#like. man. hes just so fucking filled with anxiety. he guards the things that make him happy with ferocity

[bacchuschucklefuck]

riz gukgak is SO distressing to have as a favourite character I can never funckign rest out here

[onlyjaeyun]

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐋𝐘 𝐁𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 – 𝟓𝟔

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐗: 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠

↬ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

↬ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬!𝐀𝐔, 𝐂𝐄𝐎!𝐉𝐚𝐲, 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐲!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

↬ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟒.𝟏𝐤

↬ 𝐜𝐰: 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐯𝐢𝟎𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝟎𝐝, 𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐚𝐛𝐯𝐬𝐞, 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐮𝐦𝐚

"Jongie?"

The sound of his best friend's voice pulls the young business man right out of his chaotic thoughts and with worry and anxiety gleaming in his usually so stern and cold eyes, he turns his head to meet Sunghoon's gaze.

"What's going on? Why did you just pick up Kim Jiwoong's phone call?"

"We gotta get to the headquarters as fast as possible", Jay replies and balls his hands into tight fists as the feeling of being useless suddenly overwhelms him, "Y/N's brothers are on their way to her and I'm pretty sure they're gonna pull a shitshow in front of the whole office just to humiliate her."

Jake's head quickly turns to look at his boss and best friend with confused eyes, right as Heeseung's gaze meets Hoon's concern filled one, yet none of them dare to say a single word.

"Come on, Seungie", Jongseong suddenly presses through gritted teeth, "drive a little faster, will you? I have no idea what they're going to do once they get to her nor do I have a fucking clue how she might react to their presence and their words, so please. Drive. Faster."

"Yes, Jong", is the only thing Seung days right before silence follows his response up until the four business man make it to the front of TPC's headquarters.

Jay doesn't know where your brothers are. He's lost their location weeks ago, when he found out that the men he had hired were actually working for Jiwoong. After the realisation had hit him like a ton of bricks, it was too late to actually find them again and not even his biggest rival could give him any information about their whereabouts.

His lack of knowledge and the worry about your actual safety has been driving him into insanity for the past twenty minutes and if it wasn't for the fact that he needs to stay strong and composed for you, Jay would have lost his shit by now already.

But he simply has no choice but to keep it down. For now.

He knows the upcoming days won't be easy for you, mentally and physically, which is exactly why he can't just give into the urge to go on a massive searching spree in hopes of finding those bastards and finally giving them what they deserve.

His time for your revenge will come, all he has to do is remain just a little bit more patient.

By the time Jongseong stares at his own reflection in the mirror of the elevator, he can feel his heart brutally smashing against his rib cage to the point where he feels like his lungs are about to hyperventilate.

He can feel his boys' eyes boring in his sides, but he doesn't scold them. Matter of fact, Jay doesn't say a single word, simply because he doesn't want to hurt anyone's feelings by unloading his pent up anger and frustration about your brothers on the wrong people.

You're safe and protected.

Dokyeom as well as Mingyu are by your side and there's no way your brothers can just enter the main building without the security guards checking their IDs.

You're safe and protected.

Jay knows where you are and who you're with, he knows those two girls are your safe place. On top of that you're literally on the tenth floor with a dozen other employees having their lunch. Your brothers aren't that brave nor are they stupid enough to pull up at this time of the day.

You're safe and protected.

Yet no matter how many times he tells himself just that, Jongseong can't help but feel his chest tightening at the thought of your fear and panic filled eyes; the ones he's been trying so hard to heal and keep safe, the ones which are usually so soft and gentle.

"She's safe."

Jaeyun's words are the first thing his brain recognises in the past twenty minutes and with a thin veil of tears blurring his vision, Jongseong just throws his arms around his best friends shoulders and lets out a loud sigh of frustration.

"It's okay, brother", Jake sighs and tightens his hold around the young man, knowing he's usually not one to be so openly vulnerable and for some reason all three of his best friends find comfort in the intimacy of the moment.

"When will this be over?"

The words leave his lips before his brain can overthink them, something he never even dared to mumble to himself as he was too afraid of being too weak, too insecure and unable to protect you the way he promised you to.

It's not even because he's tired.

Jay would burn the world for your happiness and safety, went against his father and every single thought he had been implanted with throughout the years just for you.

Yet it's the thought of his power and everything he's done and tried not being enough. He just wants you to be happy and safe forever. So what if all of this is ruined, simply because he made one little mistake of foregoing a proper background check, resulting in your brothers walking around freely instead of being taken care of the way he's promised you to.

It's not that he's tired.

Jongseong is simply scared of disappointing you and failing to keep his promise.

"Soon", Hoon sighs and balls his hands to fists at the sight of his usually so strong and confident friend being so desperate and lost, "I'm going to make sure those fuckers never, ever see the outside of a cell again and I promise you that."

Jongseong tries his best to regain his composure, mostly because he feels like a child for breaking down in his best friend's arms, but also because he doesn't want to worry you even more than necessary.

He knows his brain is purposely painting the worst case scenarios, yet for the first time in what feels like forever, he simply can't find the strength to fight against it.

By the time the elevator doors open again, Jay has managed to calm down and impatiently makes his way down the hallway to Jimin's office, knowing the moment he holds you in his arms again, everything will be okay, even if it's just for a short moment.

You, on the other hand, try your best to listen to your friends as they try to distract you with silly little stories, despite the fact that you can read them like open books and are more than aware just how tense they both are.

For some reason, however, you can't help but feel sad and disappointed.

Sad and disappointed because your brothers have never loved or accepted you.

Sad and disappointed because your mother's ability to get into her sons heads has lead to your life being ruined and your soul left in stains of decade long abuse and hatred.

Sad and disappointed because your brothers never deemed you worthy enough to live a normal, average life.

Sad and mostly disappointed because you know your boyfriend might eventually grow tired of dealing with this constang back and forth, and you can't even blame him.

You're tired, mentally and physically exhausted.

All you want for this is to finally be over.

You never wanted much. But apparently you weren't worthy of anything you've ever wanted.

"Baby?"

The sound of Jay's voice is the one to finally pull you back into reality and without giving it another thought, you throw away all the worries about people possibly seeing you two together and throw yourself into the comforting embrace of his arms.

With a soft sigh, you bury your face in the crook of his neck, his arms tightening around your waist as he inhales your scent and finally allows himself to calm down, now that you're in his arms. Safe and sound.

"What's happening, Jongie?"

Your question is filled with concern snd anxiety, panic wavering in your voice as you pull away with his face in your delicate hands and the fact Jongseong doesn't hesitate to take yours into his own right before he starts placing gentle kisses into your palms.

"We don't know where your brothers are and Jiwoong said he's sure they're close", Jay breathes and holds you close to his body, too aftaid to let go of you.

"Let's get you two to Seung's place, hm? They surely don't know where he lives and we'll make sure nobody follows us", Jake suggets calmly, his usually so energetic eyes gleaming with concern.

Jay doesn't say anything, just sighs before he shoots your two bodyguards a nod and then intertwines your fingers with his.

"We gotta get you somewhere safe, Baby", he whispers against your lips, his forehead pressed against yours as he tries to remain calm and collected, "I don't wanna make this a bigger deal than it is but I just – I don't – I don't know what else to do."

It's that little stumble over the words, which make you realise just how much Jongseong is panicking and without even missing a beat, you start caressing his cheek with the back of your hand and wait for him to meet your gaze.

"Everything's going to be okay, my love", you whisper and smile at him, "we'll figure it out together just how we always do, yeah?"

"Yes, Baby", he replies softly, his voice hoarse and drenched in exhaustion, "you're right. We've got this. Let's go."

And with those words you find yourself taking the elevator down to the lobby of TPC's main building, Jongseong's strong arm thrown over your shoulder to keep you as close to his body as physically possible and all of a sudden the only think you can think of is finally falling asleep in his arms.

Dokyeom and Mingyu are the first one to step out of the elevator to make sure everything is safe before the boys suddenly form a triangle around the two of you, making you feel even safer than you already did and with a soft smile you look up at Jake.

"Anything for TPC's official first lady", he jokes and shoots you a wink, easily calming your racing mind with a few words and you find yourself incredibly grateful about their presence. Not just in this particular moment but your and especially Jongseong's life. They really are the greatest set of best friends and you're so happy to know your love has such amazing people so close to him.

"There she is, everybody!"

Maybe it's the fact you didn't really expect to hear that voice ever again or maybe it's the high volume of his tone, maybe even his choice of words, yet regardlessly, nothing could have prepared you for the sight of your two older brothers standing right in front of you like it's the most normal thing in the world.

"Ming–", "Now now, Mr. Park", the older one says and cocks his head to the side, his shaved head and the tattoos covering the entirety of his neck shocking you, since you don't remember that combination to look as scary as it does right now.

Mingyu and Dokyeom are quick to interfere, doing what needs to be done and almost tackling both of your brothers enough to stop them from moving.

All you can do, however, is stare at them in utter shock.

You can't believe how much they've changed in the three years you hadn't seen them, as the younger one had followed the example of his older brothers and actuakly shaving his hair off and covering himself in dark ink. Your eyes anxiously roam their faces and all of a sudden you're hit with flashbacks from some of the worst nights in your childhood.

"Bring her to the car and take her to your place, Heeseung", Jay orders and tries to let go of your hand, yet fails since you've tightened your grip on him like your life depends on it.

"Come on, Y/N", Sunghoon's gentle voice echoes in your head but doesn't quite reach you.

It feels like the whole world has come to a halt in your body's desperate attempts to stay conscious. Your brain flooded with mental images of all the times they had made you beg for their mercy, for them to just please stop hurting you.

The fact their eyes are still filled with the same hatred and wrath doesn't help with the intensity of your reaction and before you can even mutter a single word, the oldest shoots you one of his evil smiles, knowing exactly what his presence has done to you.

"What a family reunione, huh, little one?" He spits and tries a little to move out of Mingyu's strong hold around his arms, only to fail miserably.

"Get them the fuck out of here, Dokyeom", Jay orders through gritted teeth, barely holding himself back at the sight of the men who have made your life living hell.

If it wasn't for you, Jongseong would have had them beat up right then and there. But he knows better than to traumatize you even further by ordering his men to do exactly what everyone involved has been dying to.

"Hold the fuck up, Big Boss", the younger one finally speaks up, somehow manages to pull you out of your frozen state and with tears burning in your eyes and the knot in your throat fgrowing in its size by the minute, you dare to look at the one man you've always found some kind of hope in.

At the end of the day he barely ever physically hurt you the way the other two did and despite opting to use his words to break you, he also just so happened to be the one to take care of your wounds whenever everyone went to sleep.

You still remember your last day at home, where you had begged him to move to Seoul with you in hopes of giving him the opportunity to escape the fate of your other two brothers, only to realise that his loyalty to them would always overshadow everything else.

"Dokyeom. Now."

"Have you told him about what you've done to ruin our lives or do we get the honor to do it?"

Your brother doesn't care about the man in his back, who could easily snap his neck without much force, spitting those words like they're venom on his tongue and with wide eyes you let go of Jongseong's arm once your brain manages to process his threat.

"No", you whisper and shake your head in disbelief, "please, don't. Not here. Not in front of everyone."

"Don't talk to him, Baby", Jay is quick to intervene in your first interaction with your brother in three years, knowing oh too well that there's no way for this to end in a good way, "just go to the car with Seung and Hoonie. Please, angel."

"Angel? You call that bitch an angel?"

For those words Mingyu pulls your older brother's arms a little further into his chest, eliciting a painful groan from the man you've always hoped to never face again.

"Dok–"

"Your precious angel is the bastard daughter of a fucking felon and the reason why our father almost became a killer ten years ago", the younger one yells instead and it's then that a wave of shame and embarrassment drown you in their pain.

"What?"

Jay physically can't hold himself back from asking as confusion overwhelms him and for a moment his brain actually considers listening to your abusers instead of doing what's need to be done.

"You all heard what I said", your brother yells loud enough for everyone around you, knowing exactly what to do and say to humiliate you with as many eyes on you as possible.

"TPC's new first lady is a fucking bastard and the daughter of a convicted criminal. She's a shame to our family and a fucking loser. She always has been and will be, no matter how many CEOs she fucks. Y/N is a worthless wh–"

You've told Jongseong a fair amount of stories about your brothers and what they had done to you, yet none of them could have prepared him for the actual reality of their evilness.

Jay still remembers the way you had broken down the first time he had decided to stay over at your place after the business trip and you had opened up about the abuse and everything they had put you through. From merciless beatings to constant verbal and mental harassment to the point where you spent the nights in the library of your university in hopes of escaping them for just a little longer.

And maybe it's the memory of your heavy sobs and painful cries or maybe because he's never, ever wanted to physically hurt someone as much as your brothers, but as those words echo in his head, Jongseong has finally had enough.

Before anyone can even think about interfering, your boyfriend has already made his way to your older brother and skillfully lands a hard punch right in his face.

"Jay!"

Your voice is more of a gasp once you realise what the fuck had just happened but to your even bigger surprise, your boyfriend doesn't seem to be satisfied as he throws his fists into your brothers face with such vigor, you're left speechless.

You watch his eyes roll into the back of his head as his body goes limp and you realise that Jongseong actually knocked him out without flinching of pain at all.

"Let me fucking go–", your younger brother yells and tries to fight against Dokyeom's strong grip as soon as he watchesthe older one fall face first onto the floor, "you can beat us up as much as you want but it won't change the fact that your little trophy whore of a wife is a fucking homewrecker!"

Jay lets his gaze shift to the face the voice belongs to, a thick red veil of anger and wrath covering his consciousness as he lifts his fist to give your brother a piece of his actual mind, not giving a single fuck about who might be watching.

"Don't ever", Jay grunts as he lands punch after punch in the younger one's face until blood starts pouring from his nose, splattering all over your boyfriend's white dress shirt, "talk about her again or I'll fucking kill you. Did you hear me?"

Yet again, the whole world seems to stop as tense silence follows the young CEO's violent outburst.

It's so quiet, you can hear your heartbeat thrumming in your ears as adrenaline rushes through your veins and you don't even dare looking around you.

"Pathetic pieces of shit", Jongseong spits and lets go of your brother's collar before he lifts his head and looks straight into the lense of a camera, the realisation resulting in his brain to shut down completely.

But this time the boys are faster than Jongseong, as one of them stays by your side, while the orher two stop their best friend from attacking the journalist.

"Is that shit recording? Yeah? Then listen up because I have something to say for all the gossip media outlets out there who will try to make me the bad guy in this", Jongseong suddenly yells, his voice the loudest you've ever heard him and before you can even react, Jake pushes you to stand behind his back, hiding you from the noisy camera to protect you.

Never in his life has Jongseong talked to the press like that. For God's sake, he's barely ever attended press conferences because there's nothing as useless and stupid to him as the media, yet this time he won't give them the chance to twist and turn the story to their liking.

"Those two men are abusers, actual criminals. I'd be dammed if I ever let them talk about my future wife like that. So, yeah. I beat them up in public and I don't regret it. They deserved this and I'm going to do everything in my power to have them rot in prison for the rest of their pathetic lives. Go ahead, air this. I want the entirety of Seoul to know that I don't care about her past and whose daughter she is. At the end of the day she's the love of my life", Jongseong breathes heavily, not stuttering once as he defends you in front of the whole city like he's just been waiting for this particular moment all this time.

"In fact", he suddenly says right after he had decided to let go, "she's my only love. She's my pride, my happiness, my future and I'd give up everything I have, am and own just for her. That's all I have to say, now get the fuck off of my property or I'll have the police arrest you, too."

And once Jongseong finishes his speech, all he does is turn around to give his best friend a nod of approval and before you can even realise what's happening, Jake has already guided you out of the side entrance to one of Jongseong's car.

To your surprise, you don't immediately take off, but are rather sent to the safest space possible to wait.

It doesn't take the police long to arrive and finally arrest your brutally beat up brothers; the sight of them being pushed into the police cars with their hands cuffed to their backs and blood covered faces giving you a weird sense of satisfaction.

You attentively watch the huge mob of journalists and paparazzis growing bigger and bigger by the minute, all of them patiently waiting for your boyfriend to leave the main building as well, only for Sunghoon to step outside and actually talk to them.

But you don't get the opportunity to even guess what he's telling them as the car door swings open snd you're met with the sight of the love of your life.

The only man who has ever kept his promise.

For a moment, Jay hesitates to slide onto the backseat next to you, worried – scared even – of your possible reaction since you've never seen this side of him; the one he's tried to keep locked away for so long.

He never had the freedom of expressing himself, his thoughts and feelings, so usually violence and anger was the way he chose to cope woth it all, especially at a young age.

Once he had started going to therapy, things have definitely gotten easier and although he knows this was an absolute exception, Jay can't help but worry.

What if seeing him this violent, this brutally merciless, this angry becomes the reason for your fears and bad memories resurfacing, adding just more pain to your fresh wounds.

To his positive surprise, you turn your whole body to face him, tears and mascara staining cheeks and your swollen bottom lip firmly tugged between your teeth.

"Thank you", you whisper and subconsciously reach for his hand on the back of the passenger seat, "thank you so much, Jongseong."

It's words which fill his chest with the sweet feeling of relief and without missing another beat, he moves into the seat next to yours and pulls you onto his lap.

"They won't ever hurt you again, Baby", he whispers against your lips and caresses your cheeks, you both ignoring the heavy smell of blood as well as the stains on his shirt, "nobody is going to hurt my girl ever again. You're safe now, my love. Now and forever."

"I love you so, so much, Park Jongseong."

There's nothing else you could have said which could have possibly describe the warmth spreading in your chest when the realisation of his words has finally hit you.

No more fear. No more panic. No more looking over your shoulder. They're finally where they belong and you know Jongseong won't ever let them get close to you again.

"My sweetest angel", he sighs and places the softest kiss on your lips, "the love of my life. My everything."

Maybe you never actually wanted too much. Because as you find yourself slowly falling into the most peaceful sleep you've ever had, you know the waiting and patience has finally paid off. All those nights you had prayed and hoped to find someone who loves, appreciates, protects and cares for you have finally become reality and no matter how surreal it all feels, with each of Jongseong's movements in your bavk, you know it's not. This is now your life, the one you've waited for for so long.

You're finally home.

← 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 — 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 — 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 →

(A/N: And here's what we've all been impatiently waiting for 🫣 i know the chaps kinda ends abruptly BUT to me it felt like the perfect ending bc smut wouldn't have been appropriate (though we all know they had a sweet cuddlefuck which lead to cockwarming) because of the heaviness in the chap and if you cant tell i prefer this length in written chapters to keep it exciting 🫣 regardless i hope you guys enjoyed it and can't wait to read y'all's thoughts! this marks rhe end of the angst wave and we're now officially counting down to the finale. thank you so much for everything babies, i love and appreciate you all so, so much. feedback's always appreciated!!!💞🧸)

TAGLIST CLOSED: @soonigiri @xrr-s4sha @kwiwin @heelcvr @deobitifull @kpoprhia @doodlelibrary @abrazosolorcereza @certifiedmoa @sleeping-demons @heerinnie @ohmy-moonlightx @heeswif3y @hoonieluv @fakeuwus @jongszn @cheybabey @ineedsomezzz @super-amberlynn @kshoshi @tinie03 @jseongies @mimikittysblog @primroselover @heebrry @jebetwo @donghyckl @07myonlylove @enhamysunshines @quemirasboboandapaya @lostwonderwall @seuomo @enhaz1 @teawithbucky @beomgyusonlywife @dammit-jjk @lhsvibez @azurez @boutyouwonu @finchyyy @ocyeanicc @jaylaxies @in-somnias-world @zerasari @spookyauthorspopmusictrash @capri-cuntz @fluerz @3amstarlight

[assortedvillainvault]

Hi! I was browsing the Lord Shen tag and found your blog 👀. I loved the headcanons for ShenxReader through the wolf henchmen's pov ❤️.

Would you mind sharing some headcanons but from the pov of the fluffy Lord peacock himself?

Hi Anon, thank you so much!!

I'm so sorry that my Lord Shen Masterlist slipped my mind - I'm fighting tumblrs atrocious tag search to find my previous writings for him and get them on there for you. In the meantime please - have some more!

Lord Shen x Reader Headcannons

- This stuck up, mithery, hairpin tempered ball of anxiety and condescension is officially your problem now. I mean. You chose this, so I’ll leave it to you as to what end of the bad choices scale you’re landing on, but man. You sure picked.

- I also can’t get over the fact that – in China and most of the East: white is associated with death and sadness, and mourning. You not only picked the unhinged genocide gun bird, you picked the only person in all of China to be literally born emo via albinism.

- I will get back to the above, but I’m mcfucking losing it over the image of Shen being. The smaller of the two of you.

- Like if you were a smaller creature he could properly get his elegant noble stride on, nose in the air and tail gently swishing behind him as he circles you, admiring every angle and relishing the nervous, excited little glances you give him. He might not be a strictly predatory species but he sure loves that thrilling edge of not-quite-stalking. He’s too high class for the genuine article, that’s what he has the wolves for.

