiting for reactions. “No.” Y/N whispers but Bucky’s answer different. “She hasn’t been sleeping for days. She needs a break.”

“Bucky!” Now she’s the one glaring at him, trying to get her hand out of his but Bucky tightens his grip. “Why?” Sam pipes up, the concern now on his face, too. Bucky’s eyes meet her eyes, silently asking if she wants to tell them what’s up but she shakes her head nearly not noticeable. “She has nightmares. The bad ones.” That’s enough. They all know what that means. Dreams of kidnappings, torture. Experiments. For four years of her life, when she was only seven years old, she got kidnapped from her home. The people that took her got her across the whole country to a facility where other people with similar abilities to hers were kept. Four years of her life, the years in which children learn a lot, where children should have the happiest time because that’s the period of time that forms who they are going to be later on, were spent in constant fear and pain. She never told them what these people had done to her, not in any detail at least. Only Bucky and Steve have a vague idea and only because she once said that Bucky had suffered just as bad as she did and Steve’s the only one who make living with it a little better. This one little sentence had shattered their world for a week. They weren’t able to understand how someone could do things, these kinds of things, to a child.

“Then… Go to bed.”

“What?”

“Out of the room and to bed.” A cold shudder runs down her back. For a split second a picture flames up in front of her. Someone’s scolding her, sending her to the bed, a bed with nails. The picture is gone as fast as it came but Y/N lifts herself from the chair, slowly. She tenses and she knows that Bucky sees it, that he wants to get up with her. But she doesn’t want him to get punished too, so she squeezes his hand and leaves the room. Funny thinking, they would punish her. Tony never punishes her, where did that come from? “Y/N! Wait a second.” She stops, back tensing again, worried she did something wrong but the warm hand on her lower back feels like a lifeline, like comfort. She turns her head to see Sam smiling at her. “You know Tony didn’t mean it like a punishment, right? It just came out wrong, he’s worried.”

“I know.” She mumbles silently but Sam catches it and nods. “The nightmares. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I-I…” She swallows thickly. Can she tell him that she was afraid of what he would say? That he would laugh? “Hey.” His hand lightly lifts from her back to be placed on her arm. “You remember what we talked about? You don’t need to tell me what’s up. You don’t need to do anything, but I’m here when you want to talk and I listen, not judge. Just like the rest of us.”

“I know.”

“Good.” The man nods and grins again. He quickly looks back to the conference room and then to her. “What do you think about the thing we did last time? You think it would help now?” Y/N’s eyes stay on Sam’s face. “I-I don’t know.”

“Well, why don’t you go to your room and shift? I’ll come in a minute and pick you up. We can at least try.”

“Okay.” She nods and Sam squeezes her arm in comfort. Silently she walks down the hall to the elevator. FRIDAY does her job without Y/N doing anything. The AI gets her down to her floor without a hitch. Back in her room, Y/N falls down on her bed with a heavy sigh. How come she’s so miserable these last few days? What triggered it? There were no missions she had attended, no briefings, no reports. She hasn’t talked to her parents or about anything from these four years. So why are the dreams torturing her right now? Where is it coming from so suddenly?

She closes her eyes, only to open them again. The pictures start flashing as soon as they’re closed. With another heavy sigh, she sits up. Her back is tense, just like her shoulders. Her headache gets worse with her anxiety spiraling. “Are you ready?” The knock startles her a little. “A-a moment, please.” She stutters, gets up, and quickly sheds out of her dress and underwear. Then she concentrates. Sam usually asks her to change into a smaller animal, something that fits into the pockets of his hoodie or can easily be carried around. This way he can keep her calm and steady but still do his work. Sometimes Y/N settles for mice or a flying squirrel but today she doesn’t feel it. Instead, she concentrates on something else. She doesn’t want to sleep in a dark pocket. It will encourage other memories she rather forgets. So, she slowly shifts until she sits finished on the ground. Running over to the door she makes a small screeching sound. The door opens quickly, revealing Sam. “Well, this is new. Monkey?” He smiles and crouches down, holding his hand out for her to climb up on his arm until she can rest on his shoulder. Her tail wraps around his bicep to hold on tight while one of her hands grabs Sam's ear. “Okay, here we go.” Sam walks slowly, making sure she’s not falling off until he reaches the conference room again. Everybody turns to look at him. “Is that…” Tony looks confused but Wanda coos instantly. “Oh my god. She’s so cute.”

“It’s a squirrel monkey, right?” Bruce looks closer at her and she nods. “We have watched some documentaries in the hope for her to fall asleep. I think one of them was about Primates or something.” Sam hums, probably connecting the dots while he walks back to his seat to sit down. “Come on, down.” He holds his hands to his lap, motioning for her to climb on his lap but Y/N doesn’t want to sleep down there. Instead, she climbs down from his shoulder but only halfway. She stops at his chest, holding tight to his shirt like the babies do, and looks at him to see if it's alright. He seems surprised but not bothered. He places his hand on her back and runs his fingers slowly over it. “It’s alright. Just try it, yeah?” She eyes Sam for a second longer but his focus is more on Tony now, so she uses the time she has to look around. Steve, Clint, Nat, and Wanda are also concentrated on Tony, though she sees Steve glance at her now and then. A soft smile grazes his face each time their eyes meet and Y/N knows that he itches to have her lying on his chest. He’s a sucker for a good cuddle. Only Bruce and Bucky watch her closely. Bruce seems a little on edge but the good kind. Like he really, really wants to touch her. She makes a mental note to seek him out later on when she’s not on the edge of falling asleep. Bucky looks… a little startled. No, more unbelieving, like he can’t figure out why she’s on Sam’s chest and not his. Maybe he’s a little jealous. But the moment he catches her staring he smiles at her with a nod, making sure she knows it's okay. She makes a small chirping sound before a big yawn escapes her and she snuggles closer to Sam, tail wrapping more securely around his wrist. Her eyes start to droop while she listens to Tony’s rambling about finances and training schedules.

* * *

“Hey, are you coming back to me now? You were out for a while.” Y/N chirps lowly, still pretty sleepy and struggling to open her eyes. She notices though that she’s no longer clutching Sam’s shirt but lies nestled in the crook of his arm. “I managed to get you down when we were halfway through the meeting. It looked kinda uncomfortable and Barnes was glaring at me the whole time.”

“I wasn’t glaring.” The deep rumble of a voice behind her lets her look around. She twists a little struggling to get a better look. Bucky’s sitting on another couch, book in hand but his eyes are focused on her. She makes another chirping sound, climbing out of Sam’s arms to run up to her brunette favorite person. “Sure Barnes. You looked like you would stab him any second.” Natasha wanders in a bowl in hand. Y/N looks at her briefly then back at Bucky and notices that Steve’s sitting next to him, head on the brunette’s shoulder and eyes closed. Though, what’s more, interesting is the little stuffed and colorful bear that he has in his hands. It was the first one that he tried to stitch on his own and even if it looks uneven with one arm longer than the other and the eyes not quite on the same height. The head is hanging a little sideways too and one leg is turning in the wrong direction. But the little stuffed creature is all hers since she loves to cuddle it while changed into smaller animals. It reminds her of him when he’s gone and they both lovely named it Cappy. A mix of Cap and crappy. Bucky sees her gaze and follows them, snorting. He lifts his shoulder lightly to rouse Steve while Y/N scrambles forward, over Bucky’s lap and right into Steve’s to free the stuffed friend of his hands. “Wha-? Y/N?” Steve wakes, rubs his eyes before he notices the little animal on his lap. She chirps and clutches the teddy to her chest while rushing up to sit on Steve’s shoulder. He laughs a little and quickly rubs her teil the moment she settled. “Y/N…” Bucky whines, sending his own puppy eyes to her. “No cuddles for me?” Steve rolls his eyes and Y/N would do the same, even giggle but she can’t. Her stomach grumbles loudly. She can smell fruits. She looks around and her eyes stop on the bowl Nat has on her lap.