- But if you had the audacity to be larger than him?!

- He’d grind his teeth if he had any. He wants so badly to intimidate you – making sure to step with an extra click of metal coated talons, words honey-barbed and sticky as he looks for chinks in your armour, having to crane his head back and up to look you in the eye and- look- could, could you just- just lean down? Lean down for goodness sake just- there. There. Lovely. As he was saying…

- Shen going to go bananas planning the perfect courtship. Everything must be. Exactly. As he plans it. God forbid you trip on the stairs. If you bribe the guards to move all furniture two inches to the left you’re going to have a great time watching Shen’s eyelid twitch for twenty minutes as he tries to figure out what’s ticking him off.

- Want a shortcut? Say nice things about his cannon. No seriously, it’s not a euphemism (though it could be-)

- The cannon is the culmination of Shen’s ambitions, the reason for his exile, the demonstration of ingenuity that set him apart. Seeing you run a hand smoothly over the intricate castings and complimenting his life's work is going to fill him with so many butterflies he’ll have the wedding ready by noon.

- Of course he does, underneath all the royal snobbery and sass, really, genuinely like you. More than he ever thought he could ever like another person. Go you.

- ...He can’t contain the terror that you might not like him back. Not because of all the murder, no, that’s clearly not the issue. But because he isn’t perfect enough for you. Because he’s not enough.

- Shen popped out of his egg all but rocking the 2007 bangs and MCR soundtrack of his time: born the colours of death in a house and species traditionally all the colours of the rainbow will have been like a self fulfilling prophesy – unspoken but not forgotten as he grew up and internalised his inadequacy by striving for excellence in literally everything else in life.

- Excellence in the form of weaponry, security, excessive control and genocidal ruthlessness. Combined with ingenuity, high intelligence and paranoia: all wrapped in a package of straining courtly manners and a need to constantly have the upper hand.

- You keep taking the fucking rug out from under him by reversing the script and being nice. Even his nanny (soothsayer, who has having a great time munching popcorn and giving incidental commentary) gives him shit and drives him up the wall – yet you’re out here, smiling (how dare you-) and- and saying he looks good (he knows, knows he looks sickly and out of place, a reaper amongst royalty-) and – of course you want to hand his hand really, who wouldn’t (who would?) - he’s fine, he’s fine-

- If he dared to let you go, he’d shatter like a discarded doll.

- How does it feel, reader, to hold the fate of all China in the balance of your smile?

[prettybrownelf]

From Eden

Non MLM/NBLM DNI

Chapter 1

Pairings- Knight! Eddie Munson x Prince! Male! Reader

Summary- Coping with unstable emotions and being filled with constant anxiety seems normal for a prince, isn't it? 

Word Count- 1444

Content Warnings- Royal AU, Suicidal Ideation, Slight Steve x Reader, Smut

(Chapter 2)

You knew this wasn't a good way to cope. You were crying yesterday night over your life changing forever and now you have a man's hand wrapped around your throat. 

“Gods you feel so fucking good.” He groans as you grip the sheets tighter. The feeling of him inside you was enough to make you forget about your woes, if only for a few moments. “Fuck me harder asshole.” You laugh as you throw your arms over his broad shoulders. 

You're not entirely sure how this thing with Steve started. Being the captain of the king's guard you see him quite a lot, so it seemed only natural that you caught each other's eyes. 

Steve's head falls into the crook of your neck as his grip on your hip gets bruisingly tight. It's a miracle the whole castle couldn't hear you moaning his name as he continues to thrust into you. Your hands grip his brown locks as he moans at the feeling. “Fuck Steve.” He laughs into your ear as he whispers. “I thought you wanted me to be rougher slut.” His words turn you to mush underneath him as you feel yourself almost get thrown over the edge. Steve leans back up to look you in the eyes as his thrust gets sloppy. “Look me in the eyes when you cum bitch.” You immediately lose yourself, feeling your cum fall onto your lower stomach, feeling his grip on your throat get tighter as he finally finishes. 

Sweat trails across your body as Steve falls beside you. He gives a small laugh as he runs a hand through his hair. “You really gotta be quieter, whole castles gonna hear you one day.” You huff as you get up, looking around for your discarded clothes. “Let them, maybe I won't have to marry a girl I've never met anymore.” Sarcasm laces your voice as you finally find your undergarments. 

Steve rolls his eyes with a smile as he moves to find his own discarded clothing. Your legs can barely work as you stumble your way to the small circular bathing room attached to your bedroom. 

You sit on the edge as the hot water fills the tub. The sound of Steve putting back on his armor gives you a strange sense of security. No one will ever know about this, it's your unholy little secret. 

Once the water finally decides to fill, you place your skin in it, feeling the warmth that encompasses every part of your body. Uncommon relaxation forces itself into your stress-filled body as you sink deeper and deeper. Planning for the wedding will begin soon, a bit too soon for your liking. Lavender-smelling soap fills your nose as you wash your body, getting every trace of Steve off of you as you allow yourself a few moments of peace. The stress never did stop, but at least you could have a few moments to yourself. 

But of course, that peace will never last. Eddie knocks on the door to your room. A rough sigh leaves your mouth as you shout for him to come in. Your gaze goes back to the water as you fold your legs up to your chest, resting your head down on your knees as you mentally decide to never leave the water. Eddie enters without his helmet on, his normally stoic face on. 

“My Lord, your father has asked to speak to you.” 

Of course, he does at this point, you're convinced your father just likes to hear himself speak.

“Tell him I'll be there when I want.” Eddie sighs as leaves the room, grumbling something to himself. The silence and stillness of the room makes your body feel like it's floating. Even though your mind knows your whole world is falling apart, your body relaxes into its few moments of relaxation. 

But of course, it never lasts.

Eddie immediately moves into action as you exit your room. The normal gold and black clothing you wear draped across your body as you make your way to your father's council room. Eddie's armor nearly gives you a headache as you open the large wooden doors. 

Your father sits at the end of the long marble table, surrounded by letters. He doesn't even look up as he begins talking. “Lady Nancy and her family will be here soon along with a few acquaintances. We’ll be talking with them about the wedding but we have some things to go over ourselves.” Words refuse to form in your mouth as you sit down in the chair next to him, looking at the letters from Nancy's family and other marriage proposals. 

He stacks some papers in silence as his stern eyes meet your own. “The wedding will be held in the gardens. We will accommodate some of The Wheeler's customs as well as our own. You will of course sleep in the same bed after the wedding.” Your mind stops listening after that. With all the worrying about the wedding, you forgot about after. 

“(Y/n).” His voice snaps you back to reality. He seems to not care about your dissociation as he continues talking. “We won't be expecting a child for a few years, but the sooner we have heirs the better. Other than that The Wheelers have asked us to-” 

His words are cut short by the sound of the door opening. Your mother's warm smile enters the room with her new baby girl cradled in her arms. She tries to hide the anger on her face as she sees your father.

“My love, (Y/n) is going to be wed soon, let him have these few days to rest, we can take care of the festivities ourselves.” Your father mumbles under his breath as you stand before he can change his mind. Your mother walks out behind you as she bends down slightly to whisper in your ear. “Darling.” A shiver goes up your spine as you wait for her to reprimand you.” 

“Next time you have Steve in your room, remember to make sure it's not early in the morning when even others can see.” Your face gets hot as she giggles at your childish reaction. Her back turns to you as she goes to talk to your father. 

At least now you have a few days to stress in peace. You don't even notice Eddie behind you as you make your way to the gardens. The large fields are filled with marble statues and beautiful flowers. 

Making your way around the tall hedges until you're sitting on the grass, back up against a tree, listening to the sounds of the birds as you curl up to yourself. Eddie stands in front of you with a glare as he looks around. 

“Are you just gonna sit here?” You glare up at him. “Yes, I am. If you don't like it, stop being my guard.” He gives a dry chuckle as he sits on the bench to the side of you. “It's not my choice. If I could, I would never have to see you again.” You roll your eyes as you rest your head against your knees. “Your such a fucking asshole.” “And you're a spoiled brat.” Your head snaps to him. “I could have your head cut off if I wanted.” Eddie gives that stupid fucking smirk he always does. “Exactly. You're a spoiled little prince who would have me killed at the drop of a hat. Look at you, crying in a garden because you have to marry someone. You don't even have real problems.” Shock enters your body as you try to push down the growing anger rising in you.

“You have no idea what I have to go through.” Tears slowly form in your eyes.

“This life isn't what you think it is, you'd crack in a day.” 

Eddie rolls his eyes as you go back to your solitude, or at least a little bit of solitude. 

He doesn't understand what this life is like. He could marry whoever he wanted, fuck whoever he wanted, and do whatever he wanted. He would never understand what it was like to have your whole life to be planned out before you're even born. How your life is nothing but another piece in a chess game. How your body can barely function from the constant stress. How you constantly think of throwing yourself off the balcony. 

The quiet sound of birds fills the air as you slowly fall asleep under the tree. Refusing to react to Eddie's mumbling as you get the only peace you know you can get, in the soothing quietness of unconsciousness.

[welikeclownsinthishouse]

Entry number five, @ailesswhumptober

Day five: held at gunpoint

In the heart of a bustling city, amidst the backdrop of a sunny afternoon, sat a quaint neighborhood grocery store. Shoppers bustled about, filling their carts with groceries, and the chatter of the checkout lines echoed through the aisles.

Jack himself was doing the same thing, ticking off the items on the grocery list Sam had given him.

This was the first time he was doing the grocery shopping on his own, in this city at least, and Jack was going to make sure he wouldn't forget anything, even if that meant taking longer than Sam would.

As he strolled through the store, picking up items from the shopping list, he noticed a sudden loud noise near the front and stopped, turning his head to have a better look at the situation.

A tall man with a weathered face and desperation in his eyes was waving a gun around wildly, demanding the cashier empty the register and Jack could almost feel the fear rippling through the store as panic started to take hold.

Jack's own heart raced, but he couldn't do anything, he promised Sam and Castiel that he wouldn't use his powers in public. He also knew that they wouldn't like him using them to hurt someone who wasn't a monster, so he stayed where he was, watching the man wave the gun around with the ever-growing feeling of dread he'd become so familiar with.

His eyes darted around, looking at the terrified faces of the other shoppers, while he thought about a way to help. While he thought about something, anything that might help, he slowly made his way toward the back of the store, searching for a solution.

In the distance, he spotted a security guard nervously pacing near the entrance, looking like he was attempting to contact the police discreetly and Jack slowly changed direction and approached the guard, hoping to help find a way out. Before he reached the guard however the man with the gun turned and stared at him, locking him in place before pointing his gun right at Jack's face.

"What the fuck are you doing huh?" The man yelled and his voice was just as erratic as his movements. Jack gulped and thought about a way to diffuse the situation but he couldn't think of anything, not really. The anxiety running through him didn't make it easy for him to think, even if he knew on a rational level that the gun couldn't hurt him.

"Nothing, just- just trying to leave," Jack said, sounding scared and a little hopeless and these feelings just grew when the guy kept his gun trained on him while he ordered the cashier to give him the money again.

Jack just hoped the guard would be able to use this as the distraction it was and get the police to come here before the guy either shot him or booked it out of the store. Jack desperately wanted Sam and Castiel to be here with him, to help him through this but he was also glad that neither of them was in any danger right now.

Not long after, barely two minutes, in fact, sirens could be heard in the distance and the man jumped at the noise before he turned toward the door, his whole body tense. Jack knew the man would make a run for it and he couldn't help but hope he would do so quickly, the anxiety still running rampant was getting a little much for Jack.

When the police got closer the man took a panicked look around before making a grab for a woman who was near the register but the woman thankfully evaded him enough so that his hand grabbed at the air. Startled the guy looked at the woman before he finally made a run for it, only to be stopped by the police right outside the store.

Jack let out a relieved sigh when he saw the man getting caught and flexed his fingers a little, happy that he didn't have to use his powers, that he didn't have to break the promise he made earlier.

He could feel his shoulders relax and his anxiety ebbing away a little as the cop placed the man in the police car before the rest of his anxiety left him when he saw a black Chevy Impala park not too far from the store.

Just seconds later he saw Sam and Castiel running toward him, both looking worried and slightly on edge, before they engulfed him in a hug. They seemed to be very happy that nothing had happened to him and Jack just let himself get lost in the blissful feeling of safety for a while.

[galos-writing]

The Prince and the Rascal

(Abbé de Coulmier x Male!OC - chap. 4)

Summary: The Abbé gets involved in an inconvenient romantic affair...

Words: 3138

Warnings: slight bad language(?)

A new day started in Charenton, in the worst of the ways.

The Abbé de Coulmier’s eyes got violently hit by a strong sunbeam coming through the window and filling his room, as his back felt the messy bed sheets under him. That nuisance made him squirm a bit and sleepily whine.

He sat up, groaning, his body was waking up more and more, sending him signals of pain from every part, especially his behind; he felt smelly, and sticky, his hair was all damp and ruffled from the night before. He needed a bath as soon as possible. But at least, he had finally his beloved Ange with him. The thought made him smile while stretching.

-Wake up, sleepyhead...- he softly cooed while turning around, expecting an angelic charming sleeping face, but frowned when he saw half of his bed empty again; his heart fell in emptiness, and filled in anxiety. Where did Ange go?!

He frenetically started looking around to find him, in that moment the bubble of peace that they made around them shattered, making the sounds of the outside world reach his ears. By seeing the sun’s brightness and all those noises outside, he could tell that everyone was already awake: fuck, he had missed the morning mass!

François’s face turned pale in a matter of seconds. He accidentally fell from the bed for quickly getting up, and picked up his clothes from the floor, putting them on again in a rush.

Ew, those clothes were a disaster too. A feeling of disgust ran through his body as he wore them.

He put himself in front of the mirror in full panic, like a kid who was late for school, and tried combing his hair the best he could. As he adjusted himself, his eyes noticed the deep purple hickeys and bites on his neck, trailing down his shoulders and collarbones; those marks made him sigh from relief, at least he hadn’t dreamed of it, of him.

Through the mirror, he noticed his hung cassock too. That sight made his mind, already full of the memories from the previous night, give space to all the worries from the consequences of his actions.

Would he have been kicked out of the priestly order?

Imprisoned for having hosted a prisoner again?

Or, even worse, banned from Heaven for being a homosexual?

He stopped in particular on that last worry: after the Revolution, sodomy wasn’t considered a crime for the State anymore, and homosexuality had been finally tolerated, but that wasn’t valid for religion yet.

Not God, not the Pope, not the Vatican. And surely not Heaven, that’s what he had been taught at the Monastery when he was young. Ridiculous, almost shameful.

This made him fill in anger. And then doubting himself: how was it possible that during his whole lifetime, he had been attracted to women, and all of a sudden, he was loving a man so deeply? That meant he wasn’t gay? Attraction to women was just an illusion? Or maybe Ange had brainwashed him with his charm?

The image of his beloved blond man soon appeared and defined in his brain, kicking out every other thought. The priest’s cheeks colored of a light red again, and a giggle spontaneously escaped his lips.

The neighing of horses woke him up again, and made him shake his head, it came from outside. A guest?

He quickly put his cassock on, postponing his needed bath, and stormed outside his room.

The corridor was crowded, as usual, patients wandering and interacting with each other, and then employees, chambermaids, nuns, and guards running around, busy in devotedly working like ants.

But that day, everyone was there to judge him: despite he was checking on everyone around him, and seeing they were minding their own business, he somehow felt observed, at the center of an interrogatory. He could feel guilt build inside him, how could he betray his employees, cheat on his Madeleine, and neglect his activity? The things he was living for, he felt them as if they were worthless to him now.

Now that Ange was gone, his brain had time to reflect: he had thrown away his virginity for a man, yes a man he loved, but that he didn’t know at all. And yet...that night of lovemaking felt as if those two were made for staying together, as if they knew each other forever. The bond was immediate; something that no verse of the Holy Bible, nor the luxurious books of the Marquis, nor even the cheesiest romance novels he had read from times to times, had never explained.

As he walked through the corridors, and briefly bowing his head to the patients and employees, his eyes fell on his own cassock. His body wasn’t the right place for that now meaningless, punitive and suffocating pitch black clothe, not anymore. The tight collar, which had never bothered him since he became an Abbé, was now choking him.

-Abbé.-

A raspy voice called him from behind, bringing him back to real life. The young priest turned around, and briefly swallowed down, lifting his collar a bit more, oh, God, he hoped his hickeys were well hidden, he hadn’t checked at all while getting out of his room. He bowed a bit.

-Good morning, Doctor. I...I hope you had a good rest tonight.- the brunette man told him with a forced lower voice, fearing he could sound too effeminate after what he had done. The old man nodded, his eyes knowing, or at least it seemed so in François’s head.

-I had a pretty good night, thank you for the concern. I hope you had a good night too.- Royer-Collard replied, a little smile forming on his dry lips, François suddenly blushed but didn’t reply, that old man could bet he did, his aching ass was witness.

-It came to my attention that you weren’t present in the chapel this morning. May I ask you why? Feeling sick?- the Doctor asked him, his gaze inquisitive as usual, the Abbé didn’t know how to respond in that moment. The best idea coming in his mind was lying, but he wasn’t able to. He never lied in his life.

-Yeah..I mean no! I’m perfectly fine. I...I just overslept today..- he stuttered, it was the truth, though, even if his hands were sweating and fidgeting from nervousness. Royer-Collard raised an eyebrow, and the young man widened his eyes for a moment, it was official, that man knew something, he had probably heard.

-Are you sure, my friend? You look shabbier than usual, and ill. Your employees reviewed a flawless and perfectionist Director; missing the mass and breakfast isn’t normal for someone like you.- the old man insisted, approaching a bit. -Here, let me check your temperature.- he added, reaching his hand out at his forehead, but François nervously smiled, and stepped back.

-I said I’m fine! Really, thank you for the concern.- he repeated, he really didn’t know what to say, but didn’t want to risk, the man could have seen his marks if he had stepped a bit closer.

But instead Royer-Collard shrugged. Thank God, he hadn’t suspected.

-As you wish.- he concluded, proudly standing in front of him with his puffed chest, and tightly holding his cane; that man was so old, but yet standing up and with the attitude and strength of a youngster. The young priest wondered how he was able to be like that, was it wealth to make people healthier? Maybe it filled their hearts in pride for what they owned and made them feel superior to everyone else. Patients of his age that were in that asylum weren’t that full of life. Or maybe it was him, the Abbé, a technically wealthy noble but used to think like one of the lower class, due to everyone he met in his life during his charity masses and other social activities. “Windbag.” he thought for a moment, annoyed by his sassy attitude.

-Valcour warned me that a couple guests arrived, and they asked for you. Here, let me guide you.- the Doctor added, lifting his cane to literally push him and force him downstairs, his attitude once again dominating. Maybe it was all that happened in that morning that was uncontrollably frustrating the Abbé, or it could be the annoyance of Ange’s disappearance, maybe it was his lover’s influence; but he was starting to run out of tolerance for that old man.

His vex vanished when they entered the main corridor of the asylum, where the entrance door was, noticing the guests waiting for him by chatting with Valcour and Madeleine. He gasped, his eyes filled in tears and his mind totally forgot the politeness and grace of the flawless Abbé that he was, when he started running towards them.

-Lucille!- the young man loudly called, his voice trembling in joy, and let out a whimper when he tightly hugged her, his heart felt welcomed by her warm embrace.

His childhood best friend of a lifetime, Lucille Chagall had always been like an elder sister to him, a reference figure since he was a kid. The little lady got literally invested by the brunette priest, and strongly returned the hug, his tears were wetting her rich dress, and the always excessive laces on it were itching his face.

-My dearest François!- she happily exclaimed, squealing a bit by feeling the floor leaving her feet, he had lifted her a bit while hugging, her shortness let him.

-I missed you a lot, I will not lie to you. I hope I was of no bother when I sent my letters… You know, I was dying of worry since the Revolution started; we haven’t seen each other since then. The could have hurt you, or way worse!- she told him, and pinched her soft cherry lips together, her limpid blue eyes looking at him like every affectionate mom would look at her child. Her words made him scoff, and shake his head, his hand dried his tears in a quick gesture.

-No need to be worried about that. I assure you I was safe and sound, away from harm.- he lied with a smile, he had instead risked a lot too during that hellish decade, and he was still so young. -They could have hurt you as well, but you look gorgeous, a porcelain doll as usual.- he cooed, putting her down, despite she was older than him, her short height, short blond hair, blue eyes and puffy dress made her look like one of those pretty antique dolls his grandma used to have in her bedroom, delicate and untouched.

His gaze moved to the man that was accompanying her; a very tall and muscular man, a proud attitude too, with short curly ginger hair, blue eyes and a light stubble. He had a smile on his face while looking at François.

-See who came back from th’ grave.- the man joked, turning his smile into a little amused grin. The Abbé raised an eyebrow, attentively studying his face, that man was familiar to him, but couldn’t remember where he saw him. Indeed he hesitated a bit, he couldn’t decide whether pretend to remember or keep staring at him like an idiot.