Y/N swears she can see some banana slices just over the top. She looks between Nat and Bucky, who’s still pouting but her hunger wins out. She jumps from Steve’s shoulder, bear still clutched to her, over to the couch where Nat has settled. There she climbs all over Nat’s lap. “Hey, you. Hungry?” Y/N nods and climbs on Nat’s shoulder and lets Nat hand her a banana slice. Y/N quickly starts devouring it, grabbing into the bowl herself for the next one. “Hey.” Nat laughs but lets her get the next few slices of bananas and strawberries. Y/N chirps around the food, now and then jumping around to switch positions when Nat angles the bowl differently. A few times she even throws a raspberry on the coffee table and Y/N has to jump around to get it, making the four people laugh. Though, she notices that Bucky’s not as happy as he tries to look. Dread and guilt settle in her little chest. He still seems a little jealous, now of Nat too, maybe even of Steve, and Y/N knows that he sometimes starts to doubt himself when others can help her but he can’t. So, she makes a split decision. She runs up to Nat for the last time and steals two more Bananas only to waddle over the cushions to where Bucky sits. One of the slices finds its way into her mouth and while she munches on that she climbs up on Bucky until she’s snug on his chest, Cappy trapped between their chests. Bucky seems surprised but the smile on his lips is genuine and actually reaches his eyes. He lifts his hand and one of his finders stokes over her nose and along the white markings on her face. “Hey, monkey.” Instead of answering in any form, she holds out her hand with the slightly squished banana as compensation. “What’s with your banana?” She holds it up higher, poking it against his mouth. “For me?” She nods, which probably looks strange for a monkey to do. Bucky chuckles and Y/N holds her hand up higher once more until Bucky actually opens his mouth for her to drop the slice. “Thank you.” He leans down and kisses her little head. While he chews on it, Y/N jumps a little with cute little squeaks in a happy dance before climbing his shoulder and holding on tight to his hair, nuzzling it a little. Even if Bucky sometimes can’t help her fall asleep, he is one of her favorite persons after all. At some point, Y/N yawns again. Steve has gone back to napping a while ago and Bucky is drawn back into the fictional world of his book. Though, he notices that her head drops forward now and then. “Hey, monkey. Come down here, yeah?” He holds out his hand, slowly taking her small one, and guides her down onto his lap. Before she settles herself, he quickly grabs one of the smaller pillows to lies it on his thighs and lets her climb it. “Go to sleep. Stevie and I are here.” She doesn’t nod but she rolls herself into a ball, curled around the bear. Her eyes are closed and for a second, she fears the pictures will return instantly but she’s relieved as that’s not the case. She concentrates on Bucky’s warm, big hand on her back while drifting off.

* * *

The man that’s holding her hand has a fierce grip on it. Y/N doesn’t really understand what’s happening. She hasn’t got an answer after she asked for her parents, the man just had rushed down the street without a word. Soon he had pushed her into a car and after that, she must have fallen asleep. Now they walk through unknown halls with people she has never seen. The man's still silent, not saying anything. At first, she had thought he was a friend of her mum but now she isn’t as sure anymore. She’s afraid and has cried but kept silent. The other people that they go past don’t even look at her and if they do, they don’t show any sign that she would describe as pity or empathy. Suddenly the man stops walking. She looks up at him and then to the door. It’s big and looks heavy, not like the door to her room at home. “Where are we going?” She looks back at the man but he ignores her, instead he pushes the door open and leads her inside only to lift her up and set he into a chair. There are more people around now. Men and Women in white coats, a man in a suit and a woman in a dress. It looks like the one her mum wears when she meets with her dad at work. The people in the room run around her not even noticing her and the man that was with her the whole time now steps back and leaves the room. The fear she has felt spiraled a little and she curls herself together. She doesn’t know where she is, she doesn’t know anyone and she doesn’t have her little dolphin plushie to keep her company. The man and the woman that has been standing at the wall now walk up to her. They look nice enough, the woman even smiles a little at her. “How’s your name?”

“Y-Y/N.” She speaks silently, wiping some tears away from her face. “And how old are you?”

“S-seven. Where am I? Where’s my mommy?”

“What animals can you shift to?” Y/N blinks once, then twice. Not only has the woman not answered her but she knows of her ability. Y/N’s mum and dad always told her to not go around and tell someone and she never did. “I want my mommy.” She starts crying again. This woman scares her. Then suddenly pain blossoms on her cheek. “I asked you a question!” her tone is sharp and she doesn’t look as friendly anymore. Y/N’s cheek throbs with pain and she clutches it while scooting as far back in her chair as she can. She’s too afraid to answer and only shakes her head. She flinches as the woman lifts her hand again, probably ready to slap her again but this time the man holds her back. “Darling, let her be. We will find out in a few days. Let us just proceed so she knows what’s up.” He smiles at the woman but Y/N can see that this smile is evil. It reminds her of one of her aunts’ friends when she promises Y/N to get sweet and then hands her these disgusting lollipops made of vegetables. Y/N watches as the woman nods and steps back. The man comes forward, smiling at her but then grabs her wrist and puts them on the armrests of the chair, and binds them to them. “W-where are you doing? Where’s my daddy?”

“Oh, did no one told you?” The man looks with pity at her while he now sets something on her head and attaches some strings to it. Then he attaches something to her chest after opening her pajama top. “Your mommy and your daddy don’t love you anymore. They don’t like your ability and want you gone.”

“Noo… They love me.” She cries again. Can it be true? Her mum always tells her how much she loves her, that she is her little miracle. And her daddy always tells her she’s his little princess. “Oh, you sure? Why are you here then?” he waves an arm around to show her again that she’s all alone under all these strange people. “Your parents want us to find out why you are as you are and to make it stop so you can come back and they can be a family again. Without a freak baby girl.” Big sobs wrack her body but she can’t do anything against it. And she can’t say anything. Only a split second later the man steps back with yet another gin and then. There’s only pain.