-I, uh...I apologize, I cannot recall who you...- he tried to say, his mind desperately trying to remember, but it seemed that his long term memory had been suddenly emptied. Lucille noticed and giggled, approaching the man and grabbing his arm, looking at him full of love.

-François, dear, let me introduce you monsieur Matthew Jourdain. Matty, this is my greatest friend from childhood, François Simonet de Coulmier.- she happily introduced them, with a big smile on her face; and in the moment when that charming man’s name reached his ears, François gasped.

-Matthew?! Is that you?- the young priest asked, approaching the man even more, wanting to catch every possible detail of his face, for every detail he noticed, a new memory came back to the surface of his brain. -We haven’t seen each other since we ended our path in Monastery! It’s an immense pleasure to see you after so much time, you’re changed a lot!- he then added happily, Matthew giggled, briefly scratching his nape, quite flattered for his words.

-Aye, huh...I left priesthood not so long ago, I wasnae happy with the cassock on, I dedicated myself on my passion, cooking. And then I met this wee lass, deciding she shall become my wife.- The ginger man smiled charmingly, kissing Lucille’s head, making her happily blush. By hearing those words, François widened his eyes, his smile faded. His eyes briefly posed on Lucille, who was talking to the ginger man, but thoughts muffled her words: how could she, his lifetime best friend and former fiancée, marry someone else? Their families organized the perfect wedding for them, when they would have reached adulthood.

His mind returned back rational for a second; their roads parted when the Revolution started, he didn’t even turn ten yet, and she was slightly older. Both were nobles, there was no certainty that they would have survived, people had been craving royal blood on their hands and weapons for ten years: it was a miracle that she was alive, since Matthew ans him had been shielded by the Monastery where they had been trained for years.

Yet, a deep and erosive feeling of betrayal build in his guts, as if he had just been cheated on a woman he never met on the altar to make her his wife. Or rather, as if the lifetime best friend who never left his side, disappeared.

-Abbé? Are ye okay?- Matthew asked worriedly, a hand resting on his shoulder. The Abbé shook his head and cleared his throat, heavily blushing in embarrassment.

-Oh, yes, I’m sorry. I was...lost in thought.- the brunette man absently mumbled, briefly studying their faces; they visited him for another purpose. He took a deep breath and built the best smile he could on his lips, burying deep his feeling of betrayal, and deciding to ignore it.

-I’m so glad you two found happiness together. Please, accept a cup of tea, or coffee if you want, be my guests.-

---

The blonde nurse placed a porcelain teapot on the table, now empty, after having served some tea to the two men, and sat next to her husband, she had refused the service of the chambermaids. The young priest let out a little smile at seeing her, she kept her grace through the years, as if her job and the Revolution didn’t touch her at all.

François was obviously agitated, his breath was quicker and his eyes stuck on his fingers, nervously pulling little pieces of skin, he hadn’t drank a sip of his tea, which was slowly turning cold. That condition of his pained the couple, Lucille knew why he was like that.

-I know what are you thinking.- she suddenly spoke, catching her friend’s attention in a matter of a second. Her hand covered by a silky white glove moved from Matthew’s knee to reach François’s hand, caressing it. -We’re here to help you, and won’t leave you alone.- she then softly added with a sweet smile. The young priest’s eyes got slightly wet, and looked down again, staring at the bottom of his tea cup.

-I’m so confused, Lucille...it’s been months that a thousand doubts torture my soul, I can’t take it anymore! I don’t even know if I still deserve this cassock.- he admitted, clenching his collar in a fist as his other hand squeezed the nurse’s, a couple chocolate curls falling on his forehead and ruining his perfectly combed hairstyle. Matthew felt personally involved in this piece of conversation, and placed his tea cup on the table.

-Listen, doubts are usual for someone like ye, ‘n’ like me. We both had endured a heavily badgering ‘n’ manipulative training in Monastery. They monks had taken away oor freedom, fur everything. ‘n’ we didnae deserve it.- the ginger man explained, with a comprehensive and kind smile. -Ye can get rid of th’ cassock. As I did.- he then added, trying to give him some hope.

François temporarily ignored the odd accent that man had while speaking French, an accent he never heard from him during their years in Monastery. He shook his head and eyed him.

-That’s the point, Matthew, I… I don’t want to get rid of the cassock. I love my job, and I love priesthood, it makes me feel so close to God, so protected.- the Abbé protested, pulling back his hand from Lucille’s and holding tight his cassock, as if someone wanted to take it away from him. Suddenly, Matthew’s soft gaze turned into a frown, his eyebrow lifted.

-Protected from what?- he asked, inquisitive. That question immediately emptied François’s head from any other reply of defense he wanted to let out, and another doubt was added. From what he wanted to be protected from, by the loving yet cumbersome Holy graces?

The dark-haired boy brought his nails at his mouth, chewing them as he thought of an answer, but his thoughts stopped when he heard the door of his office being knocked. Valcour opened that door a bit, and peeked his head to look at his chief, apologetically bowing.

-My apologies for having interrupted, Abbé. The professor Martin Francœur has just arrived.- the man timidly and politely announced, Lucille smiled.

-Wonderful! Thanks, monsieur, let my friend in, we were impatiently waiting for him.- she joyfully beamed, François gasped and quickly adjusted himself, his cheeks turning a bright red, his beloved rascal finally back to him!

His shiny and hopeful gaze turned off when he saw the lonely figure of a chubby short man with light brown hair, tied up in a low ponytail, and a massive moustache, his eyes black and almond-shaped, get in the room, taking off his hat and sighing, visibly worried.

-Good day to everyone...- he saluted, looking down as if he had no courage to face the others.

Matthew and Lucille were surprised too, and looked at each other, the ginger man cupping his wife’s cheek and briefly caressing it to reassure her, she looked at Martin.

-Good day to you, Professor. Where...where’s my brother?- the nurse asked, trying to sound as calm as possible to not alarm the Abbé even more, he was concerned enough already.

The Professor took a deep and long breath, and finally managed to look up at her.

-He escaped again.-

Tag list:

@darknessisafriend @indieblair @peakyfuckingblinders21 @ajokeformur-ray @fly-like-a-phoenix @jokerflecker @five-miles-over @fandoms-are-my-friends-1321 @jokerownsmysoul @pursuit-of-comedy @hebimoonlightwrites

[rosietrace]

How my NRC ocs felt about the Scary Monsters event

Warnings: Mentions of harassment and sexual assault

This is badly written I know

{ Yuuta }

Costume: Sorcerer Mickey

Was so pissed off

Especially when the magicam monsters start to practically harass him and Grim

Like he couldn't give that much of a shit about Grim, he can handle himself

But why harass him?!?

As compensation for how the magicam monsters treated him and Grim, he managed to convince Crowley to give him 20% of the profits the academy earned during the event

Honestly he was so satisfied when they eventually got spooked out of the campus

He stayed in ramshackle for the rest of the event after that though

{ Ymir }

Wasn't present at the event

But even if he was, not much would've changed

The infirmary room was practically filled with injured students though

Freyah

Costume: Draculaura styled vampire

She was given permission to wear a costume that didn't coordinate with the rest of the dorm

Riddle and slight his favoritism for his family ig

At first, when everything went smoothly, Freyah didn't sense anything unusual

But then the magicam monsters happened

Due to her stature, many of them often mistook her for a prop in the botanical garden's cemetery

And some of them even went as far as to pull her hair and touch her in places she didn't feel comfortable with people touching

Once the magicam monsters left, she felt more at ease but still didn't feel fully comfortable due to her general cautiousness

Eventually she just couldn't handle it for much longer and ended up isolating herself in her room for most of the event until the plan to spook them away was in motion

Sis was having the time of her life scaring them after all the shit they put her through

Her smile and maniacal laughter was creepier than the acting her dormmates did

But her enthusiasm never faded and she continued to have a lot of fun within the Halloween event

{ Frisk }

Costume: Red and black corpse bride

She was somewhat excited for the event

Up until it actually happened

Social anxiety kinda makes her stiffen up with interacting with others and its really awkward to witness

Because of that, Riddle assigned Cater to help Frisk with that issue

Unaware that Cater actually has a cute lil crush on Frisk

It was all going smoothly, and Frisk actually got to know more about her crush thanks to that

But then the magicam monsters showed up and fucking ruined it

You thought how they treated Freyah was bad? Well it is, but holy shit one of the older men crossed a line with Frisk-

Talking with a 17 year old and sounding flirtatious with them is already a red flag

And especially when you start to grope their breasts and make an attempt to make it intimate

Of course there were good souls who helped get the man out and some even went as far as to comfort Frisk, possibly knowing how it felt to experience she could've went through

Because of that experience, Frisk mostly stuck with Riddle, Cater and Freyah for the rest of the event

They didn't mind, especially since she was almost sexually assaulted

Which also added fuel to the idea of spooking the magicam monsters out of NRC

Frisk wasn't exactly keen on the idea, but as long as she didn't need to speak, she's all good with it

When they finally left, Frisk felt so relieved and was able to let loose and have fun with her sister!

Of course Riddle and his overprotective self needed Cater to guard Frisk with his clones

{ Grey }

Costume: Pirate

Other than a certain Ignihyde student, Grey was also among the few who weren't as excited because she knew about how too much of a good thing can bring bad

Unfortunately, Leona and the rest of savanaclaw didn't take her words to seriously during the first few days

*insert Leona getting dropkicked*

My girl was never felt so smug up until the magicam monsters started looting the fake doubloons

Like: "HAH! TAKE THAT BITCH, I WAS RIGHT!"

But then her murderous aura returned when they started trying to pet Leona

Like-

Sir/Ma'am that is the second prince of the savannah, stay out-

Got reprimanded by Crowley after she beat their asses purely out of anger that they'd do that to her fiancé

It's all "I'm a bitch, not a monster" with those two, Istg-

She kept trying to keep her cool around the magicam addicts, but it was hard to when they kept stealing shit from their set and petting Leona

Grey was never so eager to scare people when Cater made the suggestion to spook them out

Apparently someone in savanaclaw told her that her laugh was perfect for the scare they were gonna do, so she just maniacally laughed like Midari Ikishima into a megaphone

Scared the living shit out of those magicam monsters and it felt so satisfying to witness

{ Nyx }

Didn't attend the event midway because one of the magicam monsters accidentally dropped a potion that turned her into a hamster

{ Lumina }

Costume: Witch

The original idea was for Lumina to act like a witch that turned scarabia into werewolves

And as lovely as the idea was-

Lumina wasn't the best at acting like a witch

Sis isn't good with acting when it doesn't involve her two faced shit

Her acting was choppy at first, but you could tell she was happy to be there even though Kalim was present

But boom, magicam monsters arrive and start throwing out the waffles Sam was selling after buying them

Which, wasn't the best idea since Jamil was starting to feel tempted to commit some ✨arson✨

And Lumina was tempted to wack all of them with her prop staff because like- it's a waste of good food

So when they eventually decided to scare off the magicam obsessed shits,

Lumina's acting as a witch drastically improved

Solely because she wanted to make sure they'd have nightmares for months

And boy, what a performance she delivered

Her voice was soft and typically calming, so it was fucking SCARY to see her maniacally laugh like a fucking psychopath

Jamil be like: I love you but please calm down-

{ Victoria }

Costume: Lady Dimitrescu

Now here's the thing-

Victoria was attending the event, up until the third day

She was invited to a Halloween party with her family and she wanted to go, so she got permission from Crowley to go home for the rest of the event

....

...... Low-key feeling like the magicam addicts would've stopped if she was still there

The women in NRC get shit done, so it's obvious that Victoria not being there means "yeah it's gonna take a long time before shit finally gets done"

When she came back it was all fine and dandy, but she was confused about the "magicam monsters" situation Rook mentioned

{ Azrail }

Ditched the event and slept in his room

{ Zenith }

Costume: Eastern dragon

Okay so ..... Much like Vic, Zen was attending the event up until the third day

So unfortunately for the members of diasomnia, their eccentric nymph (if he actually is a nymph) had to go to a party as Victoria's +1

Everyone agreed that the magicam monsters could've stopped sooner if Zen started threatening them

When they came back Zen was having the time of his life

But then they mentioned the magicam monsters situation and man's was all like: 😶😀 YIKES

[bangtanflirt]

Ruin Me, Pretty Please? (Part 8)

Pairings: Jungkook x Reader, Jimin x Reader

NSFW CONTENT (18+ ONLY)

Summary: Jeon Jungkook is the campus’s it-boy. Y/N is a socially anxious recluse. When Jungkook accidentally witnesses Y/N’s sexually sadistic nature, it awakens a new side of him.

Part 1 > Part 2 > Part 3 > Part 4 > Part 5 > Part 6 > Part 7 > Part 8 > Part 9

Warnings: dom/sub dynamics, female domination, humiliation/degradation, cock-ring, jk is scared during play (but is still consenting and knows he can back out at any time), orgasm control, mentions of anal play with a plug, handjob, jealousy and insecurities, reader has social anxiety

You walk into Anthro the next day with that photo and caption fresh on your mind. The living cause of your lust-filled, sleepless night sits smugly at his designated seat, two rows behind yours. Once again, a similar scene from yesterday plays out: a bunch of beautiful girls giggling around Jungkook and giving their best “fuck-me” eyes. You had never taken much interest in Jungkook or the constant mob around him before, but now it’s all you can think about.

Thankfully, Professor Kim begins teaching, and the girls all dissipate to their seats.

“Okay class, I need you to pair up for your next project. As you can probably guess by the past few lectures, this project will focus on hominin evolution. Once you and your partner sign up as a team, the TAs and I will assign you your species. Requirements and specifications are posted under the Assignments module, and presentations will start in two weeks.”

Presentations will start in two weeks.

Another opportunity for you to freeze up and run out of class. Great. And if things couldn’t be any better, this time Jeon Jungkook will get to witness you at your most pathetic.

Your mind is too bugged out to worry about whatever chapter in the textbook Professor Kim is talking about. You’re so wrapped up in your thoughts that you don’t even look back and see the mop of brown hair worryingly staring your way.

Jungkook’s eyes instinctually wandered to you when the professor mentioned presentations, and watching your shoulders sink and head drop made his stomach twist. He hates that he can’t do anything for you right now. All he wants is to partner with you and comfort you while your presenting, but he knows how pairing up with him will just draw more eyes. He wishes he wasn’t HYBE’s golden boy at this moment—but rather someone who could fly under the radar and be what you need. Someone like Park Jimin.

The lecture goes by like that, with both of you too lost in your insecurities to know any of the material that was being taught.

When class is dismissed, it takes every shred of willpower Jungkook has to not run over to you and try to make you smile. You made it very clear that he should act like he doesn’t know you in public, so he respects your boundaries—no matter how much it eats him inside.

Minhyuk, a man who sits two seats away from you, catches up to you after class and asks to partner up. It doesn’t catch you off guard since the two of you have partnered up on a non-presenting assignment prior, and frankly, you work well together. Although you warn him about your crippling stage fright, he warmly reassures you that you’ll do fine.

Well, at least I warned him.

___

Y/N (sexy sadist): Stalls in 20. I’m going to ruin you just like you asked.

Jungkook stares at the text with saucer-wide eyes. A mix of thrill and terror overcome his body as he darts to the abandoned bathroom. He remembers seeing you with Jimin there, the way you made the man beg and whimper without so much as a touch. As soon as he opens the bathroom door, he regrets ever sending you that text: his bratty nature is going to be the end of him one of these days—possibly today.

Because there you are, pulling him into the largest stall without even a hello, eyes fiery and challenging.

“Strip and sit.” You motion at the toilet, which has the seat down.

He’s pretty sure that’s the fastest he’s ever got his clothes off, maybe even setting a world record. It was impossible not to claw everything off under your intense gaze.

Fully on display, Jungkook shivers at the coldness of both the room and the seat as he presents himself to you. Usually, he’s the one making girls squirm under his gaze, but nothing’s ever the usual with you.

Without warning, you harshly pry his legs apart and watch his startled body readjust.

“Someone’s been practicing.” You muse, eyes on his stretched pink hole.

Jungkook blushes, remembering the plug you had given him three days ago. You had told him to use it as his own pace, but the competitiveness in him made sure “his own pace” was as quickly as possible.

His heart swells at your acknowledgement. He’s doing well.

“So Kookie, are you having second thoughts about the message you sent me last night? Or do you still think you can take what I’m about to give?”

Your tone is beyond condescending, and it only riles up the boy more.

“I can take it.”

Those are all the words it takes for you to kneel in front of his exposed sex and pull out a tiny silicon ring from your bag. It’s something Jungkook has only seen a handful of times before, and never in person. He takes a big gulp when you wickedly dangle it in front of him.

“Gonna dress your cock up all nice and pretty with this little ring. Make sure you think twice before texting me such sinful things so casually.”

His breath is caught in his throat as your words are processed. You’re going to use that on him.

A gentle palm on his thigh brings him out of his head.

Your gaze is once again your own, soft and inviting, “You can say stop anytime. It’s more than okay if you don’t want this. But if you do, I’ll ease you through it.”

The doe-eyed boy nods, collecting himself before verbalizing consent.

“Green. But slow please. I’m-I’m scared.”

“Of course, baby. Just remember that you’re in full control.”

You lather the inside of the ring with a generous amount of lube before carefully maneuvering it around your sub’s semi-hard length. Ideally, he would be flaccid for this, but semi is still manageable—besides, you can’t help that fear turns the brat on.

He winces at the cold, lubed up piece of silicone hugging his base, but you ease him into it with praises.

“That’s it, you’re doing so well. I’m so proud of you, Kookie.”

So proud of you. Those words offset any discomfort he was having. He wants to do everything he can to keep hearing those words.

After another green light, ensuring the ring isn’t too tight, you begin to sensually stroke his length. The empty bathroom is filled with delicious low hums and moans.

Pleasure fills Jungkook’s being as he focuses on your hands working their magic. The ring makes every motion feel a hundred times more arousing. He’s never been this sensitive before, and it’s the perfect mix of pleasure and pain that he’s been craving. He can’t decide if he wants to close his eyes and enjoy every physical sensation or keep them open and worship the sight of you pleasuring him. Luckily for him, you make that decision a lot easier with your next move. In what seems like an agonizingly slow pace, you hover your mouth over his now erect cock and let a string of saliva fall straight down. The image of you doing something so filthy is enough to have him begging for release.

“’m close please..please ‘m close”

“Proper words, slut.”

He whines at the order, tasting his tears when he opens to speak again.

“Please, can I come? Please.” Such simple words take half his energy to force out.

“You may.”

With a raspy, scream-like moan, he lets go. White hot arousal covers his thighs, as well as the hand you have on him. You gently remove your touch before his over-sensitivity kicks in—opting to let him catch his breath while you run some paper towels under warm water.

Jungkook is still seeing stars (and will probably believe you if you tell him he’s at a luxury hotel and not the out-of-order bathroom at his college). He hears you softly singing to yourself, as well as the running of the tap outside the stall.

His eyes flutter open as you come back into view, back on your knees. You continue your singing as you clean him up, and he admires how pretty the notes sound coming out of your mouth.

God, he thinks to himself, how can you be so perfect?

“I wish I could partner up with you for the project. I’d hold your hand through it and make sure you weren’t afraid.”

He doesn’t know why he says that right now. He’s too exhausted to sort out what he should and shouldn’t say.

You look taken aback, but he’s too fucked out to care.

___

Tag list: @jjklovetattoos @lolalee24 @sweeneyblue1 @bandaged-despair @mwitsmejk @madygswich @namjooncrabs @akshstudios @severely-mentally-ill @milky-mayo @everythangggoes @nikkiordonez12  @lathraios @channiespup @dreamamubarak @xoxostrawberrymilkxoxo @sonje78 @shadowmoon21

[aribeez]

Stay

pairing: kazuha x fem!reader

themes: SFW, hurt/comfort, reader is from Snezhnaya, jealousy, Thoma makes an appearance (!)

synopsis: you leave liyue after years of trying to make a life for yourself there. it failed. now, you work on the crux, and alongside is a mysterious boy who always seems to be writing and who claims being alone is better anyways.

Warnings: swearing, kissing, trauma dumping, pet names, Tomo briefly mentioned, lumine makes an appearance, minor spoilers for labyrinth quest, NOT PROOFREAD

notes: my love for kazuha bends time and space. saving for him after i get xiao. i love how we, as a fandom, decided kazuha calls us "my dove". i also still have covid. fuck my life. side note, in case you don't get it already, i'm in love with kaedehara kazuha. like seriously in love. please enjoy this fic. i worked really hard on it. it's kinda long but drabbles are not my thing. anything i write will usually be long. leave any requests if you so choose.

✧

Past Liyue harbor and amongst the seas, a ship, so vast in size, makes its perilous journey back from Inazuma for the umpteenth time. Admiration fills you as you see Captain Beidou atop the ship, instructing her crew with such poise and maturity. How you longed to be upon the ship, away from this place.