* * *

She opens her eyes, confused about where she is. It’s bright outside, so it’s not night. A warm hand lies on her back and she looks around to find the interior of the common room. Nat’s sitting on the couch Y/N remembers her being on and on closer inspection, she sees that she’s still sitting on Bucky’s lap. The man is sleeping peacefully with his head bedded on Steve’s. Her eyes dart around as the feeling of fear grows in her. She knows that it only was a dream, a memory that’s way back into her childhood, that nothing the man had told her was true. But on the other side, she has lived with that lie for four years of her kidnapping and her mom… She hasn’t taken it well that her only child was taken right out of their home while she was sleeping only two doors next to her. She had committed suicide two months before they finally had found her. Her dad then had moved away with Y/N, out of their old little town into the big city to try and start anew. Even through all the therapies, he got her she still suffers the effects of the four years. And right now, she desperately needs comfort. She hasn’t noticed that she’s shivering until she gets taken off from the pillow and pressed to a broad chest. The smell alone is enough for her to know that it's Steve who picked her up. “Hey, doll. Are you alright? Another nightmare?” She doesn’t nod, instead, she quickly hides her face in his shirt and holds on tight, her tail wrapping tightly around Steve’s wrist. “Hey, hey. It’s alright. Your perfectly safe here.” Y/N only tightens her grip but looks up at him. He must see something in her eyes because he sits up straight, startling Bucky awake. “Let’s go to bed, yeah?”

“Why?” Bucky yawns but as soon as Steve stands up and Bucky sees Y/N in his arms he seems to understand. He disposes of the pillow but grabs the bear that has fallen to the ground. “Here, doll. Cappy might help a bit, yeah?” as fast as she can She takes the toy with a sad chirping and hides back in Steve’s chest. The whole way to their shared room she can’t stop the shivers or the picture of the two people that started her suffering. It’s as if the images burned themselves into her mind. No matter how much energy she pushes into it, she can’t get rid of them. She loses track of time quickly swirling yet another time in the pain that had come over her, in the torture she had endured, and in the pictures of other suffering children she had seen in that few years. Some of them she has never seen again. Today she knows they hadn’t made it through these ‘tests’. “Y/N!” Her head snaps up quickly. Steve looks down at her with a pained expression. She notices now that they are already in Steve’s room, sitting on his bed. “I’ve called you a few times now. How about we change, yeah? Cuddling is easier that way. Buck’s getting the laptop and beamer ready so we can watch a movie.” She’s not really able to answer but clings to Steve with all that’s left. Then she nods end lets go. While she shifts, she hears herself let out a sob. It sounds strange, some kind of screeching like an animal but equal like a human sob. The shaking intensifies but Steve comforts her, pressing her naked body against his. He cradles her head to his chest, even leaning back on the bed while she shifts so that she’s comfortingly leaning against him. Even after the shift, she lies against him sobbing. She hears Bucky come close and soon gets covered by a light blanket while he wraps his arms around her. “Hey, baby.” Bucky presses a kiss against her head. “How about we coot a little to let Steve lie against the headboard, hm?” Y/N notices Bucky’s hands gripping her. He is careful but Y/N is transported back into her dream with more tortures she had to endure. The screams broke free without her noticing. The hands pull her and the blood rushes in her ears. She hears screaming that’s faint and not coming from her, she feels more hands gripping on her, wetness in her face. She starts kicking and punching, everything to get the hands away from her, to not let herself be dragged to the room with the whips and collars. And then, suddenly… There’s calm.

There are warm lips on her forehead, arms circling around her waist and a broad chest against her back. She hears murmuring in her ears. Soft whispering voices paired with soft touches. All around her is warmth and the cold that has shaken her body is completely gone. The fear in her body slowly ebbs away but she still doesn’t dare to open her eyes. “Shh, doll. I’m sorry but you’re safe, you’re safe.” The voice sounds thick with emotions. “Y/N?” Another pair of hands join her body, one hand slowly stroking over her arm, while the other cups her cheek, thumb rubbing tears away. “Can you look at me?” Involuntary, she shakes her head. She’s not ready to open her eyes. What if she’s dreaming? What if the people she wants to see aren’t here? What if… What if she’s still there?

“Hey, hey. Darling, come on.” Lips press again on her head; hands rub her skin in comfort. Slowly she peels her eyes open, just for a second. She sees Steve’s concerned face and hears a faint sniffle, right behind her ear. Dread fills her stomach. She knows these kinds of sniffles. Turning lightly, she finds Bucky’s face. It’s white and pale with streaks of teas on the skin. “B-Buck...?” She whispers, silently but he hears her. He sends her a watery smile and tightens his arms. “I’m okay, doll. I’m sorry I startled you. I’m sorry.” Y/N’s head empties from her worry and guilt, from her fear and dreams. All senses are focused on Bucky, on comfiting the man that helped her through so much. She sits up a little but his arms press her against him again. She struggles a little against him until he finally losses his grip. In a blink of an eyelash, she turns herself and flings her arms around his neck, pressing herself against him and taking him down with her. She can hear his head bump against the headboard but she ignores it in favor of pressing her lips against his. He makes a small confused sound but then turns it instantly into a moan, his arms tightening. Behind them is a chuckle. Y/N quickly turns around and grabs the wrist that’s the closest to her, pulling it in. “Woooh… Y/N.” Steve laughs almost tripping over and landing on her and Bucky but he catches himself in the last moment, though, it's to no use. Bucky pulls him down on top of him connecting their lips in a loving kiss. Y/N watches for a second before she drapes her free arm around Steve’s neck as well, connecting her forehead to the sides of them. “Thank you. I love you two.”

“We love you, too.” And all of a sudden, she has two pairs of lips against her forehead, two pairs of loving arms around her, and two favorite people that comfort her. Two people, she loves the most.

#Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes #steve x bucky x reader #steve x bucky #steve x reader #bucky x steve #bucky x reader #Yuulina writes #Fauna's save heaven

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ruby-whistler · 3 years

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therapy psa

hey there! have you ever said, “(character) needs to go to therapy! they need to get them help they need” in fandom context?

that’s cool! nothing wrong with that! i used to say and still say that a lot both before and after i went into therapy, because to put it simply, characters in nowadays’ media face a lot of very traumatizing and stressful situations in quick succession. however before i got my own treatment i had a lot of very confusing thoughts about what therapy actually entails, so as someone who has been going through cognitive-behavioural treatment (for ptsd and anxiety) for about a year, i’d like to perhaps just inform people who are unsure about the concept.

so uh, welcome to my essay! the gist of it is:

1. what a therapist does and doesn’t do 2. why that matters when talking about therapy or writing about it

just a quick note, again, that i am not licenced or professional or anything of that sort. i have an interest in psychology, but i’ve picked all of this stuff up by observing my own psychotherapist. if you feel like you need professional help, please reach out and try to schedule an appointment close to where you live.

1. so... what is therapy?

let me preface this by saying the main point of this post, which i will probably be repeating a couple of times throughout this: therapy =/= emotional support. your therapist isn’t there to hug you and tell you everything will be alright. so, what does a therapist do?

- professional diagnosis

your therapist will most likely give you sheets of paper to fill out at your first appointment, ask you questions, give you tasks to complete, psychoanalyze you and diagnose you. they will find out exactly what is going on with you; after all, they’ve been to school for that and as much as you might feel lost in your problems, they know what they are called, why they happen and how to solve them.