Many years you have been trapped in Liyue after escaping the Tsaritsa's grasp. Her dictator ways matched those of the Raiden Shogun, but seemingly worse, because unlike the people of Inazuma, who reject the Shogun's ways (well, some of them), the people of Snezhnaya were under the Tsaritsa's spell, worshipping her every move. The next boat out before you could be stopped was to Liyue, so, leaving behind your estranged family, you travelled to the land of geo. It wasn't bad by any means (though the archon himself dying was a bit traumatic), but it wasn't home. It was a constant struggle to find work as a foreigner, even after living here for years, and to put it bluntly, you were lonely. Not that you didn't like being alone, the thought of someone weighing you down was alien to you, and you preferred your own thoughts. However, a friend would be nice, at least temporarily. You decided if you were going to be alone, you would make the most of it and travel.

This is the day you ask Captain Beidou to work aboard the Crux, until you can quietly escape the ship when it lands somewhere of value to you. You made a list of rules for working on the ship: stay quiet and keep a low profile. If you want to slip out unnoticed, you had to keep to yourself.

The boat finally reaches the dock, the waves around it growing larger as strong people file off the ship, carrying heavy boxes in and out. Swallowing hard and gripping your vision for luck, you march on over to the captain herself.

"And you!" She yells out to the muscular man carrying wooden crates on each hand, each one looking as if they were about to topple over. "Watch out!" She grabs one of the boxes with seemingly no force before it reaches the floor. You wince at just how close the crate was from reaching it's demise. Beidou sighs, handing the crate back to the crew member.

"Sorry, Captain." He says shamefully, looking down.

"It's okay!" She laughs, catching you off guard. What a care-free boss she was, how lucky the crew of the Crux were to be among her. "Just please be more careful."

With a smile, the man continued carrying the crates off the ship.

"Ah." Beidou sighs into the air, taking a swig of whatever drink was in her cup. This was your cue, it was now or never, before she leaves once again.

"Captain Beidou," You announce, a slight tremble in your walk.

Her eyes dart to you, stopping you slightly in your tracks. "It is I." She smiled, holding her cup up. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"My name is Y/N, an aspiring wanderer. " You continue, ignoring your bodies anxieties. "I would like to work aboard your ship." You surprised even yourself with how confident you sounded. You had to be if you wanted to get in the Captain's good graces.

"An aspiring wanderer, eh? We already got one of those. Why don't you stay in Liyue kid, the sea is no joke." She warns, leaning against the edge of the boat.

"Captain." You pushed yourself to speak, not taking no for an answer. "Please. You don't understand. I'm unhappy here, I hate my life. I have no friends or family." You pour your frustrations out onto the poor Captain, hoping the honest truth would get you aboard. "I don't belong in this mundane life, I am a good and honest worker, and can be of great help to the Crux." Your breathing becomes heavy as you finish your sentiment, a little too afraid to look at the reaction on Beidou's face.

Contracting thoughts twisted Beidou's face, wondering what to do in this situation. On one hand, she understood where you were coming from, but putting another person in danger out on the sea made her feel uneasy. "Okay kid," She finally responded, coming to a conclusion. "You can come."

A sigh of relief visibly fell from your lips as you clasped your hands in front of you in thanks. "Thank you so much, Captain."

"N-No need for all that," She awkwardly laughed, clearly not that great at taking praise. "Just grab your stuff and climb aboard. We'll be leaving back for Inazuma tonight."

-

You didn't have many things except two changes of clothes and limited mora you got from working odd jobs throughout Liyue, so you made it to the ship with plenty of time to spare before departing once again.

"Sorry, but there's not a lot of space in the upstairs cabins." The woman named Huixing said, leading you to the bottom of the ship. There was a small bed along with a tiny nightstand and chair, accompanied by a candle. "You'll be down here."

"It's okay." You smiled, grateful there was even a bed at all. You were actually pretty excited to have your own room, it's easier to stick to yourself and not get close to anyone. "I prefer this anyway, being alone."

Huixing lifted an eyebrow. "Alone? Who said you would be alone?"

"Ah-" Your mind started to panic, but quickly you took a deep breath, not wanting to seem weak already. "I just assumed, because there is only one bed down here." You point out.

"Yeah..." Huixing drew her breath out. "Actually, we're a little crowded, so-"

"Huixing?" A voice behind lingered, startling you. You jump, looking behind you as a man came down the latter. "What are you doing down here?"

Platinum hair blinded your vision as the man jumped down, a small thud escaping the floor boards. He looked different to the other crew members, he didn't seem as strong, nor as tall, but he stood with such grace and confidence, you were simply in awe at the man.

"Kazuha." Huixing smiles. "Sorry, I meant to find you earlier, but you seem to disappear into thin air whenever I need you." She sighs, bringing a hand to her furrowed brow in annoyance.

"Sorry," He mumbled sheepishly, his eyes now wandering to you. "I assume you had to find me because of her?" He asks, cocking his head to the side.

Crimson was the only way to describe his bright eyes, and getting lost in them was so easy, you forgot to talk.

"Yes!" Huixing beams. "This is Y/N, a new member of the Crux Fleet and your new roommate."

"Huh?!" Your eyes snap out of its mesmerized daze and back into reality. You were about to share this tiny room with this guy?! Did you hear her right? You hear the man, Kazuha, you assume, chuckle at your slight exaggeration.

"That's what I was trying to tell you!" Huixing groaned. "You're not alone, you're sharing this room."

Right...

"Well, the Captain needs help with unloading a few more boxes." Huixing starts climbing back up the latter. "No need to come up and help, Y/N. Just get settled and then meet us up for dinner."

"Wait, Huixing-" But like magic, she was gone, already scurrying out the door. you silently groan to yourself. Your perfect situation ruined. You close your eyes, taking a deep breath in at what just happened. In opening them, you're met with the man, Kazuha, once more.

He paid almost no mind to you as he sat on the small chair in front of the desk, gathering a quill and ink along with some parchment. You watched as he gently dipped the quill in some ink, leaving heavy strokes on the parchment.

Uncomfortable and unsure of what to do, you slowly bring yourself to the bed, reaching for the thin blanket. It was rough and a little stained. When's the last time it was washed? You eyes wander to the pillow. There was one. Great.

For what seemed like an eternity, you had to break this silence as it might kill you otherwise. "I-I'm sorry I invaded your space." You stutter softly, a blush appearing on your cheeks. "When Huixing told me there was no space, I didn't realize it was this tight." You admitted. Your words did not interrupt the flow of his writing.

"It's no trouble." He spoke, his gaze not leaving the paper. "The Captain told me this may be a possibility in the future."

His non-chalantness struck you wrong. The least he could do was look at you! You two are meant to be roommates after all.

No, you convince yourself. This is actually for the best. If you were to have a roommate, the least they could do was not talk to you.

"Well then, since it is I who is in the way, I can take the floor." You offer up. You didn't really feel like fighting over who takes the bed, plus, it looks just as uncomfortable as the floor.

"We will take turns, it's only fair." Kazuha sets his quill down, finally making the time to look at you. "Apologies for acting rude, but I had to write before my inspiration went away."

You stare at him questionably. What a strange man.

"Do you wish to tell me your name? If not, I understand." The way he spoke was like he was reciting poetry in a bookstore. It was flowery and gentle, unlike anything you've heard before.

"My name is Y/N." You finally answer.

"Y/N." He tested out. "Lovely name."

"Thank you..." You shifted awkwardly. You have talked more on the Crux this one day than all your days in Liyue, and to be honest, these simple conversations were draining you out already.

Kazuha chuckles at your demeanor shift. "You're tired. I can tell. Please, take the bed."

"I feel bad." You admit, shuffling your feet nervously. "This is your room."

"No, I am simply borrowing it. It is just as much yours as mine, please." He insists. "I will not be sleeping anytime soon anyways, so how about this? If you wake up before I decide to sleep, I will take the bed. Would that make you feel better?"

It was at this moment you decided you had nothing to worry about. He was a good guy, you could tell. After all, he was trying to make a stranger feel better, which is nicer than at least 90 percent of people you've ever met.

You nodded, unable to form words anymore due to your depleting energy.

"Excellent." He smiled warmly at you, grabbing the ladder. "I will meet you later." And with that, you lied down, drifting off.

-

Kazuha has never felt he had to stay in one place, actually, he would hate if he felt he had to stay in one place. After the death of Tomo, he has never formed such a bond again. His relationship with Captain Beidou was probably the closest he thought he would get to his and Tomo's bond, but Kazuha's heart has embraced change the last two weeks, and he wondered if the cause was an outside source.

You two did not speak often, but living in such close quarters with one another did force you to learn some new things about each other. Kazuha, to your surprise, hated mornings. It seemed he would rather fade into oblivion than wake up before 10 AM. You were not a morning person yourself, but you couldn't help but chuckle at the groan Kazuha let out each time Beidou yelled at your names to come help the crew. Also, Kazuha's flowery nature was not an act. It honestly shocked you that his little persona was real, because who in their right mind talks so gently and acts so generously all the time. It exhausted you just watching him.

Kazuha often leant you the bed even on his days, claiming the "floor is better for his back". You didn't believe him, but it was easier to just accept than to argue, because truthfully, you'd never win against him. He was stubborn, you learned that as well.

"I think being alone is what I need in life." Kazuha said one night during one of your many late night talks. "I feel better alone." No one left to lose if you're alone.

Kazuha also learned a little about you, about the fall of your family due to differences of the Tsaritsa's teachings, and how living in Liyue felt like a chore. He nodded understandingly as you spoke of freedom, the anemo vision you possessed shining slightly as you did. Kazuha smiled warmly to himself, knowing your morals aligned with his.

It took some time before he spoke of the fall of the Kaedehara clan and Tomo. He didn't say much, but you didn't need him to. The hurt in his voice told you everything.

Climbing down from the ladder at an atrocious time, you were startled to see Kazuha still awake, your room lit by a tiny candle as he wrote away on a piece of parchment. It seems your arrival did not startle him though, as he did not even look up at you. He was lost in thought as he scribbled violently.

Not wanting to disturb him, you gently set your boots to the side, trying to keep as quiet as possible. Kazuha moves as fast as the wind when he is on the go, so it's rare you see him sitting. Your eyes move to him unintentionally. The candle light shining on his soft face made him look almost unreal. You always thought Kazuha was extremely good looking, the way his white hair fell perfectly on his glowing eyes was almost like he was a portrait. The small red streak that went down his head complimented the permanent blush on his cheeks that wore itself so well against his pale skin. You felt a pang in your heart as you stared at the man whom you've grown so infatuated with the past few weeks.

The clearing of his throat broke your trance. "Sorry." You mumble. "Did I mess up your thoughts?" You look at him apologetically.

"On the contrary," He said, smiling at you. "I just finished. What's got you up so late?"

You bite your lower lip nervously. You swore to yourself you would tell no one of your plan of slipping away, but you broke your number one rule and got close to someone. Someone you maybe have developed feelings for.

Could you really admit to Kazuha you were on the dock deliberating if you were ready to leave him? Does he deserve to know? Does he even care?

"We land in Inazuma tomorrow." You finally say.

Kazuha nodded. "That we do. Is it your first time?"

"Yes. I've only ever been to Snezhnaya and Liyue."

"Are you nervous?"

The only thing you were nervous about was liking Inazuma so much, you'd want to stay. Though you were reentering a world you tried so hard to escape in Snezhnaya, the stories told by the people of Liyue indicated Inazuma was rebuilding after the awful vision hunt decree, and that is was a much better place. A place one would even like to stay at.

"A little bit." You answer.

Kazuha frowned slightly at the way you hung your head as you sat on the edge of the bed. Something was definitely wrong. He did not wish to push you anymore and scare you away, but he wanted you to talk to him. Why did he want you to talk to him? "It's normal to feel that way."

You nod slowly, not making eye contact. Why did this make you so emotional? Isn't this what you wanted? A fresh start in a new place? You knew the Crux would be temporary, but you never thought you'd grow to like it as much as you did. "I know." You croak out.

You gasp at the sudden force pushed upon you as Kazuha gently laid you on his shoulder. When did he even move next to you? Your breathing hitches as you feel warmth radiate off his body and onto your face. You've never actually touched Kazuha before.

"You don't need to tell me what's wrong." Kazuha explains, gently taking your hand into his. "Though I have a feeling, I shall not push, my dove." Kazuha swallows as he slowly entangles his hand into yours, waiting to see if you'd push away.

You didn't.

He clamps his hand shut, tightening his fingers around, causing a massive blush to run across your cheeks. Is this what was missing in Liyue? Not a sense of adventure, but a genuine connection? Between the sudden affection and the nickname, you almost exploded.

Until you remember what he said late that night.

How being alone made him feel better.

You wanted to cry, of course Kazuha didn't want you.

The warmth of his hands brought your touched-deprived self great comfort, as you unintentionally snuggled in closer to him. You stared at the way his hand wrapped around yours, a tear trickling down your face.

"Kazuha?"

"Hm?"

"I don't want to be alone anymore." You admit quietly.

Silence from Kazuha's end. All he wanted to do was bury you in a hug and keep you safe from the awfulness of the world. The last few weeks have been challenging for him as he battled these new feelings that arose because of you. Every conversation you two had made him fall for you slightly more. But he knew better. He knew you wanted a start somewhere else, and he knew he could not give that to you. Selfishly, he decided he was no good for you.

Tears fall harder when you don't hear a reply. You knew he understood you meant him, that you don't want to be alone anymore because of him, and he said nothing.

"Can I sleep up here with you?" Words muttered quietly after a few minutes of your choked sobs filling the room. You lift your head slightly to meet Kazuha's gaze, confused at what you just heard.

"But-"

"Please?" He tried again.

You sniffle, nodding your head. You couldn't say no to him, even though you knew it would hurt to never feel him next to you again.

Kazuha gently lies down on the pillow, laying you right on his chest. You hear his heartbeat as he strokes your hair gently. You don't even realize you're drifting off until your eye lids completely shut.

"My dove, I don't want to be alone either. But if I lose you, I'm afraid I'll break."

-

"Lumine?" Your head snaps to the side at the sound of Kazuha's voice. Lumine?

"Kazuha!" A high-pitched, cheerful voice calls out. Your eyes blink a few times at the flying fairy calling out to Kazuha. Next to her, a mysterious blonde, who is also waving to him cheerfully. "long time no see!" The fairy says, a beaming smile spread across her face.

"How goes the great adventurer? What are you doing back here?" Kazuha smiles. You swear you've never seen him smile so big before. Who was this girl?

"I just came back from defeating this weird labyrinth that was occupying Inazuma." The girl explained.

"Yeah, it was pretty odd, but we made a new friend! He's made of paper!" The fairy exclaims as the blonde girl, Lumine, groans.

"Paimon, you always word things super weirdly."

"So?! That's what happened!" She yelled back, causing Kazuha to chuckle over their debocal.

Feeling the pit in your stomach grow as you watch the three converse, you almost didn't hear Beidou calling your name outside the boat. You look down as she waves at you to come to her. You decide anything is better than watching Kazuha laugh it up with Lumine. Frowning to yourself, you drag your feet down the dock to Beidou.

Was she why Kazuha says he'd be better alone? Was he lying to you just to make you feel better? This whole time, was there another girl?

You reach Beidou, completely oblivious to the blond right next to her. "Y/N, meet my friend Thoma." She smiles.

You look up to the one of the most handsome men you've ever seen. He was tall, clearly toned, and had bright green eyes that reminded you of emeralds. You became clearly flustered, unable to speak.

"It's great to meet you, Y/N! I understand this is your first time in Inazuma, mind if I show you around?" Thoma was cheerful when he spoke, completely opposite of Kazuha who was gentle and soft.

"S-Show me around?" You finally spoke. Of course a stuttering mess had to come out. You became giddy at the thought of exploring new territory, until the shadow of your boss came into view. "Oh, I actually have work to do-"

"Nonsense." Beidou slapped your shoulder, a little too hard, laughing. "If Thoma requests to take you, I cannot say no."

You smile at her, then back at Thoma. He was cute, you did not mind this arrangement. Plus, the tour may help you reach a conclusion if this is where you'd like to stay. After all, it's not like Kazuha would beg you to stay with him anyways. It might be best to forget about him.

"Well then," You say, a blush forming on your cheeks. "I guess I cannot say no."

"Great!" Thoma gasps. "I know just where to take you! Do you like tea?" He started, as he linked your arm with his.

Unbeknownst to you, Kazuha watches as you touch arms with another man, a gust of wind rifling through his hair as his mood shifts.

"Everything okay, Kazuha?" Paimon asks, worry filling her expression.

No response comes from his mouth. Though the sound of the wind is silent to others, it is not to him. He hears the wind speak of you, speak of your cheerfulness alongside this new man in Inazuma. Lumine catches on, turning behind her to see you walking away with Thoma.

"Oh, there's Thoma." Lumine states, looking off into the land. "Do you know him?" She looks back to a dejected Kazuha. "Or..." She looks back at the girl linked in his arms. "Oh..." She sighed out.

"It's nothing."

Lumine frowns. "That's Y/N, huh?"

Kazuha smiles sadly, looking down. "Yes."

"She's beautiful."

"I know."

"Kazuha... Jealousy isn't a good look on you." Lumine sighs. Kazuha chuckles slightly in response. "You want her to stay with you, right?"

"Of course. But I know she wants more than I can give her. I will not be a barrier in her happiness." He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "Plus the way Thoma looked at her... I can tell he already took an interest."

"And what if you are her happiness?" Lumine pushes.

"Lumine..." Kazuha sighs, for the first time, at a loss for words. "She... She's planning on staying in Inazuma."

"How do you know that?" Paimon questions. "Did she tell you that?"

Kazuha shook his head. "No. She didn't need to. It's why she was so upset last night. She wanted me to tell her to stay, and I was silent." He confessed.

"Silent?!" Paimon exclaims.

"Shh, not so loud!" Lumine whisper-yells to Paimon, now turning her attention back to Kazuha. "Kazuha, let me tell you something." Lumine was strict, causing him to tense up. He's never heard her raise her voice towards him. "You're my friend, so I'm telling you this as such, okay?"

Kazuha nodded.

"You're an idiot."

Ouch, Kazuha thought. But she's not wrong.

"You obviously love her, otherwise your facial expression wouldn't read 'I want to kill Thoma'."

"I do not want to kill Thoma. That is immoral."

"The point is," Paimon chirps in. "Is that you'll be happier with her, and her with you. Please Kazuha, don't let her get away." Paimon frowns.

Kazuha looks up at the sky. "I always wondered where the wind would take me, never did I think it would lead anywhere after Tomo." He admitted.

Lumine pats Kazuha's shoulders understandingly. "I know, but now you have another chance, don't lose it."

-

"Kazuha." You breathe out, your breath hitching once you see him on the bed. "I thought you would be out around Inazuma." You confess.

"I had to make sure you would return..." Kazuha swallows. "That if you returned, then maybe..."

You look at the floor with sad eyes, the pit in your stomach returning as you remember him with Lumine. "Then maybe what?" You mutter.

"Maybe you decided not to stay in Inazuma."

You step back several feet in shock. How did he know? "How did you-"

"Are you?" He interrupted, not giving an explanation to how he figured out your plan.

"I... Don't know." You confess, playing with the tips of your fingers. "It's beautiful here, but something was missing..." Your face turns a bright red. You feel like an idiot. He has someone else.

"Y/N, can you look at me?"

You feel a stream of tears about to come down as he says that. You close your eyes, slowly shaking your head as you start to shake. "No." You whisper.

You open your eyes at the feeling of your hands being held. Kazuha stood in front of you, forehead touching forehead. He was close. So close you couldn't move. You felt yourself burning up.

"Kazuha..." You whisper, unsure of what to say.

"Stay." He muttered.

Your breath stumbles as you heard the words you searched for all of last night. No, it can't be. "What about Lumine?" You couldn't help but ask.

Kazuha moves his head back to look at you, confusion arising. "Lumine? Do you know her?"

You shook your head sadly. "No. I saw her with you, smiling, laughing." Suddenly, a strange sensation of anger comes upon you. You push back Kazuha's hands, causing him to freeze up. "Was anything you said to me real?" You asked bluntly.

"R-Real?" He stutters. "I'm not sure I understand..."

"All those late night talks, the way you held me, were you fucking with me?" You asked, your tone rising.

"Of course they were." He frowns. "Everything with you was- no. Is real. I just know Lumine from adventuring... Nothing more." Unbeknownst to Kazuha, you were just as jealous as he was.

"Then why-" Heavy tears fall from your face. "Why didn't you ask me to stay last night, or this morning, why now when I have to make my decision?" You cry out. Kazuha let you sob. He would let you punch him if you chose to do so. He didn't like seeing you cry, but knowing it's him causing you to feel this way made him want to be right beside Tomo in this moment.

"Because I thought you would be happier with someone like Thoma." Kazuha looks away, unwilling to look at you.

"Is that really what you think?" You ask, tears staining your bloodshot eyes.

Kazuha shook his head, turning back to you. He moves your hair from your face to behind your ear, his gaze never leaving your face. "Not anymore."

You sniffle, tensing up at his gentle graze upon your face. "Kazuha... I need to hear it. If I'm going to stay... I need to know why I'm staying." It was stupid, but this was it. If you decide to stay with him, it would be a journey. It's one you want to take, but you need to make sure he's just as willing.

"You should stay..." Kazuha slips his hand under your chin, forcing you to look up at him. Your breathing stops as you both make eye contact with one another. "Because I love you." He whispers.

Just then, his lips came crashing down on yours as he kisses you passionately. Oh how you longed for such a moment. You wrap your arms around his neck instinctively as your lips tremble around his.

You both slightly break away, breathing heavily as you slowly open your eyes. "Please... Stay with me. I don't want to be alone anymore, my dove." Kazuha says quietly, causing a shiver down your spine.

Without thinking, you hug him tightly, your face buried in the crook of his neck. "Of course." You whisper as you feel his arms wrap around you. "I love you too, Kazuha."

“You know,” Kazuha chuckles. “The first time you met me, I was writing a poem. I said I didn’t want my inspiration to run out. It was about my first time seeing you, and how beautiful you are. I told my self I could not lose these first feelings of seeing you, so I wrote them down.”

You freeze at the sudden confession, turning a deep scarlet color as your stomach churns. No one has ever called you beautiful…

“And then,” He continued. “I wrote about you last night. About how much I would lose if I allowed you to escape me.” He stroked your hair gently as he spoke of his admiration towards you. “You’ve never left my mind, Y/N… Even the wind spoke of you to me.”

You’re left speechless. Tears filling your eyes again, you jump at the chance to kiss him. This time it’s longer, fuller, and you never want to let go.

“I’m so happy the wind lead you to me.”

[helliontherapscallion]

sibling hybrid!creeper reader headcannons/one-shot for SBI ( + ranboo? 🧍‍♀️ ) hurt/comfort. like maybe the reader struggles with emotions and doesn't know how to deal w/ them healthily, so they end up bottling them up and kinda explode at times.

sorry if this is too specific, i just really like your writing :) congrats on 1k!! <3

and one last thing,.. can i be 🫂 anon?

(A/N): I had a lot of fun with this one, and thank you : ) I hope you don’t mind that I added Tubbo. Also one more thing, I imagine the explosion is kinda like a Bakugou situation but uncontrollable

Warnings: anti-hybrid rhetoric/slurs (speciesism???), swearing, blood (not much, just mentions of a nose bleed)

It was completely an accident this time, it all just came so fast. You were standing in front of a store window when you felt something rub against your leg. When you looked down, panic engulfed your entire being when you saw an orange cat rubbing and nuzzling against your leg, letting out deep purrs. You had no clue why this cat wasn’t chasing you like all other cats usually did, but you didn’t want to ponder. You felt the familiar pressure building up inside of you as a startled hiss left your mouth and you jumped away from the creature. Your skin was sparking and popping as your freckles lit up in a glowing green light. 

Finally, explosions left your skin as the glass shattered next to you and gravel was turned up and thrown about. You fell to your knees and rubbed at your burning eyes and wiped the blood from your nose. Exploding like that had always taken a lot out of you and made your nose bleed. You suspected that it was because of the sudden build up and release of pressure and energy. 

The back of your shirt was grabbed and you were yanked off from the ground. There staring at you was the owner of the shop that you accidentally blew up. His green eyes were ablaze as he gritted his teeth and looked into your eyes.

“Do you have any idea what you just did?! You blew up my window!”

Small hisses left your mouth, “I-I’m sorry sir I swear I didn’t mean t-”

“Like hell you didn’t! Your kind always destroys everything!”

You stopped struggling and narrowed your eyes at him, “my kind?”

“Yes, hybrids! Filthy mutts, all you do is destroy! You’re a bunch of freaks.”

You could feel another explosion coming about and this time you did not even attempt to hold this one back. You stared him dead in the eyes with the harshest glare you could muster. As soon as the hisses started to leave your mouth and the freckles once again glowed green, the man’s eyes widened before he threw you into the street away from the building. Another explosion left you and disassembled the neat cobblestone of the road. A single stone flew and shattered what was left of the store window. Another flew and hit the store owner in the head knocking him out. 

And here you were now; hisses left your mouth as you ran down the beaten path of the village towards the exit. The iron golem following you was hot on your tail, it’s booming footsteps picking up dust clouds from the gravel. Villagers around you scattered and started to whisper fearfully amongst themselves. You could feel their fearful and angry stares burning holes through you. After you got out of the village and the iron golem was still chasing you, you ducked into the forest where you knew it wouldn’t follow you. You climbed up a tree and watched as the golem angrily smacked the foliage out of the way before it gave up and hobbled back into the village. 

You dragged your feet tiredly back home, wanting nothing more than to collapse in your bed. Your senses were on overdrive as you were hyper aware of everything around you. You’ve never exploded twice within the span of ten minutes before, and it wore you out. Small exhausted hisses left your mouth as you trudged along the path. 

After getting home you walked past a confused and concerned Wilbur, dodging his hands that were trying to grab you so he could get a better look at you. You walked up the stairs ignoring his questions and walked past Tommy.

“Hey sparky, what’s got you lookin like shit?” He asked you before he started to laugh to himself at the nickname he knew you hated. You winced at the volume of his voice before you hissed angrily and stomped off into your room before you passed out immediately in your bed the second you threw yourself onto it. 

You didn’t wake up until a hand shook you awake firmly. You peeled open your eyes to see Tommy hovering over you looking slightly scared. When you fully opened your eyes, he sighed in relief.

“Oh my fucking Ender, I thought you died for a second.”

You only groaned and covered your head with the covers trying to block out the morning light streaming into your room and Tommy’s voice. He shook you more, your entire bed shaking with it. “Get up. Dad wants you downstairs for breakfast cuz you skipped lunch and dinner.”

You said nothing as he ripped the covers off from you eventually and pulled you out of your bed. You landed on the floor with a thump and hissed a little in frustration. You stood up and pushed him out of your room and slammed the door behind him. The locked door handle jimmied before it stopped and everything was silent. You prayed that he went away, but alas he didn’t. You rubbed your forehead when he started to knock at your door in multiples of two.

Knock knock, “(y/n)?” Knock knock, “(y/n)?” Knock knock, “(y/n)?” Knock kno-

“I’ll be down in a minute fuckface. I’m gonna get dressed.”

“If you aren’t down in five minutes I’m getting Techno. He’ll carry your ass down.”

Downstairs, you shambled into the kitchen past the table and poured yourself a cup of coffee. Your family silently watched you before the conversation started back up again. You plopped down next to Wilbur and sipped at your coffee deliriously. He eyed you in concern, “you okay?” You hummed and poked at your eggs. You didn’t feel hungry at all. “You su-”

“Yes, I’m sure Wilbur.” You glanced at him from the corner of your eye and returned to your coffee. After your fourth cup of coffee you were cut off by a concerned Philza. Even after four cups of coffee, you still felt slightly physically drained and it showed in your sluggish movements. Your day went by with you holding in your frustration and anger from everybody constantly asking if you were okay. Days of holding in explosions passed with them finally leaving you alone. However, that did nothing to alleviate your bottled up frustrations.

Techno was sitting on the couch reading a book while Wilbur was sitting in the chair across the room trying to find the lyrics of his next song. Philza was in the kitchen doing who knows what. You were currently walking up to Tommy’s room to say hi to your old friends Tubbo and Ranboo after getting home from a trip to another village. 

That trip was rough for you but not as rough as the one a few days prior; you could only stand so much fear filled and hateful staring after all. Your creeper features consisting of pitch black irises and dark gray sclera, a mop of dark green hair, and green freckles sprayed randomly across your skin was definitely an attention grabber for anyone. A few of the kids even threw rotten tomatoes and stones at you, it was so hard holding in explosions by the time you left that you just felt very overwhelmed. Hanging out around the self proclaimed ‘bench trio’ always enough to calm you down from a rough day. Mellohi’s muffled relaxed beat makes the corners of your lips twitch into a small smile. 

However just as you opened the door to Tommy’s room, you could hear their conversation end. “Hey guys, how’re-”

A yelp left your throat as something very cold drenched your body. An iron bucket came tumbling down and hit your head before falling to the floor with a clank. The pressure that has been building up in your chest increased tenfold, but you closed your eyes, took a deep breath, and turned to walk to your room for a change of clothes. Behind you, you heard Tommy laughing hysterically while Tubbo tried to apologize between his own laughter. You didn’t even have to look at Ranboo to know that he was guiltily fiddling with his sleeves as his tail flicked back and forth sharply. 

After you went into your room, you grabbed your pillow and screamed as loud as you could into it to blow off some steam. After that didn’t work, you tried punching the pillow relentlessly but that didn’t work. You could still feel pressure and energy inside your chest lingering and threatening to burst. 

You sighed and made your way downstairs walking past Tommy’s door. You could now hear Ranboo laughing with them, and that just made you even more angry than you were before. 

Everything around you was pissing you off. Philza’s wings fluttering behind him subconsciously, Technoblade’s little ‘heh’’s as he read something that caught him off guard in his book, Wilbur’s humming and mumbling to himself as he composed his next song, Tommy’s, Ranboo’s, and Tubbo’s loud laughter echoing from Tommy’s room. Every little sound was enough to send you over the edge. Just as you were about to leave the house to calm down again, a knock sounded at the door.

Philza gently pushed you behind him with furrowed brows and a hand on the sword hung around his hip. Techno’s book snapped shut as he stood up to grab his axe while Wilbur walked over to you and put a protective hand on your shoulder. You understood why they were cautious; you didn’t normally get visitors and the last time the house did, it was someone that decided to try and attack Technoblade on sight when he opened the door screaming about how hybrids aren’t natural. Keyword: tried. Techno absolutely would’ve killed him if it wasn’t for Philza holding him back. 

You felt anxiety creep up inside you as you fought against the small hisses trying to escape your mouth. The door opened slowly to reveal the store owner from a few days ago. His eyes hardened when he saw the wings sprouting from Philza’s back before his eyes flicked to you. He did not look happy to see you behind your dad’s massive wings. Without another word, you turned and ran up to your room when you felt the pressure become almost unbearable. 

You ran past Tommy, Tubbo, and Ranboo who were leaving Tommy’s room with hesitance. You didn’t respond when they tried to stop you. Slamming your door closed, you sat on your bed with your head clutched in your hands desperately trying to fight against the pressure building up. Small pops sounded on your skin as you grit your teeth in concentration. You could hear knocking at your door, thank god you locked it behind you. You had no idea how long you were sitting there trying to hold it back.

When the pressure became too much and you felt yourself losing grip on your control, you knew you needed to get out of the house as soon as possible. This was going to be a huge explosion, probably the biggest one you were going to do. The loud continuous hiss that left your throat was something you weren’t actively doing, another telltale sign that you were about to explode. You ripped open the door, pulled yourself from Tommy’s grasp, and ran as fast as you could downstairs. Philza followed you with a furious expression when he saw you, the store owner seemingly having left. 

“(Y/n), what in the hell did you do?” He grabbed your arm and pulled you to the living room. You tried your hardest to pull out of his grasp, but he was holding on too tight. The hissing had gotten slightly louder, but you moved a hand up to your mouth to try and muffle it. He sat you down on the couch and started pacing in front of you, his feathers puffed up angrily. Wilbur and Techno were eyeing you warily from across the room. 

“What were you thinking, blowing up his store like that? Were you even thinking? Cuz that was stupid (y/n). Hybrids get enough bad rap, and you go and pull this?!”

“Dad-”

“Not now Wilbur. As I was saying, you could’ve killed someone! What would you do then-”

“Dad,” Techno’s assertive tone stopped Philza in his tracks as he ran a hand down his face. “What could you possibly want right now, boys?”

“(Y/n)’s gonna explode soon.” Wilbur hurried over to you and helped you up. You could hear the three younger boys’ steps thundering down the stairs. By now, you were visibly shaking and sweating with the effort of holding explosions back. You could see the glowing of your freckles through the reflection of Wilbur’s glasses. 

“Shit,” Philza sounded panicked in that moment as Wilbur ushered you out of the house and into the forest. You pushed him away and stumbled your way deeper into the forest. You heard them attempting to follow you, but you gestured for them to get back. You had no idea how big this one was going to be, but it was definitely going to be large. 

You ran deeper into the forest until you couldn’t hold it back anymore. Leaning against a tree, you finally let yourself explode. This one was painful; your skin burned with every pop that emanated from your freckles, the burning making your free nerve endings scream at you. The last thing you saw was a wave of dirt splashing up before you blacked out. 

You were in and out of consciousness for the next week or so. Whenever you would wake up slightly, it would only be for a couple moments before you would pass out again. It was in those moments that the pain and the lack of energy hit you at full force. You supposed being unconscious was better than the mental and physical fog and the pain. 

By the time you fully woke up, your senses were slightly hyperactive, but nowhere near how you felt when you blew up that store. You reached up with a heavy hand to wipe at your crusty eyes before you heard rustling next to you. You looked over to see Philza standing at the door with a glass of water in his hand. When he saw that you were awake, he rushed to your side and helped you sit up. You took the water gratefully and drank it, the liquid refreshed your dry throat. 

“How’re you feeling?” 

“Tired and a little sore. How long was I out for?”

“About a week, you really worried us. That was a really big one. Do you know why it was so big?”

You nodded and looked down at the water in your hands, swirling it around the glass. You didn’t want to tell him about feeling angry and overwhelmed at every little thing around you the past few days. You felt guilty at that, they were just trying to live their lives while you were cursing them for merely existing. A finger under your chin made you look up at Philza. His eyes were full of gentleness and empathy, “c’mon, you can tell me. I want to help you.”

“I don’t know where to start.”

“Start wherever you feel comfortable. Take as much time as you need.” He sat on the edge of your bed and looked around your room while he waited. You took a second to gather your thoughts before you took a deep breath. Philza perked up and diverted his full attention to you. 

“It started when I first blew up that guy’s store. I swear it was an accident that time, a cat snuck up on me and rubbed on me,” you shuddered, small hisses leaving your mouth. “The guy came out and picked me up by my shirt. He called us some names so I kinda got mad and blew up on purpose.”

“‘Us’?”

You nodded, “hybrids. He said that ‘our kind’ destroys everything.” You glared at the glass in your hands, hissing in contempt and watching the freckles dully glow green. “He called us ‘filthy mutts’ and freaks, Dad.” Philza looked slightly peeved at the name calling, “still, you shouldn’t’ve blown up on him. You could’ve killed him, (y/n).”

“So you’re saying that it’s okay for him to call us slurs? Should we just let people slander us?” You narrowed your eyes at him. He shook his head, his medium length blond hair swaying with the movement. “Hell no, I’m not saying that at all. You should never let someone call you things, but violence is never the answer.”

You huffed, crossing your arms, “frankly, he deserved what was coming to him. I just wish he didn’t throw me before I could blow up.” 

“Hold on, he fucking threw you?” You nodded and watched his eyes darken and anger flash across his face, “violence is sometimes the answer then. Did he hurt you?” 

“No, but I just felt so… so drained. But so overwhelmed at the same time. I’ve never exploded twice in the same day before.”

He hummed in realization, “so that’s why you slept through most of the day. Sorry, go on.”

“After Tommy woke me up everything just felt worse. It was like everything around me was amplified. It was hell, the last few days I was just hyper aware of everything and it was pissing me off. Every little thing drove me crazy, I could feel myself getting closer and closer to exploding but I held it back until I couldn’t anymore.” 

“(Y/n), you know that’s not healthy… I talked to Sam, you remember right?” You shook your head, “well, he was an old friend of Wilbur’s. He used to come here all the time before he had to move away. He’s a creeper hybrid like you,” he chuckled when you perked up, “he gave me some advice on your anatomy when you were growing up. Anyways, he told me that sensory overload is common when you explode. He said that it’s normal to feel drained afterwards and to definitely get plenty of sleep. The sensory issues apparently get worse if your rest is interrupted, so that was probably why you felt overwhelmed in the past few days… He also told me that it really isn’t healthy to explode more than once a day or to hold it in for longer than necessary. Please just come to me if you’re feeling overwhelmed again or if you need to rest after exploding. I can even build you an obsidian building where you could go and not blow up anything.”

“...I’d like that. What- what else did he tell you?” Philza chuckled and started to tell you more about what Sam told him about his anatomy. He even gave you Sam’s comms contact so you could contact him if you had any questions or wanted some advice. He was a nice man when you talked to him, always having an answer for your questions. You even found old pictures of you as a baby following him around. Apparently you could tell that he was part creeper; wherever he was in the house, you were bound to be near him.

The rest of the day, you hung out with the rest of your family and the bench trio. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Techno wasn’t one for open affection, being the type to give you little trinkets and giving you suggestions on what to read next. Every time you woke up, you would find small objects ranging from gold to emeralds and books on your nightstand. He would vehemently deny being the one that gave you the items, but you and the rest of the family knew better. Sometimes, he would drop into your room to ask you what you thought of the book and have a thorough discussion about it with you while you were recovering. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You leaned against Wilbur’s side with his arm wrapped around you. The hand that was around you was rubbing circles into your shoulder. After he scolded you for bottling up your emotions, he climbed into your bed and pulled you to his side. Small hums left his throat. 

“(Y/n)?” You hummed, your eyes half lidded and almost about to fall asleep. “Would you mind if I wrote a song about you? It would fit with the next album’s theme.” 

“Knock yourself out.” Your words were slightly slurred as you nuzzled closer to him. He laughed a bit, the sound being muffled and reverberating his chest. “Get some sleep. I’ll brainstorm some ideas to run by you before you wake up.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hanging out with the self proclaimed ‘bench trio’ was always fun, even if you were on strict orders to stay in bed by Dadza. Nobody argues with a concerned Dadza, but they found other ways to hang out with you. Tommy had moved his jukebox into your room and was playing cat, the music soothing you immensely and putting an end to your worries. However, what didn’t soothe you was the card game in front of you. 

You were watching in horror as everybody put down a plus two card stacking the amount the victim would have to draw. So far, the plus two streak had already gone around the circle once and is now going around once more. It was nearing your turn and it was with great horror that you realized you didn’t have a color changing card or a plus two card. The two cards in your hand felt heavy as you watched Ranboo pull out another card.

“Please Ranboo, I’ll do anything. Don’t put that card down.” You watched as his ears twitched before he smiled innocently at you, putting the card down and laughing at you when you started the long process of drawing fourteen cards and sorting them. 

“Sorry, my hand slipped.”

“Get fucked (y/n)!” Tommy cackled at you. You flipped him off before you went back to sorting the cards. Tubbo put down a plus four color changing card and smiled at Tommy. 

“Sorry Tommy, but uno and the color is now red!”

“Goddamnit Tubbo! That’s the one color I don’t have,” he grumbled and drew four cards. Ranboo smiled triumphantly and put down his last card before showing you his empty hands. “What?! You didn’t even say uno!” You eyed his smug smile with disbelief. 

“You guys didn’t call me on it though.”

“That’s not the rules, Ranboo! You have to say uno!” Tommy argued. Long story short, the rules had to be looked up and the family had to be consulted before your group came to the conclusion that you in fact do not have to call out uno and the other players could call them out on it. Eventually after a few tense games, the three were sitting on your bed. Ranboo had some difficulty with it due to his height, but he managed with his legs crossed. 

“(Y/n) do you reckon you could become charged if you were hit by lightning?”

“Tubbo, you’re a genius,” Tommy breathed out, “let’s go see!” 

“No, you will not go see. Sit back down.” Wilbur called out as he passed your room. The group slumped slightly. “We’ll see when I get better. Mark my words, the next thunderstorm that happens I will see if I can be charged.” You whispered to them, your eyes glinting with mischief. 

“I don’t really think that’s a good idea.”

“Of course it is, Ranboo. It probably won’t kill them.”

“Probably?” Ranboo raised an eyebrow at Tommy’s nonchalant answer. “Yes, probably.”

“I still have three lives left. If I die, I die.” You wove a hand in the air as you spoke and watched as Tubbo nodded in agreement. “Do it for science, (y/n).”

“Oh I will. For science!” You raised your water glass in the air and Tommy and Tubbo followed suit with wide smiles. “For science!”

You three turned to stare at a deadpanning Ranboo. He sighed before he raised his glass of milk and let out a monotone “for science.” You, Tommy, and Tubbo cheered as you clanked your glasses together. You could see a hint of a fond smile on Ranboo’s face as he watched you three chug your waters before he downed his milk in one swallow. 

You smirked at them and leaned close, talking lowly so that anyone passing by wouldn’t overhear you. “So, what’s our plan?”

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[tazzytypes]

A s/o who has really bad tense muscles and stuff. Stiff shoulders, hips, etc (life is tough in Zaun obviously). How does Silco help them out with that. I'm looking for all the tooth decaying fluff you got. This man owns my whole heart.😭

Same here 😭 Silco is the reason Arcane is my current hyper-fixation.