- instructions

the psychologist will not “therapize” you on the spot. think of it as piano lessons; you come there once to twice per two months for a one to (rarely) four hour session. most appointments sit around the one hour mark. much like on a piano session, you show off your progress in that one hour and talk about what things you’re having difficulty with. your therapist will then give you advice as to what you should try to do, and send you off for a few months to deal with life.

your therapist, and this is hard to swallow but important, will not coddle you. if you keep bringing up a problem over and over again because it seems large to you, but they keep changing the theme to something else, you might even get frustrated. but a (good) therapist knows more about your brain than you do. they’re not there to validate your feelings, they’re there to help get rid of the ones that stop you from functioning normally.

what they will do, is go; “hey. stop focusing on that so much. i know it makes your life hard, but it’s part of a larger problem. from an objective perspective, you should shift your attention to this issue and solve it instead. if it keeps happening, you do the breathing and mental exercises i taught you, but the only way to stop it is to try and resolve this underlying problem.”

a therapist 99% of the time will not have an emotional attachment to you. you’re a name in their many alphabetically sorted files from which they take out yours and check through their notes before each session. then they will help you solve your issues by explaining the things happening in your brain and instructing on how to fix them. nothing less or more. you will usually not have an attachment either, because that’s not the point of going to therapy. therapy isn’t emotional support.

- further help

if your mental health issues/mental illnesses cross a certain line, your therapist will direct you to a psychiatrist for further help such as medicine or other kinds of treatment. most therapist do cognitive-behavioural therapy, which “helps people learn how to identify and change destructive or disturbing thought patterns that have a negative influence on behavior and emotions.” however, in intense cases this is not enough. your psychotherapist will help you get the additional treatment you need.

another thing they can do is legal things! documents, things to give to your school, job, the authorities, other technical things. they are a higher authority when it comes to a lot of things, and can make your life easier.

- other

this doesn’t mean you can’t talk about life or must be all objective or only talk about the negatives. your therapist will often try to get you to view your issues in a more positive light, ask about other things that make you happy or distract you. you are pretty much free to ramble to them! they’re happy to know, and if it makes you feel better, there is no need to be all gloomy at your therapist appointments. if your therapist is alright with you rapping the entirety of hamilton at some point, or you explaining c!dream’s arc on the dream smp, feel free. if you feel happy talking about something, that’s good! you have something to latch onto and distract yourself from the hell in your brain.

i’ve learned that thinking about things that give you comfort when things get rough is a big part of cognitive-behavioural treatment, in order to stop that good ol’ thought spiral of anxiety.

2. why is this important to know?

well, i think a thing many people overlook when talking about fictional characters going into therapy is the fact that,, therapy by itself often isn’t enough.

i asked my therapist a few days ago what my family could do when i’m having an anxiety attack. she replied, “they can be there for you. they can keep up conversation, distract you from the stressor, assure you that nothing bad is really happening and that they care about you.”

this is something really important that people forget; emotional support does wonders. your friends, family, whoever, if they provide support it’s suddenly much less terrifying to go through the healing process.

a character being sent to therapy and left to fend for themselves is not a happy ending. it’s not going to heal them quickly, it will be extremely difficult to go through all that on their own. the more the people who care about you understand your struggles and try to be there for you, the less scary it gets. they’ll ground you, they’ll hug you, they’ll make you a mug of hot chocolate and they’ll hold your hand and say “everything’s ok. everything will be ok”. because the mental harm in your brain is more often than not a consequence of things being not ok in the past. remembering that it is ok now is important. having emotional support can both remind your that it’s all in your head, and assure you that your feelings are valid and people will be there for you for as long as it takes for things to finally be ok, or as ok as they can be.

as much as professional help is very important, this is vital to the healing process. having people be there for you and just having people who support you in general.

i think people should put more weight on that than just “character needs therapy.” character needs therapy and emotional support. these two go together, and character needs both. you might be, or try to be strong, but it’s comforting to be.... well, comforted. “get them the help they need” no. get them the help they need and then on top of that provide the help they need.

that’s all. just something i thought was important to remember.

- ruby

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prfctethereal · 4 years

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NASA. | sirius black

thank u, next x marauders

alexa, play NASA by ariana grande

pairing: sirius black x reader

summary: you tell sirius about your anxiety and confide about what you need from him

word count: 1,941

warnings: angst, swearing, anxiety, claustrophobia

a/n: here's the next one shot in my thank u next series. thank you for all the kind words i've already received and here's to another one. - kennedy

***

Sweltering clouds settled into the evening sky like a swarm of wasps attacking its prey. Rain droplets peltering onto the window sending loud crashes through my eardrums. And I couldn’t breathe. It felt as though everything was closing in on me. A tight arm was wrapped around my waist, keeping me still, making sure I didn’t move, but I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t breathe.

Breathe goddamnit!

The walls were caving in. My chest was restricting. A pressure was building up, weighing me down into the ground. I couldn’t breathe. Then, I was surrounded by the coldest of water, prickling into my delicate flesh, like several tiny daggers pressing firm on me. I couldn’t breathe. Drowning in a lake of nothingness, everything felt dark and empty, yet there was still a weight around me, succumbing me until I couldn’t breathe. With the last gasp of air, I froze, my eyes lulling backwards into my head.

When they reopened, I realised that it had all been a nasty nightmare. It was the middle of the night and a small draft was coming in through the window, pushing the curtain back just far enough for a dribble of moonlight to litter onto the carpet. Beads of sweat trickled down my burning face, the heat of the moment waking me from my claustrophobic dream. My breathing was slowing down but my heart was still beating out of my chest. I sighed, wondering how I hadn’t already woken up the love of my life, whose arm is currently wrapped around my torso, bringing me in close to his chest, the top of my head, nuzzled softly into his neck.

I wasn’t in the mood for cuddle time with Sirius Black unfortunately. His arm around me was no longer comforting and his soft breathing was no longer soothing, but irritating, and was setting me on edge. He was too close and I was losing my mind.

Sirius had always been clingy and I knew what I had signed up for when we started dating. Whether it was his arm around my waist or his fingers dotingly playing with a loose strand of my hair, he was constantly around me. I adored the attention but even after nearly a year of dating, I still hadn’t told him my biggest fear, which was claustrophobia: the fear of confined spaces.

He was understanding and considerate, a real gentleman, I knew that as much. Lovingly, he was always there when I struggled with anxiety, but sometimes his techniques were overbearing and sent me spiraling even worse than before. Like today, as my anxiety peaked during class.

During charms class, I was always able to concentrate. Professor Flitwick was an excellent and engaging teacher so it was always easy to feel calm in his classes, yet today, it was different. Maybe it was the rising temperatures or the tie that was just a little too tight around my neck, but the thing that sent me over the edge was my boyfriend’s hand that found its way to rest gently on my thigh.

It wasn’t his fault; it was something he always did. Weirdly, I couldn’t stand it today. Something was wrong and I needed space, but when my breath quickened and my hand started shaking, he only made it worse. I knew Sirius was only trying to help but when he had wrapped his arm around me and pulled me closer into him, I couldn’t deal. I had excused myself from class and ran into the wall, tears rolling down my cheeks. Sitting in an empty hallway, I let everything out, crying until Professor McGonagall saw me when she was walking the halls and let me into her office where I could calm down.

I never explained what was wrong because nothing was wrong really. Well, I didn’t feel like anything was wrong.

That was why when Sirius suggested I stayed with him tonight, I agreed straight away. Whenever my anxiety took over, he nearly always invited me to stay in his dorm with him. We could cuddle and read books together; whatever it took to calm me down and make me feel safe again. Unfortunately, that was the opposite tonight.

Shifting out of the bed, I was hesitant to make sure that Sirius didn’t wake up as I swung my legs around and placed them on the cool wooden floors of the boy’s dormitories. I had snuck into the room so much that I knew what floorboard creaked and which didn’t, so I was fairly certain I could make it out of the room without waking anyone up.

My judgments were wrong though. Listening out, the faint sounds of the boy’s snores filled the room, masking my heavy breathing. They weren’t loud enough to mask when I stubbed my toe on the edge of Sirius’ bed, letting out of low hiss as I lost my balance and stepped onto a loose floorboard. Truthfully, it wasn’t so loud, but it felt like a rocket going off for me. Slowly, I looked back to see Sirius stirring softly in his sleep. I assumed I was safe. I was wrong.

As soon as I stepped out of the boy’s dormitories, I felt a presence behind me. Enveloping me with his arms, Sirius came up and wrapped me into one of his famous hugs. It was too much though. I wriggled free of his grip, wiping the tears forming in the corners of my eyes with the back of my hands. Hesitantly, Sirius reached out for me but I backed away, closing my hands around my chest.

“Darling?” Sirius’ voice quivered with worry, taking a step towards me.

“Leave me alone, Sirius.” I bit back at him, instantly regretting the tone of voice I had used. His face fell immediately, his usually prominent smirk wiped away by his pouting lip and his wide eyes. It seemed as so I had broken his heart. “I’m sorry, Sirius. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, you did, it’s fine-”

“Come with me and I’ll explain.” Cutting him off, I beckoned him to follow me as we crept down the staircase together and through the opening portrait door. His hand was swinging by his hand, trying to tangle up with mine, but I pulled away, scared that my senses would flare up.

Normally when my anxiety would get too much, I would take a midnight walk to the astronomy tower to clear my head. Something about sitting on the balcony with my legs dangling off the side and my eyes glued to the sky calmed me in a way nothing else could. The smell of the night air mixed with the enclosed darkness felt like home. I liked being alone with my thoughts.

“I’m sorry about how I acted today.” I said quietly, as we turned a corner in the halls. Sirius knew that I was taking him to the astronomy tower as it wasn’t the first time he had caught me sneaking out in the middle of the night for some fresh air.

“Please don’t apologise, sweetheart, your anxiety is not your fault.” He replied, reaching out once again for my arm, but I dodged it moving to the side. That movement from me was noticeable enough to get a reaction from Sirius, who sighed sadly, pulling his arms back to himself.

“It’s not just my anxiety though.” I contemplated how I would explain it and Sirius frowned at my thinking face. His hands itched to grab my face and stroke my cheek with the pads of his fingers, but he stopped himself, remembering the way I had been reacting to all other forms of physical affection today.

Eventually, I found the words I had been looking for and began explaining. “I guess, it is kind of my anxiety, but it’s more than that. I have really bad claustrophobia and usually it doesn’t get the best of me. Hell, most of the time I don’t even notice it! But today, I don’t know, it felt as though it flared up all of a sudden. That’s why I’ve been rejecting your touches. It just feels like I can’t breathe all the fucking time and it hurts. I love you and I love your comfort, but I need space. Not just you, from everyone. I need my alone time sometimes, so I can breathe again.”

Sirius listened intently through my rambling, until we got to the staircase of the astronomy tower. He followed me upwards and a rush of fresh air filled my lungs when we got to the top. Walking over to the balcony, Sirius still tagged along behind, but kept his distance.

“I understand, [Y/N].” My name rolled off of his tongue almost melodically. “I just wish you had told me sooner. I feel bad, I should’ve noticed, but I didn’t know what to do. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise.” I sighed out, turning back to look at the night sky. Sirius came up next to me at the balcony banister and recognised my tense body language, opting to slide a metre away from me. Smiling sheepishly, I turned and pointed at the night sky.

A comfortable silence fell between us. I wasn't sure if it was because Sirius was too unsure of what to say or if he enjoyed the quiet. Eventually, I decided to break the tension and say something to him.

“Sometimes, I dream of being a star in space.” With earned an incredulous eyebrow lift from Sirius, whose name is quite literally a star in space. I giggled before continuing. “I mean, they're so far apart from one another - light years away! You have all the distance you need, all the quiet you want.”

Sirius hummed in agreement, before pointing at something in the sky. “You see that there? That is Sirius, the brightest star is the sky. And you see that?” He waved his hand around slightly, “That is the constellation Canis Major: the constellation that Sirius is a part of.”

Another silence fell before I took another root with the conversation. “I wanted to keep astronomy as one of my subjects but I always thought that people would make fun of me for keeping it on my schedule. It was my favourite subject and I loved every moment of it.”

“You should’ve kept studying it then.” Sirius said in a hushed voice, his eyes peeling off of the sky and onto me.

“I thought you would laugh at me.” I whispered, barely audible, but Sirius heard.

“I would never laugh at you, never. Honestly, I never even knew you liked this sort of stuffed.” He paused, momentarily. “Tell me all your favourite things about astronomy.”

I smiled, blushing happily as I started pointing at different constellations in the sky. “That there is Scorpio, my favourite constellation. In all truth, it’s my favourite because it’s your horoscope sign. Oh, and that over there is the Big Dipper, or the Plough, and my mother would always tell me that was her favourite constellation. It was mine too, until I met you.”

Pausing, I looked back at Sirius who was utterly fascinated by what I was saying, clinging onto every word I said, encouraging me to keep going. “And tonight is a crescent moon, but it's about to become a new moon in two nights' time. The new moon is the symbol of starting fresh and signals for change to come. I love it. It’s beautiful.”

“The sky is beautiful tonight.” Sirius spoke after a while and I hummed in agreement, but he kept going.”

“Do you know what else is beautiful?”

“What?”

“You.”

#harry potter #marauders #marauders era #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black fluff #sirius black angst #sirius black imagine #sirius black imagines #sirius black x you #sirius black fanfiction

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stonefreeak · 4 years

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I am so sorry this has taken me so long. I can’t believe i missed updating in February entirely! Work is busy, and I have moved and am trying to get everything in my apartment put together and it’s just A Lot right now. But I will work hard to not forget to update again!

Shaak Ti walks through the halls of Kamino, projecting the sort of calm she knows she's become known for over the years. In times of upheaval, anxiety, and unrest, being a source of calm and peace is helpful not just for yourself but also to the people around you. She's long since learned to keep a tight leash on her emotional responses.

It's not that she doesn't feel, to suggest such a thing would be ridiculous—she's hardly had the emotional centres of her brain damaged or removed after all—she's merely cautious with how she lets herself express it. If she becomes agitated, if she lashes out, she risks bleeding her own agitation into the Force and affecting other people and beings around her, stoking their agitation. Not to mention that she risks entering a feedback loop with the Force, where she projects her emotions into it, and it sends those emotions back to her causing a spiral into ever deepening loss of emotional control.

As a Force Sensitive being, allowing your emotions to get the better of you means you risk losing control of yourself entirely. Usually that means that people get hurt, and Shaak Ti has no interest in people coming to harm.