Also, this sore muscle prompt is hitting way too close to home haha. My backpack for school weighs a tonnn and my back hates it — especially in this cold weather.

Headcannons for Silco are still open btw! If you want to send in more or if anyone else has some ideas please hit me up!

Anyways — here y’a’ go! Hope you enjoy!

Young Silco

Working in the Lanes is rough. Most work in the mines, especially during Silco’s youth, which brings its own aches and pains. On top of that, most people worked two or three jobs to make ends meet.

That being said, after a long days work, an intake of aches and pains is usually the first topic of conversation. You’d be with the three boys and Vander and Benzo would start up a lot of aches and pains and scars.

“That shift this morning twisted something in my shoulder,” Vander would say, “doesn’t help that that mining shift messed it up last month. Still gets stiff when it’s cold out.”

“Least you still have your legs,” Benzo says, “doc says he fixed my kneecap but it still hurts like a bitch.”

Silco will roll his eyes as they talk. You two don’t usually join in except to complain about how fucking tired you were. It was something to cheer to, you guessed. An excuse to drink.

However, Silco would note when somethings up. While he may roll his eyes at his friend’s antics, it’s not because he doesn’t care. It’s because they’re so predictable.

Definitely lot of jokes given about you two being stress relief for the other. Benzo definitely calls you “Silco’s pretty masseuse,” as a joke, earning a slap upside the head from both Vander and Silco

Silco’s observant. It’s what made him so valuable to the rebellion. He knows just by the way you’re holding yourself where the aches and pains are.

You keep touching and rolling your shoulder to get some relief? His hand is there to keep some pressure on it. It’s not much, but it keeps the ache away for a bit.

You’re shifting on your feet as you stand because your hips are stiff? You’re in his lap now. Just don’t shift around too much, ok? He’s skinny and you’re like… really hot.

He’ll let you get in the shower first, just so you can have the warmest water. That is, if it’s working. A lot of times you have to heat the water and fill the tub yourself — it’s a whole process. If it’s a particularly bad day for you, he’ll prepare a bath for you as you take a nap or something. Probably something he does at the end of the week when he doesn’t have to worry about being up early the next day.

He’ll sit behind you sometimes as you bathe with a smirk on his face.

“Enjoying yourself?” He’ll ask.

All you can do is hum which makes him chuckle. He’ll ease tension in your shoulder and wash your hair for you. If it leads to more, it leads to more. If not, he likes being able to take care of you.

Another remedy is to warm water on the stove and use a washcloth as a makeshift heat pad. Silco came up with the idea and you thought he was a fucking genius.

He’s no masseuse, but he will help you work out the worst pains. Is afraid to do anything too intensive as he doesn’t know what he’s doing and doesn’t want to make things worse.

If you’re sore because of HIM? Smug af. Cheekily will say, “everything alright? Maybe you should sit down?”

Sometimes all the tenseness stems from anxiety. There’s always something to have your guard up against. He’ll try and cover your six to make you relax. Definitely makes note to smother you in affection later and otherwise make you completely melt.

Act 1 Silco

Act 1 Silco knows the importance of appearance. Being able to provide isn’t just his love language, it’s a sign that he’s the top dog people should bet upon.

That being said, he’s not Act 2 and 3 Silco. Yeah, he has a fancy lair. But it was abandoned. There’s a lot of deals and bartering being done to get things. More coins to scrape together, but still spread thin.

He’ll get you things that help with the aches. Peppermint oil, a semi-decent heated blanket, those sort of things.

He’s less likely to pull you into his lap or rub your shoulders like he would when he was young. At least in public. As said before, Silco knows the importance of appearances. Does his connection to you put a target on your back? Yes. However, it’s also more than that. Him doting on you too publicly makes YOU look weak. He can’t have that. People take advantage of weak people in these parts and the vultures are always swarming.

So, his way of dealing with this is holding you back. Calling your name followed by a serious, “a word,” which makes it seem like he’s about to rip you a new one.

“How long has it been bothering you?” He’ll ask, nodding to whatever part of you is sore that day.

He then offers to get you whatever you need, whether by getting someone to fetch it for you or ordered more if you’re out.

If you’ve tried everything, however, he’ll tell you to take a break and nap or just otherwise take things easy.

When you’ve tried every trick in the book, he’s there with gentle hands. Will give you a few days off to either solve the problem or think of a better solution.

“I’ll have Singed make something.”

“There’s someone who owes me a favor or two. Smuggles in things topside. I’ll see if he knows anything.”

Will check in on you periodically. Small (and I mean very small) breaks will be taken in his part to run your shoulders or otherwise help you ease up a bit.

Is more likely to ask questions to see if your anxieties and stress have anything to do with it. Especially if he knows important missions are around the corner. Understands the complexities of the mind, now. He probably has more tenseness himself. If that’s the root of your problems, expect sweet nothings whispered in your ear.

Speaking of questions, will definitely start spilling a list of remedies.

“Have you tried [x]?” He’ll ask.

“Yes.”

“what about [Y]?”

“That, too”

“How about [z]?”

“No,” you’ll snap, voice filled with sarcasm. He looks you in the eyes and you huff. “Of corse I fucking did!”

Will try and go to bed earlier than he usually does to check in on you (again). Expect to be cuddled.



Act 2 and 3 Silco

Any fancy oil, heating device, or compression gear you need? All you have to do is ask. Only the best of the best.

Has the best masseuse on hand for all your needs.

You don’t even have to ask. He sees you in pain or feeling uncomfortable and he’s already made arrangements.

Less likely to personally attend to you now. In part because he’s the busiest man in Zaun, but also he knows you’re in better hands than his.

However, will feel a bit… jealous isn’t quite the word. He knows it’s a detached approach to taking care of you and, while it’s the best care he could give, he’s still a man of Zaun. Something about doing the work with your own two hands is more rewarding, especially when it comes to helping those you care about.

You’ll get used to the fancy masseuse and mention having an appointment with him and he’ll look up from his desk for a moment.

“While I love to spoil you,” he’ll say, “It would be best if we cut spending in that department. Just for a bit. Let me draw you a bath.”

It’s a lie. Don’t call him on it. Let him do this for you. If you call him out in it he may think you’re angry at him or don’t want to spend time with him. His mind always goes to the worse, even if he trusts you wholeheartedly. Do you just love him for the money? Those types of things. Either way, you get spoiled rotten. Just let him do this.

Will make an evening out of it. May result in spicy times, may not. Either way, it usually results in you two curled up in bed together, his hands tracing patterns on your skin.

[also please schedule this man with your masseuse. He won’t do it if it’s just for him, so beg him for a date night with a massage and dinner. Silco is stressed and not as young as he used to be. God knows there’s always something that’s sore these days]

[whirlybirbs]

               (   another gif by @unearthlydust​ from this beautiful set !   )

✪   —   VACANT MIRRORS  ;  B.B.  |  3/?

summary: you find out about bucky’s past, he finds out about yours. 

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 6.4k, va va voom

a/n: oh look out here comes the plot, charactization, and growth between to pals who are maybe starting to feel a little something begin to take shape. but ignore that, there’s danger afoot. no spoilers for tfatws here!

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“You know I have to ask these questions. It’s part of the check-in.”

“Yeah,” you fire back, flat enough to warrant Dr. Hart’s scowl to grow. You can’t see it over the phone, but you know the way her words whip around you means she’s upset, “I know.”

“If you’re not following the action plan set out by the judge,” she begins, leaning forward as her tone drops into a scalding hot sort of seriousness on the other end, “You will go to prison. You know this. So, do you want to spend ten years of your life behind bars? Are you trying to get yourself locked up? Come on.”

You can’t look up from your computer’s screen. Or maybe you can, but right now, there’s a dangerous mixture of anger and guilt and frustration boiling under your skin.

“I’m trying.”

“Trying isn’t good enough for the GRC,” Dr. Hart snaps, “You know this. They’re giving you a chance — they know you’re talented. You have the ability here to go straight, to earn a living, to finally make up for those years of blackhat work.”

“Everything I did,” you fire back, ripping your eyes up to meet Dr. Hart’s, “Was for others. I didn’t get a fucking penny.”

“You’re not Robin Hood,” she shakes her head as her tone softens, “We all make mistakes. But, everything has a consequence. You know this. And this conversation isn’t even considering the other charges.”

“You know the extortion case would never hold up in court.”

Dr. Hart sighs raggedly. “And I don’t intend on ever seeing it play out in court, because you’re going to follow the conditions of your pardon.”

“The GRC is a bunch of fascists—”

“Enough,” she snaps, “If you want to go and appeal your case with the judge, be my guest, but I can almost guarantee you’ll be perp-walked out of that Federal courtroom in cuffs.”

She’s right.

Dr. Hart is right.

Your knee is bouncing, up and down and up and down. You’re wound up around yourself, arms crossed tight, brows knotted. With a shaky exhale, you just nod. You breathe, and you remind yourself that she’s right. She’s right, she’s right, she’s right. It’s not worth it. Dipping yourself back into that world, the layer of the web beneath the surface, isn’t worth it.

The GRC is your way out.

Just be a good little girl and do as you're told.

“So, I’m going to ask you again,” Dr. Hart begins, pen clicking alive on the other end of the phone call, “...Have you engaged in any illegal activities online in the last seven days?”

                                                       ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   

Inessa Sidrova’s photo stares up at him from its place on the speckled marble counter, stacked neatly next to his notebook where her name is scrawled in chicken scratch — between two other names: Zemo and Henrikson.

His laptop, technically on loan from the FBI, sits beside both.

(When Barnes had agreed in that closed doors meeting to the conditions of his pardon, a certain FBI agent by the name of Jimmy Woo had been rather insistent that Barnes needed a personal computer in order to carry out his portion of the conditions insofar as tracking down the remaining HYDRA pawns in the States. Woo had also insisted, to the agreement of Dr. Raynor, that a personal computer would help better acclimate Barnes to the new world he’d been dropped into.

Woo was even nice enough to take an hour of his own time to show Bucky enough to get started — but was whisked away for some investigation out in New Jersey.)

Bucky rubs the cold vibranium of his left palm into his eye, then exhales long and slow.

He’s done all he can. And still, no leads on the woman.

Rounding the kitchen island, he digs his cell from his pocket. He goes back to staring at that text — the one he’d laughed out loud at the moment it lit up his phone — and he can feel that ol’ bite of anxiousness creep into his arms. His fingertips tingle.

On the television, a laugh track plays over a clip of The Three Stooges. Blue eyes flick upward, and he partially wishes a ladder would put him out of his own self-induced misery.

Outside, the antics of a Saturday night in Brooklyn roll on.

In the last few days he’s parsed through his thoughts enough to realize it’s not telling you that scares him — no, it’s telling you the truth. The whole truth. All of it. After all, the good comes with a lot of bad; the sort of bad you chain in a chest and sink in the ocean. And Bucky finds that, even still, the good is questionable at best. The good is… small. Microscopic. Completely and totally tainted by the fuckin’ decades of brainwashed, war dog bullshit.

He groans and drops his head back against the wall.

He tries, for the next twenty minutes, to formulate some sort of reply to your text message. But, half the battle is figuring out what to say, and the other half is actually typing it out. This whole flip phone purchase was really starting to sting like regret — and as much as Bucky loved technology back before the war, and all the magical possibilities it held, he can’t help but feel like an ornery old man now.

It’s the change. Steve was right. Too much change.

He can’t find the space button and he can’t figure out how to delete the random 3 he’d accidentally punched in — so, with a grumpy huff of disapproval, Bucky simply dials your number.

You pick up on the third ring.

“Don’t you know it’s Saturday?” your voice is a welcomed sound, “The History Channel is running a bunch of old war documentaries you might enjoy, grandpa.”

Bucky snorts, fiddling with the hem of his hoodie. “What makes you think I’d wanna watch that shit?”

“Everyone knows that old men like two things,” your voice is light, half-distracted from the sounds of it, “World War Two, or grilling. And honestly, you don’t strike me as the grilling type.”

“I like a good burger.”

“Yeah?” you snort, and Bucky can hear you shift your phone from one ear to the other, “Is that why you called? To hint at being hungry?”

“No,” he exhales, looking out the window, “No, I was trying to reply to your text but I can’t find the fuckin’ space button. Calling is easier.”

“Oh my god—”

“Shut up,” he barks with a laugh, sitting up, “Don’t even start — are you hungry?”

“Almost always, why?”

“Got any plans tonight?”

“... You do know who you’re asking, right?”

Bucky grins, a little boyish and a little tired. “Good point. Loser.”

“Oh, shut up. You’re the one calling me to hangout,” you snort, leaning to prop your feet up on your desk and lean back. Your chair wheels backwards, far enough for you to get a good look down the street. It’s a nice night, cool enough, and it seems like the whole borough is awake, “But, I’m only hanging out if you tell me what the fuck is up with court mandated therapy. I can’t wait another three days.”

Your anxiety has been pricked the last few days over it.

“... Do I get to pick the place?”

You roll your eyes. “Fine.”

“Great,” he exhales tightly, “I hope you’re in the mood for sushi.”

                                                       ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   

Izzy’s is busy, but there’s privacy in the bustle.

Bucky had buzzed your apartment’s ringer and you’d flown down the stairs, looking… alive. The sort of alive that was new — like a fresh bud beginning to bloom in spring. It had made him grin, and he’d watched you push a tress of hair behind your ear as you decided it was warm enough for no jacket tonight. The light of the crosswalk sign lit you up like a star.

He was sweating.

Dr. Raynor was right — that was it, of course it was — that it was getting too warm for his usual outfit. So, he’d settled on the next best thing: a sweatshirt that was big enough and black enough that he could bury himself in it. His hands are tucked neatly into the pockets.

No gloves tonight.

He feels naked.

He shoulders the door and holds it open with the toe of his boot as you duck towards the back of the restaurant. There’s a booth in the back by a large bamboo plant — you weave through the place with a new found confidence. There’s anxiousness in your shoulders but it melts when you look back at Bucky. Like a watchful guard dog, he nods.

You settle into the booth, toss your jacket in the corner, and smirk.

“I get out sometimes,” Bucky remarks before you can even say anything. He shifts in the booth and reaches up to scratch his cheek with his right hand, “Not often, but I do.”

“I didn’t say anything...”

“You were going to,” he nearly smirks back, his brows raised as he adjusts the chopsticks on the table, “I know that look.”

You snort, nudging his boot under the table. That works a huffed little laugh out the man across from you. Almost immediately you can sense anxiousness rolling off him — it’s the tightness in his mouth that gives him away, the way he’s fussing with the soy sauce dish and trying to get it to line up perfectly with the marbling on the table. Worry flashes in your eyes.

“Bucky.”

He raises his head.

“You alright?” you ask quietly.

“You have to promise not to flip out.”

Your brows knot tightly — but before you can even question what the fuck he means, he’s casually dropping his other hand onto the table.

And you almost don’t notice at first. Your brain fills the gaps in, figuring it’s his glove. But, then you blink and his hand catches the light and you realize it’s not leather. It’s glittering obsidian, garnished with gold, and it’s moving. Flexing. Seams bending and warping and there’s a gentle hum coming from the appendages and you squint because he’s tapping his fingers on the table and there’s a metallic tik-tik-tik that meets your ears.

Then, your eyes jump to his face.

He looks pained.

You’re confused.

And then you’re not.

“You’re —”

You slap a hand over your own mouth. You have to promise not to flip out. Your eyes are eighty miles wide and your jaw is falling open and you’re leaning forward, whispering in a rushed tone because what the fuck.

“You’re that Bucky?!”

Oh, you feel stupid.

The hostess appears, suddenly. You snap backwards in the booth, Bucky tucks his hand away, and you both muster forced smiles to the waitress. She’s young. Pretty. Her name-tag says Sarah.

She asks about drinks.

Bucky gets a beer.

Slowly, you knock your knuckles against the table and drop your head into your hand. The look on your face is exhausted. “Do you guys have Mai Tais?”

The answer is yes. And you’re glad. Because you’re going to fucking need it.

The two of you are quiet until the drinks come — avoiding one anothers gazes for completely different reasons. Bucky is sheepish, a bit mortified, like he always is when people recognize him. It’s why he shaved his fuckin’ head. It worked well enough but… the arm was usually a dead giveaway.

Meanwhile, you’re wondering if you could shave your own head and disappear. Because there’s no easy way to explain the weird elation swirling in your chest right now.

Bucky’s first to speak. His beer is in his good hand. He inhales quickly, eyes darting to you as he leans forward and whispers incredulously. He speaks quickly and his words are pointed with an edge of curiosity.

“...What do you mean ‘that Bucky’?”

“Y’know, I knew there was a reason you acted like you needed a senior citizen discount. And you know exactly what I mean,” you rush out all while waving your Mai Tai and jabbing the side with the umbrella towards him, “Listen, this is a lot to take in, Mr. Avenger.”

“I am not an Avenger—”

“You helped reverse the Snap. You’re the Winter Soldier. That makes you an Avenger—”

Bucky’s shaking his head, eye screwed shut tightly because the sudden equation to his past self being considered a hero is like being socked in the mouth. He stutters over his words and shakes his head more vigorously, like he’s trying not to hear what you’re saying.

“I am not the Winter Soldier. Not anymore. And it’s not like I’m not on the fuckin’ roster, doll—”

You hold a finger up, stopping him there, and take a long sip of your sunset colored drink. You swallow. You exhale. Bucky swigs his beer.

“One, don’t call me doll,” you say curtly, then raise a second finger. You lean in and squint, “Two… Christ, the haircut really makes a big difference, doesn’t it?”

“That’s what everyone keeps saying,” he sighs raggedly, dismissing your scrutiny.

You puff your cheeks out and exhale. Leaning back in the booth, you try not to feel so fucking insane.

“...I can never have you over now.”

Bucky’s brows narrow quickly and his eyes snap to yours. “What?”

“I can’t have you over,” you explain slower with your eyes rooted to the soy sauce in the corner, “Because I don’t think I could ever handle you seeing my signed and framed Captain America poster from his USO tour in 1943.”

Bucky’s face is deadpan. “You’re kidding.”

“I really wish I was,” you gripe, “It’s an original.”

“...You’re a Cap girl,” he says suddenly, leaning back with this look in his eye. It’s less of a question. You can’t pin it down. It looks like he's damn near traumatized.

Bucky thinks — honestly — that this is the cherry on top. Every girl back then was a Cap girl, too. It figures, now, in this new century where he’s making new friends that… as per usual, Steve gets the cake. That fuckin’ pint sized bastard.

He’ll have to tell him about this.

You yank your eyes up to Bucky’s face. His mortification is shifting to surprise to amusement. You’re fast to sit up, mouth opening to fire a retort — but Bucky’s suddenly really enjoying the look of pure horror on your face at the insinuation. He’s smirking. Plain as day. He swigs his beer.

“No, no—” you raise a finger, “No, stop it. Don’t make it fuckin’ weird, Bucky, it’s not like I have his name tattoo’d on my ass. And I knew a girl in college who did.”

His brows rise sharply and you’re finding you’re regretting everything that’s coming out of your mouth.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you guffaw, gesturing for him to show you his hand again, “I wanna see.”

Bucky sighs and plucks his hand from his hoodie pocket.

With a sort of tenderness Bucky wasn’t prepared to handle, you take his metallic hand into your own. There’s an immediate twinge — one that’s procured by flashes of violence from years of being a walking weapon. He breathes, and he reminds himself that this arm is not the same that tethered him to HYDRA all those years ago.

This arm is his, it is not him.

The sensation is different. He isn’t used to anyone touching him like this; he’s used to the feeling of flesh on the other end of a punch, or a throat caught in his palm. Not the gentle pass of your fingers, delicate and purposeful, over his knuckles.

You turn over his hand, eyes alight with curiosity — and Bucky, desperate to stamp out the hotness growing in his gut, moves quickly to flick your nose.

“Ow—”

“Don’t stare,” he says coyly, “It’s rude.”

The waitress is back. His hand is tucked away, and you wrestle the stupid expression off your face long enough to order a plate of assorted maki rolls and some fried tofu. Bucky orders what seems like his usual — shrimp tempura and spicy tuna rolls.

The waitress, Sarah, disappears with a smile.

You’re grinning.

“So… Does this make me the sidekick?” you whisper playfully.

“Shut up,” Bucky laughs, his lips almost darting into a smile.

You cock your head, pushing your chopsticks across the table with a horribly coy look on your face. It’s comical. “...I think this makes me the sidekick.”

“It — stop it — it does not make you the sidekick,” Bucky says slowly as he sips his beer and pins you in the booth across from him, “I’m not a hero. You’d have better luck asking Cap on that one.”

You grow silent. There’s a question hanging on your tongue. You’re wrestling with yourself — Bucky can see that much. He frowns.

“Spit it out, Goose.”

You blink. “Was that a Top Gun reference?”

“You wanted to be the sidekick.”