She locks her emotions down, catalogues them, acknowledges them, and leaves them for meditation later when she's alone and has the time to properly dissect what she's feeling and why she's feeling it.

A side effect of this is that she has an amazing poker face—none of her fellow council members will play Correllian poker with her anymore—and as she tries to investigate the supposed chips inside the troopers' brains, it more than serves her well.

The people of Kamino have very limited emotional reflection in the Force, it seems to be an inherent trait of their species. That they're also so foreign to her that she still cannot accurately gauge their emotions from their facial expressions—limited as they are—means that she's always in a precarious situation when she speaks with them on sensitive matters. Being able to tell if they're deliberately hiding something from her or if they simply don't know is more than a little bit difficult.

But if Master Kenobi is correct, then they are deliberately hiding something from them all. Something that Former Chancellor Palpatine likely knows about, was told about, but which they haven't shared with Master Kenobi despite him being the new Chancellor.

She doesn't like the sound of that, the idea that they wouldn't speak about it with any Supreme Chancellor, but rather only Palpatine. It gives her a bad feeling, and she wonders if, perhaps, the Former Chancellor is corrupt in a way they have yet to discover? She's been told by the rest of the Council that he's been found guilty of some milder charges—as far as any corruption charges are mild—but perhaps there's more to the whole thing. Perhaps there are things that the investigation couldn't find, because all evidence of it existed only in Kamino's data systems, far beyond the reach of the investigative team.

When Master Kenobi had first brought it up, she had agreed despite her own scepticism—she is not one for dismissing possible dangers off-hand, after all. With how things have developed... Well, she's starting to believe that he was on to something, even though her own research so far has not yielded much results.

Of course she realises that if the Kaminoans wish to hide these chips from them, her access codes would not give her access to anything that is related to the chips. But she had to look into it through official and open—to her—channels first. There is no good reason to treat people as untrustworthy criminals when you have not even the smallest bit of proof that they are that. She had originally planned to simply ask the Kaminoans about the chips, but once she was about to, a sudden feeling of unease swept over her, and she held her tongue.

But her general research has failed, and now she's facing a very difficult choice: either she asks the Kaminoans directly regarding the chips thus tipping them off to the fact that she knows about their existence in the first place, thus risking them looking more closely at her actions following said discussion, or she tries to conduct covert and far from legal entrance into their systems before she so much as ask them about it.

She pauses and realises that she's made an error in judgement. While it's true that the Kaminoans would keep a closer eye on her if she were to bring any of her concerns up to them... They are unlikely to believe she would trust any trooper.

Of course, if the chips exist at all, then the problem comes in the form of what the chips do. She has never sensed any sort of duplicity or danger from any of the clones she's ever trained or interacted with. They are good and loyal men, men who deserve more life than what the Republic is willing to give them due to their status as clones, so she does not fear trusting them.

The question is... Who should she ask?

There is sure to be capable and subtle troopers among those stationed here. All her men are capable of course, though not all of them are subtle.

She needs to find a trooper who can be trusted to work covertly, but also without being detected. They also need to be without pride, because if they get caught, they need to allow her to run interference in any way she can, and trust her to be doing so for their sake.

Perhaps she should lay a false trail, express worry about information leaks, and ask the Kaminoans regarding their security. Vaguely, not pressing for any details of course. However, just as with doing any clandestine breaking and entering the secure data centres of Kamino herself, she is too noticeable a figure. She cannot blend in or hide herself away, and if she asks too many questions, she risks making them suspicious.

If the Kaminoans are hiding something from the Jedi and the Chancellor—possible because the new chancellor is a Jedi—then she cannot tip them off to the fact that they are suspicious. That they are trying to investigate.

She would like to walk into this potential fire first, ahead of her men, as the Jedi do... But in this particular instance, she is quite certain that her presence at the metaphorical front would do more harm than good. She will need to send a trooper in her stead, and put her hope in their skills and strength.

She'll look into it, there are sure to be some who stand out as appropriate choices. Some who will be willing to help her with her covert mission. The clones have no love for the Kaminoans, as far as she knows, even though they seem to consider Kamino their home world. As far as she's been able to ascertain, their loyalty is with the Jedi and the Republic—even though the Republic has never given them anything, and the Jedi has never been able to give them anything except a clear command structure and the occasional meditation help and teachings about the Force.

Perhaps once this war is over, the clone troopers who still live can finally be given personhood and a place to live and stay. Perhaps when they're all finally free from this terrible war, her men can be allowed to flourish in any which way they want.

Not just on the battlefield.

For now she'll speak with the Council again. She cannot tell them openly, just in case the Kaminoans keep some sort of watch on their communication channels, set up to trigger on specific keywords. If they do, then they may already know that she is looking, so all the more important to not let them know any of what she's planning. But while she cannot speak plainly, she can speak in the kind of code that will have the Council send out a fleet to Kamino under some sort of pretence, and through that, she can send back a coded flimsi message containing any and all information she's found until then. Whichever trooper she finds for this mission will have to go with the fleet, and perhaps that will be the safest way for them all.

The Council will be able to request the trooper's aid far away from Kamino and the Kaminoans, and without any risk of them overhearing it. The Temple, at least, is safe enough that jammers alone will keep the information safe.

If she were to use any here, it would most likely make anyone looking to overhear her conversations suspicious.

The last thing they want is anyone trying to hide away the evidence.

They cannot afford any mistakes. It's too dangerous for that.

She lowers herself to her knees and places her hands gently in her lap, focusing on her breathing as she wraps the Force around her.

She will meditate on her next step before she makes any move at all. It wouldn't do to move too quickly and make a mistake.

—

(Supreme Chancellor Obi-Wan Kenobi masterpost)

#Supreme Chancellor Obi Wan Kenobi #star wars #Shaak Ti #my writing #update

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knickynoo · 3 years

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Any thoughts™️ or headcanons about Marty and his ADHD and executive disfunction Bc I heard you bring it up before?

ehgivjkfnwofhlekj YES. Also, you have opened such a can of worms in giving me free rein to talk about this. I have many thoughts about ADHD Marty and love talking about this and ADHD in general Because Of Reasons so.... *dumps out contents of head onto blog post*

• So yeah, Marty has ADHD because I mean...have you seen the kid? I think he’d probably be the “combined” type since he seems to definitely have features of hyperactivity and can also be inattentive and easily distracted.

• Obviously, this doesn’t bode well for him school-wise. Strickland seems to just dislike the McFly family in general, but I can imagine Marty might be considered a bit of a slacker by the rest of his teachers too, due to his difficulty focusing/ sitting still / keeping track of assignments. Also, this is the 80s. There is a very little chance of anyone realizing he’s got ADHD and making any moves to address it or accommodate him. So Marty’s probably one of those kids who can’t stand school and is always barely treading water as he tries to navigate all that’s expected of him in an environment totally not built for anyone who isn’t neurotypical.

• There’s just...a lot of executive dysfunction going on here. Marty strikes me as the type to be so focused on his own thoughts/ what he’s going to say next, that he tunes out the person speaking to him or interrupts them. (There’s a little bit of this in the movies, esp that scene in the mall lot where Marty starts asking questions about the DeLorean & the suit Doc is wearing and Doc is all Stay focused, I’ll answer your questions eventually. Plus the scene in part II where Marty is just like, wandering away, about to explore the future and Doc has to drag him back, all the while Marty is just talking about being a rockstar).

• He’s super impulsive. For examples, see, um...the entirety of the trilogy.

• Timeblindness. Which isn’t helped at all by the fact that his watch is broken, lol. See: Marty being late for school the previous 3 days, deciding to change his entire outfit when there’s literally no room for error in getting to the clock tower, setting the DeLorean to only 10 minutes earlier in an attempt to save Doc, etc.

• Dave’s “You sleep in your clothes again?” line tells us Marty has done this before, probably because he just can't be bothered to/bring himself to get changed at night. So, he just crashes in whatever he’s wearing at the moment and his family has to remind him to change into new clothes.

• Has problems with rejection and reacts to things in extremes. One rejection at the audition sends him straight to I’m never gonna be good enough, why even bother, I’m gonna give up music FOREVER. And I can imagine that Marty is that way with most things. Like, as soon as he’s unsure of himself or doesn’t do well at something, he spirals and shuts down, which is why Doc has to constantly remind him to put his mind to things.

• Speaking of Doc...he totally knows Marty’s got ADHD (known only as ADD in the 80s). He saw an article about it one day while reading through scientific/medical journals, and a lightbulb went off above his head as he connected the dots. He even speaks to Marty about it one day in the hopes that understanding what’s going on will help Marty figure out strategies to help in day-to-day life. Doc is super supportive, allowing Marty the freedom to be who he is and do whatever he needs in order to feel focused/calm. He’s sure to explain things in a variety of ways when they work so that Marty understands, he recognizes when Marty needs air and will send him out on a walk with Einie, and he’s completely unfazed when Marty is doing circles in the lab, chatting a mile a minute and fiddling with things he finds laying around.

• I have this lovely little headcanon (that makes an appearance in a couple of BTTF fics that may never see the light of day) where Doc uses tools and fasteners around the lab to make fidget toys for Marty. You know those nuts and bolts pencil toppers? Like, it’s literally a colorful bolt with a wing nut? He makes those, and Marty holds onto and uses them while they work/ at home/ even discretely at school sometimes.

• Doc also makes the connection that weighted items keep Marty grounded and help with a lot of sensory issues. One day, Marty is like, even more all over the place than usual. Just a blur of energy and anxiety and chaos. Doc is like, Um...are u ok? Maybe you should lie down ??? or something?? So Marty does, and Einstein goes right ahead and jumps on the bed and plops himself right on top of Marty, who becomes completely calm and falls asleep. And so, while Marty cannot walk around wearing a dog at all times, Doc is like, L A Y E R S?? and we all know how Marty dresses so....

• Last thing! Original timeline McFlys aren’t understanding at all of Marty’s various quirks and just don’t understand him at all. He’s constantly stifled in that house, told to sit still, be quiet, calm down, etc. He’s always getting yelled at for forgotten chores or bad grades or whatever, so he kind of learns to just repress his energy and emotions to avoid getting into trouble. (See dinner scene where our normally exuberant and talkative Marty sits completely still and says three entire words)

• Improved timeline McFlys are much more aware and in-tune to Marty. They’re understanding and supportive, doing whatever they can to help Marty be happy and successful in school and life in general.

And...I will stop myself there. Thanks for the ask! This was a lot of fun to think/write about. I saw the ask this morning and was like !!!!!!!!! all day, lol.

#back to the future #bttf #marty mcfly #adhd #asks #the ''Doc and Marty are both neurodiverse'' thing is a favorite of mine to ramble about #like...am i projecting??#HMMM mayhaps #also Alex P Keaton is Not Neurotypical either #thank u anons for sending me all these fun questions lately

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supercxrpschild · 4 years

Text

hearts to heal

hi, please read this prior to reading the piece !

so, i wrote this over the last few days. I was not in a good place, and I needed to write something cathartic. I wrote this because I feel so utterly alone and to have not one, but 4 people care so deeply about you, to hold you, to comfort you, take care of you - I crave it more than anything.

there is a trigger warning for self-harm. it is not romanticed, this isn’t a story of giving up. it’s a story of family and hope - but please do be aware that there is scenes depicting it. there is also mentions of OCD, anxiety and depression.

please be kind about this work, as i wasn’t sure whether or not to share it.

Word Count: 2146 (i think my longest yet? it kinda got away from me...)

Alex frowned at the text she just received. It was from your school alerting her that you had not turned up to your first class.

“Something the matter, Director?” Brainy queries, leaning across the desk.

Alex looks up, “hm?”

“Your face has contorted into a displeased expression.”

“Oh, sorry Brainy. It’s all good, it’s just y/n. She didn’t turn up at school.”

Brainy furrows his brows, “That would make it day number 4, wouldn’t it, Director Danvers?”

Alex thought for a minute - he was right. She had been so wrapped up in work that she couldn’t keep track of days. She didn’t realise this was the fourth day within a week that she had been alerted by the High School of your non-attendance. What else hadn’t she noticed?

“Dammit. Brainy, I’ve gotta go. Do you think you could cover for me today? I know we have a lot of stuff going on but-”

“I will be happy to assume your duties for today, Director.” Alex smiles gratefully as she moves to go grab her stuff and head home,

“Thank you Brainy, I owe you.”

Alex rushed to her car, bumping into Kara on the way.

“Alex? Where are you going?”

“Shit, I’m sorry Kara, I forgot about our lunch today.” Kara shook her head and held her sister’s wrist, “Don’t worry about that, what’s up?”

“It’s y/n, she hasn’t been going to school and I just, I’ve been so busy here and we’ve barely even caught each other. I’m going home to check on her, I’m just so worried Kara, what if something’s really wrong and I just never noticed?” Kara moved her hand, so it was now holding Alex’s, trying to ground her some.

“Hey, whatever’s going on, it’ll be okay. You had a lot on this week, with the President visiting and then those alien’s taking hostages downtown. Y/n and you have an understanding for when work becomes like this. It’ll be okay.” Alex nods, rubbing her free hand across her face. “Now go get home to your girl, okay? And call me if you need anything. I’m with Lena tonight, but we can both come if need be.”

Alex thanked her sister again and then drove home, her heart beating out of her chest as she climbed the stairs to both of your apartment.

“Y/n?! Y/n, honey I got a text from the school – they said you weren’t there.” Alex called out as she dropped her bags.

“Y/n?” Alex looked around, everything was off and untouched.

As she walked around the apartment, she ran her hand through her hair, messing it from the slicked back style she had put it in a few hours before.

She walked into your room, breathing a sigh of relief when she saw your curled up in bed asleep. She debated for a moment on whether to wake you up or not, eventually going over and sitting by you, rubbing your arm softly.

“Mom?” you mumbled sleepily,

“Yeah honey.” You blinked the sleep out of your eyes,

“What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” Alex said, her hand now moving the brush the hair from your face.

You shifted uncomfortably. It had been a good week of being able to hide everything from your mom, but it was never going to last forever.

“Y/n?, you wanna tell me why you haven’t been going to school?” You shook your head and tried to snuggle back down into your covers.

Alex moved so you were facing her again after turning away,

“Y/n, I’m so sorry I haven’t been here. But I’m here now and I need you to tell me what’s going on.” Your mom’s gentle hand threaded through your hair, though she chose not to comment on the state of it.