You wave it off, blinking into your Mai Tai. Your voice is quiet. Even as you speak, there’s a hesitancy akin to walking on eggshells. “What happened to Cap? Is he… alive? He’s gone off the grid. It’s, like, this massive conspiracy theory online.”

“He’s upstate.”

You blink.

“That’s ominous.”

Bucky shrugs. “Someday I’ll take you. It’s… nice.”

You go quiet. You freeze, drink halfway to your mouth. Bucky can’t help but smirk at that. His laugh is more of a scoff than anything.

“Relax, Miss America.”

“Shut up — do you mean that?”

“What, that I think you’re in love with Captain America?”

“No, you bastard, that you’ll take me. To meet him.”

Bucky’s words are easy. They roll off his tongue without a second thought. He feels… okay. Like this part is okay. Not as bad as he thought it could be. His anxiousness isn’t as heavy now. He feels like he isn’t losing you. But then again, he hasn’t gotten to the bad part yet.

“He’s my best friend,” Bucky explains plainly, “And so are you.”

The admission is warm. As easy as breathing. Two months in the making.

“Your only friend,” you say quietly, offering the joke as a cover for the softening tone that dances over your words. It’s affection, you realize, as you mimic his shrug, “But, go on.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Bucky chirps, “But, yea, I mean it. He’d like you.”

You raise your chin, wiggling a bit in the booth. It’s pride — and as much as Bucky likes the look of it, he can’t handle the ridiculousness that comes along with it. But, it’s sort of comforting. He knows this playfulness, this easiness, it’s all because he’s him. You trust him. In.a way, it strikes Bucky with guilt. There are wall of his still built up high. Maybe they’re slowly coming down, but… he’s like a stray dog, slow to trust.

“Safe to say,” you breathe, “I have a few questions.”

“I figured as much.”

You sip your drink and swallow. You raise a hand. “But — I wanna know the boundaries. I don’t want to… I don’t want to pry about shit I have no business knowing, alright? It’s your life and even if we are friends, I don’t need to know everything.”

The relief is almost immediate. He thumbs the label of his beer.

“Ask anything. But I can’t promise I’ll be able to give you the answers.”

“And I’ll leave it at that,” you say sternly, propping your elbow up on the table and offering your pinky finger, “Until you want to talk about it. Promise.”

He crooks his pinky in yours, squeezing gently. You smile.

Sarah comes back with the food, and then Bucky offers his usual half-exhausted, half-amused smirk.

“You get three questions now. Then, we shut up and eat.”

You fold your hands neatly over themselves, eyeing your food as you try your best to sort out what questions come up with the most urgency. There’s… a lot. I mean, everyone knew about the Avengers — and everyone had their opinions. The Sokovia Accords, Lagos, the Blip… and SHIELD. Years of bullshit culminating around those who were considered the heroes. The kickback usually ended up on everyday citizens like you. After the initial amazement, the reality of it all set in.

But, to Bucky’s point, he wasn’t really an Avenger.

Nowadays, there really wasn’t a team at all. No up-state compound, no leader, no Stark and no Rogers.

You’re sure the GRC will try — that the military will try. Morale and hope and blah, blah, blah.

You narrow your eyes. “How old are you?”

It’s quick. “One hundred and six.”

“How’d they keep you alive that long?”

There’s a wince that flashes across his face like he’s been stabbed with a white hot poker in the ribs. You see a twitch of irritation bubble across his lips. Not with you. No, it’s that this question is still hard for him to answer. Bucky exhales sharply.

“Next question.”

You feel a pang of guilt flare in your chest. You move along.

“Who kept you alive that long?”

“The Russians. HYDRA, if you wanna get specific.”

You exhale and settle on the fact you now have more questions than answers. But, you nod and snatch up your chopsticks. Enough of the twenty questions game.

In all honesty, it’s not like Bucky’s existence was common knowledge. The Winter Soldier was known mostly, sure, to those who had floated in the same circles as him when he was nothing but a rabid cur on a choke chain. He can’t help but be a bit thankful for the minor erasure of his new self — sure, in the eyes of the U.S. government he was a high-level threat to be reintegrated as soon as possible and surveyed at all times. But, to the average New Yorker, he was just another person. Everyone was so used to seeing the heroes in their costumes with their bigger than life personas and…

Bucky was just Bucky.

Even he didn’t really know who that was. He was starting to.

His pardon had come with some flak from some of the more political news outlets but… somehow, the details of the Winter Soldier’s exact crimes were being kept silent. Probably to avoid panic. And, even then, the connection between the newly alive James Buchanan Barnes and The Winter Soldier hadn’t been made yet in the public eye. He was glad.

The haircut definitely helped.

It’s like he was a walking classified redaction.

Bucky has a sushi roll in his mouth when he finally speaks. “For such a Captain American fan, I’m surprised you didn’t recognize me.”

“Oh, you’re really not gonna let that go, huh?” you say as you chew, covering your mouth. You swallow and waggle your chopsticks at him, “Listen, it’s been a while since I’ve… y’know, had my Avengers phase. That was years ago. It was at its peak when I worked for SHIELD. And besides, you’re kinda new to the whole superhero scene.”

Bucky frowns. “You worked for SHIELD...?”

“For a year,” you say tightly, “Back before the collapse.”

“Only a year?”

“It was for my graduate program,” you wave it off, “I won out on the most competitive internship NYU had to offer. I was working within their cybersecurity division. I will say I spent more time trying to sort of email phishing scams than anything else, though. I’m sure they saw my record and wanted to keep me away from the juicy stuff.”

Bucky squints.

You offer a sheepish shrug.

“I got into trouble when I was younger,” you sip your drink and sigh, “I always liked computers. I used to spend all my time on forum sites just… reading and talking to people and figuring out how these sites actually worked, so learning how to write my own code was just the next step. When I was fifteen, I learned how to tap phones. At sixteen, I was hijacking my neighbor’s internet conenctions and remotely controlling his laptop.”

“Sounds like a good time.”

“Yea, well, he was a sitting Senator who was having an affair with the nanny,” you mutter, “And I was stupid enough to try and blackmail him for cash. I wish I could say I learned my lesson.”

Bucky exhales long and hard at that, like he knows where that snap of misguided judgement goes. It’s not like he’s passing judgement onto you, but… like he knows the feeling. And you manage to not feel so small, then — telling him this is easy. It’s not your favorite part of your life by any means, but Bucky is listening. Really listening.

He fiddles with the paper wrapper of the chopsticks.

“So, less a Goose and more a Kevin Poulsen type, huh?”

You snort. “For an old man, I’m surprised you know who that is. But, I wasn’t hacking into the Pentagon at seventeen. I was too busy doing community service.”

“HYDRA had their eyes on him in the 90s,” Bucky mumbles through a bite of spicy tuna, the memory popping into his mind and flying out before he can stop it, “I remember… I thought his username was stupid.”

“Oh, you didn’t like Dark Dante?”

“Like I said,” Bucky chortles, “Stupid.”

“You wouldn’t have liked mine, then,” you smirk lightly, “It’s worse.”

Bucky raises his brows, somehow doubting that entirely. “Really?”

“...I was hackrabb1t for a long time. Y’know, with a ‘one’ for the ‘i’,” you cringe, “People kept thinking I was a furry.”

There’s a pause. Bucky’s face is set in an unreadable emotion. It’s confusion mixed with amusement mixed with… something else. When he speaks, he clears his throat and tilts his head.

“It’s clever. But,” a pause, “What is a furry? I’ve been seeing that word all over PlentyOfFish.”

Your jaw flies open. You raise your hands as your head reels around. Bucky has a look on his face like he knows, he knows he shouldn’t have asked and he definitely shouldn’t have given you enough context to know where he’s seen that phrase before, because now you’re looking at him like he has seventeen heads and they’re all on fire.

“Y’know what, nevermind—”

“—Oh, no, no, there’s way too much to unpack here,” you lean forward, “You’re on PlentyOfFish?”

“ChristianMingle wasn’t really my speed — stop laughing.”

“Shut up — stop it, stop — this is too much,” you say with a high voice, “If you get catfished, I’m not helping you track the person down…”

“—What the hell is a catfish?” he nearly cries, raising both hands in a desperate shrug, “I don’t even know what any of these words mean.”

“Oh, you sweet, naive, innocent, man—”

“No, no, no, no,” he chirps, raising a finger with a deadly look of seriousness on his face, “No, I am not naive or sweet or any of the above. I’ll take ‘cute’, sure, but none a’ those.”

“Is that what the furries call you on PlentyOfFish? Cute?”

He drops his head back against the booth and stares at the ceiling.

“Our friendship was a mistake, rabbit.”

You choke out a laugh. “Shut up, you walking claw machine.”

You’re both laughing now — quieter but sustained and everytime you think you’ve calmed down enough to sip your Mai Tai, you just have to look at the distraught, scruffy man across from you to break into another fit of muffled laughter. Finally, after what feels like forever, you both manage to calm down enough to finish the plates in front of you.

There’s a warmth that’s settled in Bucky’s chest — it’s eaten away at the usual jitter in his legs, the anxious twitch of his fingers. It’s a different emotion. Acceptance, maybe. Comfort. Affection.  

Then, while you’re piling the last bit of sushi rice into your mouth when your phone, set on the side of the table, begins to go off. It hums erratically, dancing in a circle, and all you do is stare at the name flashing across the screen. You’re smiling, hugging her. It’s from Jaimie’s wedding — out in some big, wide open orchard with the sun setting behind you. The picture there is old; you were both different people then.

Before… everything.

MOM Morristown, NJ

You scowl and stare.

Bucky blinks.

“You gonna get that?”

Quickly, you snap out of it. You reach and silence the buzzing with two quick taps. Quietly, you offer up a somber sigh.

“I never do.”

Bucky frowns again, this time with a worried look that digs deep into his eyebrows. You ignore it on purpose, pushing your plate away and leaning back in the booth. He knows what you’re doing — you’re avoiding his gaze, and therefore his own questions.

“Rabbit.”

“Oh, is that my new nickname, then?”

“It fits,” he chirps before crossing his arms, strategically hiding his metallic hand, “What’s up?”

You grow quiet — then it spills out.

“I can’t talk to her.”

“Why?”

You chew your lip. You bite your tongue and you hold back on the finer points of your anger — ones dredged up by the still present sting of your check-in with Dr. Hart this afternoon.

Here it comes.

“As a part of my pardon, I was ordered no-contact with my family,” you exhale, controlling the level of your voice, reciting the court papers you’d read over and over and over, “It was deemed that further contact would impact my progress towards reformed behavior and judgment.”

Bucky’s eyes are wide. His jaw is tight.

“What the fuck do you mean ‘pardon’?”

It’s your turn to cross your arms now, to ignore the sting of his look. It’s the kind that screams disappointment more than anything. You hate that you’re getting it from Bucky of all people.

“Like I said, I didn’t learn my lesson when I was a kid,” you shirk, “Last year I was arrested on a number of counts — I’d been evading the FBI, CIA, all of them, for years. I was doing it all for people like me. The ones who got left behind.”

Bucky’s tone is flat. It’s serious. His next sentence is less of a question, more of an order. The cadence is rhythmic and it reminds you of your brother the night he found out about the first time you’d been arrested; you decide, then, that Jaimie and Bucky would have gotten along.

“What did you do?”

“Whatever I could,” you wave your hands, “Identity theft, falsified documents, insurance fraud. Anything. There were people, like me, that in a blink, lost everything. Accidents, deaths, evictions and no one did anything for us. The insurance agencies wouldn’t cover damages related to The Snap. Life insurance policies, social security… It all got snatched up by people at the top while the system collapsed around us. I had to pay for my brother’s funeral out of pocket. And there were hundreds of thousands of people just like me, just trying to get by. And everything failed us.”

Bucky is stuck in silence. It’s like mud, dragging him to the bottom of a pond — the sort that’s dredged with misery. In an instant, his veins are on fire with an anger he hadn’t felt in a while. It manifests itself in the tightening of his jaw. He rubs his face and props his elbows up on the table.

“Why won’t they let you see your family?”

You fiddle with your napkin.

“My brother… His wife was on maternity leave when she disappeared in the Blip,” you mutter, “She came back to no job, a dead husband, and no home. Their apartment complex had been abandoned. She’s trying her best to make ends meet. She lives with my Mom in our old home. Neither of them can find work. They… The court thought that I’d be influenced to do something if I was around them.”

“What, like help?”

“They see me as a criminal,” you manage, “But I’m useful, so they’re keeping me around.”

Silence falls between the two of you once more — and the sad look on your face makes Bucky’s chest tight. He can see anxiety beginning to spill over; you’re wringing the napkin, fiddling with the edges. Suddenly, Bucky realizes you’re feeling exactly how he was an hour or so ago.

Your voice is soft. “I’m sorry. I was going to tell you.”

“Looks like we’re two birds of a feather,” he says, knocking the toe of your sneaker with his boot, “Listen, we all do stupid shit. I’ve got a lot worse weighing me down. I get it.”

You look up, sadness glistening in your expression like sun off a lake. It’s harsh. He wants to look away.

He doesn’t.

“... So, that means you’re good with computers?”

                                                      ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦  

That’s how you find yourself in Bucky’s Brooklyn apartment at almost midnight, wandering behind him in the long halls and watching curiously as he digs his key from his pocket and shoulders the door open.

It’s a small apartment. One bed, one bath, a kitchenette and that’s really it.

For its size, it’s hardly lived in.

You suppose it makes sense — Bucky didn’t have a lot of personal belongings, and with the hints he’d dropped about his life before The Blip, you were beginning to understand that he may have never really had that much to begin with.

There’s a blanket on the floor by the television and a single couch pillow. It’s tucked in the corner, behind a small sofa. There’s a chair in the living room, one from an old dining set. At the kitchen counter, there’s a stack of papers and a single laptop. Even though all the kitchen’s wares are older models, the bones of the apartment are good. Bare, but good.

You stop in the doorway to the bedroom and stare at the untouched bed. The sheets are tucked tightly in the corners — there’s something militaristic about it. Across the hall is the bathroom. It’s small. You can see a few amenities scattered across the sink’s top.

Being in here feels something like an open wound.

It was lonely. Quiet. Cold.

“We need to make a trip to HomeGoods,” you mumble as Bucky flicks on the lights, “I get the whole minimalist thing, but sheesh.”

“I don’t have a lot,” he says, kicking off his boots by the door and shrugging off his jacket, “And I don’t need a lot either.”

You watch as his shoulders sag a bit, like he can finally let down his guard just a little in his own space. It’s endearing. You perch yourself up on the kitchen counter as your eyes follow him; he moves to fling open a cabinet and grabs a mug. Then, he hesitates.

“You want tea?” he asks over his shoulder.

“Tea?”

“Dr. Raynor said,” Bucky reaches for a container of tea bags from the top shelf. His henley lifts enough to flash a bit of skin along his lower back and you swear you see a scar, “It would help with my anxiety.”

You swing your legs a little. “Then sure.”

“You can use my Captain America mug,” he chirps, laughing a little to himself, “Seeing as you’re such a big fan…”

“God, I regret even saying anything to you,” you spit as you hop down and lean around him to get a look at the mug, “Did you seriously buy that?”

“It was a gift.”

“Bullshit.”

Bucky snorts as you shake your head and wander backwards, eyeing the rest of his apartment with a bit of astonishment. It’s really nothing impressive — but, you suppose it makes sense. Whatever meager disbursement that the government was willing to give Bucky for his efforts in fixing the Snap was better than nothing.

Your gaze hangs on the blanket in the corner.

He watches you; and he notes the sore sadness that dissolves your posture at the sight of the nest in the corner. A bit of shame colors his cheeks as he heats up the water. When Bucky speaks, it’s slow.

“The bed was too soft. I couldn’t sleep on it,” he shifts from foot to foot and focuses on taking the tea bags out and methodically wrapping the strings around the handles, “Dr. Raynor said that’s a typical thing for soldiers to experience when they come home from war.”

You’re quiet for a while after that, only speaking when he rounds the counter with your tea. He offers it up with a tilt of the head.

“You never got to come home, though, right?”

“No,” comes the short reply as you both watch the lights outside the window, “No, I didn’t. Not until now.”

You nudge his arm with yours. You lean a bit. Bucky leans back.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he manages after a sigh and sip of the tea, “I can’t just feel sorry for myself anymore. I’m trying to fix the wrongs I did — and that’s why I need your help.”

You quirk a brow. He reaches around you and grabs the stack of papers on the counter. With a steady grip, Bucky presents the photo of a woman who looks strikingly familiar. You can’t place her face, but there’s something about her that feels like a slap across the cheek. She’s young here, in a faded photo with tattered edges. Beside her is a man who is laughing. The photo is candid, and they’re both beautiful. They’re both  wearing a uniform — but you can’t place the era or location.

You turn to Bucky for answers.

“Back in the 70s, at the height of the Cold War, HYDRA was working in tandem with the Russians to spy on American forces,” he offers easily, staring out the window, “The American HYDRA cell hadn’t yet been planted. This man, Andrei Kuznetzov, was a spy. He was feeding the Americans information on the Russian nuclear program. His wife, the one in the photo, was ordered to kill him. She refused.”

Bucky’s fingers twitch.

His words are soaked through with pain.

“I,” he continues, “killed him.”

You hold your breath. Then you spare him a mournful look.

“Inessa Sidrova went on to help form the same HYDRA cell that ended up taking over SHIELD here in America,” Bucky mumbles, “She’s dangerous. There’s others like her, ones who I helped create, all over the world. But, she’s my top priority. I just haven’t had much luck tracking her down.”

“That’s why you need my help.”

“I’m 106 years old,” Bucky deadpans, “The microfiches at the library were getting a little tedious.”

“But,” you chirp with a sly smirk, “You figured out how to set up a PlentyOfFish account?”

He shoulders you again as you sip your tea and laugh.

“Shoulda never said anything,” Bucky grumbles, “Dr. Raynor thought it was a good idea. Y’know, to get back out in the world.”

“I can promise you,” you say with a stern shake of the head, “The metal arm will get you plenty of chicks and dudes in due time.”

“Good to know,” Bucky replies as his words lilt with a playful sort of questioning that you purposefully ignore. You’re not feeding his ego today. Maybe tomorrow, after you take a crack at figuring out where this woman is.

It’s going to be a long night.

[king-star]

hii! can you please make a natasha x reader fic where they both have been dating for a while and it's natasha's birthday and the reader surprises her with a brand new suit that she made herself and nat cries bc she never got a meaningful gift and the reader also surprises her with cake and more romantic gifts. you could make the reader tony's sister so it would make more sense that she's good at making suits but you don't have to!! thank you sm i need sum cute natty 😫

Birthday Suit

Warning: Use of the pet name Sunflower,

Match: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Genre: Fluff

A/N: So this one was fun. I hate my birthday but this actually was cute. I’m trying a new way of presenting the dialogue. aesthetically it looks better but I’m not sure how it reads. I've seen other authors do the dialogue on completely seperate lines so just lmk if this is good.

Word Count: ~2.5 k

Summary: It’s Natasha's birthday, and despite her acting like she hates it you shower her with love.

The smell of cooking cake fills the compound. Even from the workshop, where you are, the sweet scent permeates the air. You have been baking for long enough to know what that smell means, the cake is almost done.

You check the clock on the wall. 2:44. Nat would be home at 5.

“Shit. I need to get this done,”

You shake your head and set down your wire cutters. The list of everything you need to get done before she arrives rolls through your mind.

It was her birthday. She didn’t know her actual birthday so years ago she made one up. The chosen date was a closely guarded secret she only shared with those she trusted most. For the most part the assassin didn’t even celebrate. When you had asked a week prior what she wanted to do she had brushed you off claiming,

“I don’t really care. As long as I get to be with my love.”

She had kissed you, hoping the kiss would fog your mind from any further planning. Unfortunately for her you were a big schemer, always going as big as you could for your friend’s birthdays.

You walked out of the workshop, making one last longing look at her unfinished gift on your messy work table. No one was around today. The one Saturday everyone had off a month. Natasha had gone shopping with Wanda, a plan conncocted to give you plenty of time to get everything ready.

“Friday do you mind turing the oven off?”

you asked the A.I. as you headed down the hallway.

“Of course Agent Y/L/N,”

entering the kitchen you picked up a discarded list of everything that needed to be done. Two items were crossed off “Bake the cake, movie fort.” The unmarked items looked at you teasingly and you felt anxiety rise in your chest. What if you didn’t get everything done and this birthday made Natasha hate birthdays even more? You shook your head trying to chase off the thoughts and went to the oven.

“One perfectly baked chocolate cake coming up,”

grabbing an oven mitt you pulled the cake out of the oven and placed it on the counter. Carefully you coerced the cake from the pan and set it on the cooling rack.

Back when Wanda and you ventured into the baking realm you had begged Tony to put in a floor to ceiling blast chiller. The kind that was always on baking competitions. He reluctantly agreed, with the price of always having to give him a taste of your creations. The freezer was immensely helpful in tight circumstances. You were more than grateful for it now.