“I’m fine mom.” Alex used her free hand to move your face towards her. Your eyes were sunken in, dark circles under them. Your face was red and splotchy, and you looked exhausted.

“Baby, I can tell right now that you are not fine, so out with it.”

Tears began welling up in your eyes. You couldn’t break now, not after hiding things for months and months. What would she do when she finds out? Probably send you away, probably hate you.

You pushed the tears away, swiping at them furiously. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“I know you don’t want to, y/n.”

“Then why won’t you leave me alone?!” Alex sat shocked; you had never raised your voice at her.

“Y/n- ”

“No! I don’t want help; I don’t need help. I am FINE.” You huffed and turned away.

Alex decided to give you a moment. A moment so she could think about what to do next. She didn’t want to force you to open up to her, because then it would lack genuineness and could damage the trust between you both. But she was so damn worried about you.

Within that minute that Alex had left you alone for, you managed to get past her and lock yourself in the bathroom – Alex only becoming aware when she heard the door shut.

“Dammit y/n.” She whispered to herself before knocking on the door.

“What mom!? Am I not allowed to pee alone anymore?!” You and her both knew that wasn’t what you were doing; and knowing your mom – a badass DEO agent – you had very limited time before the door was busted open.

You felt below the sink, pulling the blade from where you’d hidden it. Wasting no time, you slashed at your thighs, the relief immediate.

Right on time, Alex forced the door open.

“Oh baby.” You looked up at her, begging her not to get any closer. “Let’s put that down, alright y/n? Then we can get you cleaned up and talk.” You shook your head, feeling yourself become unwound.

“No, please. I just, I just need to do it two more times. It doesn’t work if its only once, please mom please.” Alex cringed slightly, how didn’t she notice that you had been on a downward spiral? That your OCD was coming back full force? That your eating habits changed, that your anxiety and depression were spiking again – how didn’t she realise?

“Y/n, please put it down.” You scooted across the floor, putting as much distance between you both as you could.

“I need it mom, please.” Tears rolled down your cheeks with no sign of stopping. Alex was doing the most to keep hers at bay. She couldn’t do this.

You look down at your thigh, blood dripping. You didn’t notice your mom flipping open her watch and pressing the button that had your aunt rushing through the door within the minute.

“Kara, please, I can’t – I don’t wanna hurt her. I don’t know how to stop her.” Kara took over, seeing her sister’s frantic state and pulled you into her lap, shushing you softly. You were no match for her kryptonian strength as she threw the blade towards your mom, who then flushed it.

You wailed and wailed, trying desperately to get out of Kara’s grip. She never wavered, just calmly whispering to you. Eventually, Alex pulled herself together and sat down on the bathroom floor with you both, noticing you beginning to stop fighting.

“My sweet, sweet girl.” She whispered, holding your face in her hands, kissing away the tears of anguish and suffering.

“Mommy.” You reached out from your Auntie Kara’s grip, latching onto Alex. “’m sorry mommy, ‘m sorry.”

“Shhh, shhh honey. It’s all okay. I’ve got you.” Alex paid no attention to the blood that was getting over her clothes. All she cared about was holding you tight.

Kara sat quietly, watching her niece and her sister who were both clearly in pain and scared. Alex usually always had control of situations, so when Kara came in to see her frozen and desperate it scared her.

“Hey, I think we should have a look at your leg, y/n.” Kara said softly, not wanting to break up the mother-daughter moment; but being the only one who got a good look at your thigh, she knew the depth of the wounds.

Alex tried to ease you off her, coaxing you until you eventually let go. She didn’t realise the damage you’d done. Not only the new, deep cuts; but the hundreds of scars covering your skin. She felt like she’d failed.

“Baby, I think you need stitches for a couple of these.” Alex said, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“I’m not getting stitches. It’s fine, Mom.” Kara interjected,

“They’re pretty bad sweetheart.”

You shook your head. “I’m not going to a hospital. You can’t make me.”

Kara looked at Alex, trying to see if they were on the same page.

“We could call Lena, then her and I can do it.” Your mom says, nodding to Kara who pulls out her phone.

Kara lifted you onto the bathroom counter. There were some perks to having two people trained in some sort of medicine in your chosen family, you guessed. They could perform small things like this. But sometimes, like today, it just didn’t make things any easier. Your Aunt Kara tried to talk to you, keeping your eyes on her as her sister and girlfriend cleaned your wounds and stitched them up. You had tears of pain dripping down your face, but your bared it. Just.

“We’re done, y/n. You did so well darling.” You blushed slightly at Lena’s praise. Reaching for your mom, she had no hesitation in pulling you into her arms, albeit struggling a little.

There was a knock at the door, and given you wouldn’t let your mom go, Kara went and answered it.

It was Kelly, who had brought over homemade soup, bread and some ice-cream.

With you still attached to her hip, Alex kissed her girlfriend and whispered a small thank-you. Kelly smiled knowingly and rubbed your shoulder.

The four older women would do anything to make sure the youngest of their family was okay, and seeing you so obviously not, was painful.

“Should we eat something bub?” Alex asked gently, you shook your head. “Kelly brought your favourites.” You shook your head again,

“Don’t wanna eat.” Alex sighed. You’d truly slipped so far backwards.

She tried to put you down on the couch, eventually compromising so you were sitting on her lap. It was a long hour of persuading and encouragement from all four women, but you ended up eating something.

Kara tried to lighten the mood, talking about anything and everything to keep your mind off the food. It worked for the most part, but you just couldn’t stop thinking about how utterly fat you were. You shouldn’t need to eat.

It felt like you were just a lifeless sack, being passed from one person to another; your brain having difficulty processing what was going on until it was happening. Your mom placed you into a full tub, scrubbing your dirty hair and body. There was faint commotion somewhere else in the apartment, but you couldn’t focus long enough to figure out what it was.

Kara and Lena worked on changing your bed, giving you fresh sheets and blankets. Kelly called a couple contacts she had that were good at working with adolescents. It would be hard to bring up the fact that you have to go back to therapy; you weren’t too fond of it. But Kelly was happy to help make it as comfortable as it can be, even looking for someone who was in the same building as her so she could be there if need be.

Lena offered to braid your hair while your mom, aunt Kara and Kelly talked outside. You welcomed the attention and began to drop off as nimble fingers threaded through your freshly washed hair, despite it only being the afternoon.

“You can go to sleep darling, it’s okay.” Lena said gently as she finished the second braid. You surprised her by turning into her and nuzzling her neck; desperate for the comfort wherever you could find it after isolating yourself for so long.

Alex walked in, telling Lena that both Kara and Kelly had to go back to work, at least for an hour or two.

“I’m happy to stay if you both need someone here?” Lena replies, smoothing your hair as you get nearer to sleep.

“Thank you, Lena. But we’ll be alright; plus, I’m pretty sure the other two are coming back tonight, if you want to come too. They’re worried about her.” Lena nods,

“I am too.” Alex realises how much you mean to all four of them. This little girl, who was maybe not so little, had such a huge part of their hearts – hearts that now ached alongside yours. Though, hopefully, they would be hearts to help heal yours, too.

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