You set your cake into the freezer and went to the pantry to pull out all the ingredients you needed for icing. You poured the powdered sugar and placed the butter into the bowl. When you turned on the mixer a cloud of sugary powder exploded in the kitchen. You blinked and licked your lips. Bringing a hand up to wipe your face, you laughed hard. Sugar covered the entire counter and floor beneath you, not to mention your already grease stained clothes.

“Wow, is my little sibling doing coke in here? And without me!”

a snarky voice sounded from across the room. You opened your eyes and squinted at your older brother with a scrunched nose.

“Can it Tony,”

You growled, grabbing a towel and wiping yourself off the counter. Tony laughed at you and opened the freezer to look at what sweet treats awaited him tonight.

“A cake? Are we celebrating?”

He laughed and made a teasing face. You rolled your eyes and called out to Friday.

“Can you order me four containers of icing from the store to be delivered?”

“You got it!”

her chipper accented voice came over the audio. You threw the towel in the sink and landed a punch in Tony’s arm as you left to go change.

“You better not eat any of that cake until Nat has had at least one slice. I know where you keep those rare magic cards you think no one knows about and I will not hesitate to cut them all in half,”

He looked at you in shock. Whether it was because you knew about the secret stash or because you would dare cut them you weren’t sure. The only way to get Tony mad was to go for something he couldn’t replace with money.

“YOU WOULDN'T FUCKING DARE,”

You run away as he climbs out of his chair and chases after you. You run into your room and lay on the door to push back a Tony who was only a few steps behind you. When you finally force the door into the frame you turn the lock and fall to the floor laughing.

Angry mumbling came from the other side. Tony pounded on the door twice before, defeated. walking away. After catching your breath you pulled your sugar stained clothes off and changed into the outfit you’d set aside that morning.

“Y/N the man just arrived with the icing,”

Friday called out to your room and you nodded.

“Thank you Friday. Have him set the bags in the kitchen,”

Friday hummed in agreement. You stood up and looked in the mirror checking yourself out. When you were satisfied with the look you unlocked the door and turned to the right. You really needed to finish Natasha’s present. You wouldn’t even have time to test it properly. You really hoped the phrase “it’s the thought that counts,” was true. Her gift could be something that got you endless kisses or a real crash and burn.

Making it to the lab you set your hand on your head and groaned. You really hoped it worked. It was so pretty. You grabbed the wrapping paper and box and set it in with a kiss.

“Natty, I hope you like it,”

The gift finished the fort built, and cake baked, there was only one thing left to do, ice the damn cake. You could bake sure, but only Wanda ever mastered the art of making it look beautiful.

When you made it to the kitchen Tony was nowhere in sight and a plastic bag with what you assumed was icing was set on the counter. You pulled out a butter knife and dug in, hoping this looked somewhat edible. Wanda was the one who was skilled at decorating. You could make the elaborate pastry chef treats, but you could never handle the finer details of making it look pretty.

~

You were in the workshop when Friday alerted you that Wanda and Natasha were home. A feeling similar to anxiety or excitement fluttered in your chest. This was the first time you’d celebrated her birthday with your girlfriend. You wanted her to like birthdays again. To feel as special and loved as you can pour out for her.

“Thank you Friday. Please tell them I’m in the workshop and will be heading to the game room shortly,”

You set down the gauntlet you’d been fixing while waiting for them and brushed off your outfit. Your eyes searched over the shirt for stains, and when you were satisfied you were clean you headed to your “party”.

Wanda was the first to come in. She threw her hands to her face and “oood” and “aweeed” over the spread you had out.

“Y/N your cake! it’s…. adorable,”

you punched her in the shoulder with a frown. She fell over laughing.

“I TRIED! and I’m sure it tastes amazing.”

you crossed your arms and pouted. She sat back up still laughing and patted your back.

“She’ll love it Y/N. Even if it had ‘fuck you Nat’ written on top she’d love it,”

you smiled at the complement and stopped pouting. You were explaining the technology behind Nat’s present when the woman of the hour finally walked in.

“What is all this? Are y’all having a party? and didn’t invite me,”

she sat down next to you intertwining your fingers with hers and kissing your shoulder. You smiled as the excitement anxiety mix returned.

“Actually…. it’s for you,”

You smiled and kissed her hands. She looked genuinely surprised. You really hoped the feeling was happy excitement.

“oh- Y/N y-you remembered? and you didn’t have to do any of this. I thought I told you i didn’t care to celebrate,”

you felt Wanda stand up to leave with a pat on your shoulder. You smiled up at her and turned back to Natasha.

“I know I know, but I wanted to do something special. You love me so well and work so hard all the time. You deserve a day that’s unapologetically about you,”

You knew if Natasha didn’t have such complete control of her emotions she would be crying. The agape mouth gave that away. You smiled and leaned forward pulling her into a deep, intimate kiss. Feeling her smile against your lips you pulled away and leaned your forehead against hers.

“I love you Natashka. I will do anything to make you feel like Queen of the world,”

with that she started crying. You frowned and wiped away the tears.

“I really hope those are happy tears,”

she nodded quickly and smiled, sniffling a little.

“Very very happy tears. happy ‘I don’t know what on Earth i did to deserve you’ tears,”

“It is I who does not deserve you. The Great Black Widow. I’m just here to make you smile, it’s my life goal,”

you bowed as much as you could sitting down. Placing a peck on her lips you turned back to the presents and pointed.

“Which one should we open first?”

she pondered and then picked up a small box. Nimble fingers unwrapped the box and pulled out a Ring. You had managed to get her size weeks earlier fitting one of your own on her finger when hanging out. She looked at the little silver band with a carved sunflower at the head. A smile bloomed across her face and she hugged you.

“Oh my goodness Y/N, it’s so pretty…,”

she slid it onto her fingers, finding the one it fit best and stared at it. You hugged her shoulder and kissed her cheek.

“Well, you are my sunflower. It’s just a reminder when we are away,”

Her eyes lit up at the nickname. It wasn’t as common for you to use it as baby or sweetheart, but sunflower had always been her favourite.

She looked at the other boxes realising they were also for her. You picked up the next box, a medium sized one and handed it to her. You were saving the biggest for last.

She was just in awe and set it down before unwrapping it. Her hands snaked around your waist and pulled you flush to her. Her soft lips pressed kisses to your jaw and she set her head on your shoulder.

“Thank you so much Y/N, I- no one has done something like this for me ever,”

She hugged you tight again and then let go picking back up the present. You nodded and kissed her head. Pushing some hair out of her face you stroked her hair softly. Her hands once again unwrapped the gift. She squeaked at the sight of the book underneath the paper.

Natasha never got to read much on her own accord growing up. The red room picked out books for her education but never anything she would actually enjoy. Long ago Natasha had told you the first book she read after getting out of the red room was Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and since then she adored the book. You had found, and paid for with Tony’s credit card, a first edition of the book. The auction was rough but you needed that book for Natasha.

Natasha stared at the book once, again jaw hanging open. She wiped her hands on her pants before handingly the book with utmost care. She flipped it over and ran her fingertips over the indented letters and gold illustration on the front.

“Y-you like it? I know you said you like Alice in Wonderland. It’s uh… actually a first edition copy. Tony was about ready to kill me when he saw me pay for the bid,”

You laughed nervously. She turned the book around again and then set it on the coffee table. She tackled you and pushed you back on the couch kissing all over your face. You yelped in surprise then grabbed her hips, catching her lips and kissing her roughly. She melted into the kiss but you pulled away.

“As much as I love this Natty, let’s open your last gift and eat some cake,”

You sat up and pulled her so she was in your lap. You placed a soft kiss to the back of her neck as she reached for the last gift. It was heavy but the assassin had no trouble lifting it.

“After that we can makeout in the fort I made. yeah?”

You wrapped your arms around her waist and pulled her close to you, rubbing circles on her thigh. She laughed and nodded, blushing profusely.

“I like that idea Y/N,”

She opened the box and pulled out the gift you put months of effort into. This time her reaction wasn’t as instantaneous. You helped her pull all the pieces out and set it on the coffee table. She looked at it slightly perplexed.

“I’m sorry… I’m not exactly sure what it is,”

She pouted and looked at you. You smiled and nodded knowing she wouldn’t. You set it out so she could see all the parts.

“Well… uh it’s a new suit. You always say that you don’t like how tight and revealing your other ones are so I kinda beefed this one up so it focuses on functionality,”

She nodded along as you explained. A look of understanding crossed her face as she pulled at the sleeves.

“ohhhhhhhh. That makes so much sense. I- Y/N what the fuck. I can’t express it enough. You are the best, you listened to me and used it to give me the best gifts i’ve ever gotten. You are the most thoughtful partner,”

You beamed. The feeling you knew she was struggling to express, it was exactly what you’d wanted her to feel. Loved, heard, appreciated, and cared for.

“I’m glad sunflower. That’s what I wanted. To make you feel as good as you deserve. D-do you mind if I tell you a bit about the features? I didn’t have time to test some of them so I will need to do that before you take it into combat,”

She nodded and slid off your lap to look at you. You patted her legs and squeezed then held at the sleeve first.

“Well of course it wouldn’t be a suit for the Black widow without gauntlets. These can change through three different modes for different levels and types of stuns also a laser if you need that for aiming,”

You flipped on the laser and pointed it at a pot then turned it back off.

“Also I made it so the suit can suction to your body but be limp to put it on. a lot easier to slip on ya know. And there is mobile but thick padding on all major points of contact for falling. Shoulders, hips, elbows, knees, the like.”

Natasha ran her hands over the surprisingly thin padding and smiled.

“Wow baby that’s… amazing,”

You nodded and picked up the bag attached to the back.

“And uh there’s a parachute built in as well as pockets up the legs, arms and boots so you don’t have to have the belts. They are sorta magnetic so you can like open them easily but when they are closed everything stays in. OH AND THE BOOTS,”

You started to ramble on about the energy absorbing boots you worked with Shuri on that would allow Nat to drop from double the height of a normal human with no damage to her knees or feet. Nat just stared at you hungirly.

“Hey baby, I seriously appreciate the gift. It’s honestly the best thing I've ever gotten. Why don’t we try it out tomorrow and you can show me EVERYTHING. For now we can… sit in the fort like you said,”

She had a cocky smile and you blushed at her antics. You nodded quickly, cutting off your rambling. Her hands found your waist and she pulled you off the couch and into the pillow fort you had built.

“I uh- got a movie for us to watch. Do you want to?”

She nodded and smiled. A look that very much meant “Yes. That's sweet, but I doubt we will be watching it.” You pulled her into your lap, setting your hands on her waist. She draped hers over your shoulders and rubbed light circles on the back of your neck. You leaned forward and trapped her lips in a kiss. Soft but full of passion.

The rest of that night was spent watching the movie and kissing. When you finally remembered the cake a slice had been taken out of it, with

“You were busy with Romanoff so I took what I was owed. The package has been moved, try getting me now little sibling.”

On a sticky note beside it. Natasha had laughed, unsure exactly what had happened but sure it was a story she would much enjoy hearing.

She had moaned over how good the cake was after laughing at how “Adorably” it was decorated.

“So Nat… did I make this birthday worth celebrating?”

She smiled wide and nodded.

“Yes Y/N, if every birthday was like this I would never want to stop celebrating.”

Tag List:

@xburningbluex @zoeyserpentluck @iamgaiiiuwu @natasharomanoffswife @fleurlovesbucky @fayhar @ymzki-haruki @lostandsearching

Natasha Tag list:

@basiclesbianbitch @stephanieromanoff @sapphicshots @madamevirgo @choni-trimberly@wlwlovesreading @i-just-like-storage @screamsin-gay @ymzki-haruki

[after-witch]

Sweet Escape [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Title: Sweet Escape [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Synopsis: Escape isn’t easy. Nor is it very long-lasting. When Overhaul’s men drag you back into captivity, you brace yourself and wait for what your captor will do with you. 

Word Count: 7,592

Notes: yandere, kidnapped, humiliation, degradation, mentions of eating disorder behavior, improper use of household cleaning products, Overhaul is a mean man 90% of this fic is just Overhaul being an asshole to you

There are going to be bruises on your shoulders. Fingerprint shaped bruises from the men holding you steady, afraid that you'll try to sprint off--maybe afraid that you'll try to spring at their boss, disobedient, unruly possession that you are.

You know that Overhaul won't like it when he eventually sees those black-and-blue fingerprints marring your skin--he might kill them for it, or worse. They're digging in too hard, but you don't warn them to ease up lest they find themselves on the wrong end of Overhaul's hands; they brought you back to this place, after all, and they deserve nothing but your hot, raw contempt.

You could run. You could slip out of their grip, if you put your mind to it. Your clothes are wet and the medical table that you're sitting on is slippery from the rainwater that's dripped out from your soaked clothes. But Chisaki Kai--no, Overhaul, you remind yourself, for the energy he’s exuding now is very much that of a foreboding boss--is standing in front of you, and you'd never make it to the doorway.

"Leave us," Overhaul says, not bothering to move as the men gripping your shoulders release their painful hold and swiftly leave the room. He tears off a sanitizing wipe from the ever-present canister on his desk and wipes down the doorknobs that they touched, before locking the door. An unnecessary precaution, given your nerves, given your state, given your realization that your escape attempt was a massive fluke that would never be allowed to happen again.

You numbly watch as he gathers up supplies from around the makeshift clinic he'd created in the small suite of rooms he allowed you to exist in. The canister of disinfectant. Medical-grade soaps. Sponges. A bucket. Needles, needles, needles... you remember the feel of the syringe you'd stolen in your hand and distract yourself from the fear of what he's going to do to you by retracing the steps of the past day.

**

You got farther than you thought you would--really, you did. At every stage of your plan, you expected Chisaki to suddenly reveal that he knew every step you'd taken so far. That he'd catalogued every act of false obedience to lure him into relaxing the rules, that he saw you swipe the syringe of tranquilizer from the clinic when he'd left for a moment to grab a fresh pair of clothes for you, that he knew you asked to sit with him at his desk only to sneak a glance at his calendar, so you could sweetly plead for an afternoon in the garden when he would be busy, when he would surely ask a highly trusted subordinate to watch over you.

A highly trusted subordinate who knew all about your weeks of good, sweet behavior and who was none the wiser when you'd jabbed him with the syringe, plunging the medicine, the same kind your captor once used to 'calm you down' when you were having fits, right into the man’s thigh. 

You didn't hesitate: you'd dipped your hands into the man's pockets, pulled out his wallet and ran. You barely remember anything until you were in the forest--you vaguely remember using the key card to open the gates surrounding the base, you remember the fear that at any moment you would hear an alarm sound; but from there, everything was a blur as you sped into the forest wearing only the soft day shoes you'd been given to go outside.

You made it through the forest, though not without bumps and cuts and sore feet and a dimly throbbing ankle that was thankfully only turned. You ran until you reached a small town, one you'd never been in before. You buried your first instinct deep, deep, deep: do not contact the authorities. Who knows what connections Overhaul had, especially in a town so close to where he operated? So instead you waltzed into a little corner shop and made a beeline for the bathroom--where you promptly vomited out your breakfast as all of the anxiety and fear and adrenaline caught up with you in an instant.

You remember staring into the bathroom mirror afterwards, your face cold with splashed water. It was then, staring into your pale and anxious face, a face you hadn’t been allowed to see in a mirror for ages, that you felt freedom slamming back into you. You could do what you wanted, now. You were going to get your life back. You could make your own schedule and have your own hobbies back and eat what you wanted and--your stomach had gurgled, as if on cue. You had to get something to eat. But how would you pay?

The wallet you'd pilfered felt heavy in your pocket, and you opened it without a second thought. No cash. But a credit card. It would do, until you were able to get some cash of your own. You wandered back into the shop and even now, you can still feel how struck you were by how cozy, how nice, how different it felt. Just a small general store with big open windows and soft music in the background, and an old woman behind the register who immediately asked you if you needed any help finding this or that.

You smiled--a real smile, how nice that felt--and shook your head and loaded up a basket. A first-aid kit, a large water bottle, a toothbrush and toothpaste... then came the snacks. Candy. Chips. Soda. Things you hadn't tasted in so long. You even grabbed a pointless fashion magazine. The old woman had glanced at the name on the card and you offered a sheepish smile, a fake one that made you feel a pang of guilt for lying to her: "My boyfriend sent me to do the shopping. He's no good at this stuff." She'd smiled and nodded, oh I understand dear, before packing up your order.

You stepped out into the sunshine--you can't pretend like you remember how it feels, right now, shivering from the damp rain on this table--and took a deep breath of fresh air. It smelled crisp and sweet and clean. Not the sterile cleanliness of your captor's clinic, but truly pure--real. There was a slight tinge to the air, and you spotted grey clouds on the horizon. Not an omen, no: just another sign that you were outside, you were in nature, you were free. The smell was the promise of thunder, of electricity, of cool rain.

It also smelled like... well, lunch. Or more precisely, you smelled the vague scents of the little pizza shop a few shops down.

And here is where you made, looking back, your biggest mistake. You should have headed to a bus station. Or called for a taxi. You should have gotten the hell out of there right that second. But your mind flashed back to Overhaul's little calendar, the words printed neatly in the little square for today: he would be away until the evening, which meant you (surely, surely) had a few more hours before he came back and discovered your escape.

He’d ordered no one to bother you and your now-unconscious guard in the garden, so if no one saw you run out, then an alarm certainly wouldn’t raised for a while. You had time, didn't you? Time to grab a meal? You could always get it to go, and you could even ask an employee inside about buses or taxes. Yes, it was fine--you would get a few slices to go and hop on a bus and leave forever. More than that, it was practical. You needed energy, and the junk in your bag--while undoubtedly delicious--wasn't going to be enough to sustain you for long.

The door to the pizza place dinged when you entered, and you almost teared up at the normality of it. It was a buffet style place, with rows of pizzas under yellow-cast lights and rows of red booths and people lifting slices onto their plates with shared tongs. Unusual for a small town, but maybe it was a remnant from a more bustling time, when American-style pizza places were all the rage. For a moment, your thoughts had turned back to your captivity: Overhaul would have never set foot into a place like this--nor would he have let you. Germs, germs, everywhere. And you loved it.

You paid with the card, but there was no need for excuses this time--the young man behind the register didn't even check for a name or signature, much less ask for identification. You asked about a to-go box and he'd shrugged, mumbled out an apology--they didn't do that here. You have to eat inside.

For a moment, the rational part of your mind screamed: get the hell out of here, then! But your stomach growled, and hunger beckoned, and damn if that row of glistening pizza slices didn't make you want to eat. And eat.  And… eat. You shoved repressed thoughts deep down, your heart hammering all the while, and took a tentative step towards the buffet. Thunder rumbled as you debated. You could be out of here in... 30 minutes? Enough time to eat--to binge, your mind whispered, you can now--and maybe get it out after? Yes, it would be fine. (It would not. Future you, the one sitting on the table and watching in increasing anxiety as Overhaul finishes up his tasks, wishes she could tell you.)

You should have seen the start of the rain, sudden and relentless, as a bad sign. Instead you ignored it and filled up a large cup with diet soda that spilled a little when you forgot to let go of the button. You ate without thinking, not even really enjoying the taste of the first greasy pizza slices you’d had in ages.

You were on your fifth slice when the restaurant doors dinged, but the sense of small town charm was overrun by the immediate realization that you were caught. You were fucked. The air thickened--were you the only one to notice?--as two men in slim suits entered the restaurant with an air of immediacy. You were spotted in a second, if that. You thought about running.

But then you thought about the bored teenager behind the register and the old man cutting up his wife's pizza slices because she had trouble chewing and the little girl stacking up pepperonis while her mom chatted on the phone and you resigned yourself. You didn’t want anyone else to get hurt…even if it meant giving in. You didn't struggle, couldn't struggle, and let them lead you swiftly outside where the torrent of rain soaked you immediately  as they pushed you down the block, where an unmarked car waited. You glanced up helplessly as the cloudy sky and rain streamed down your face before you were unceremoniously pushed into the backseat.

Overhaul was sitting inside, staring at you with an intensity you've never seen before.

**

Your backpack drops with a thump next to you and you flinch out of your memories.

"Let's see what you bought with that stolen card during your little adventure."  His voice is deceptively calm. He must be furious with you, you think. And you can't believe you didn't think about credit fraud alerts before you used the damn card.

The noise of the zipper is thunderous and you scoot yourself back on the exam table, pressing against the wall to put a little more room--even if it's only inches--between you and your captor. He begins to pull everything out of the bag, one by one, and seeing it all lined up makes it clear what type of lecture is coming.

A few bags of chips, a bottle of soda, bars of chocolate, all junk, junk, junk. All food he would never permit you to eat, and certainly not in such quantities.

"Disgusting," he murmurs, before tossing each item into a trash bin kept against the wall, one by one. You cringe at the sound of each bag, each bottle, hitting the bottom of the trash. You didn't even get to taste them. He stares at the trash, eyes narrowed, as if the food itself was worthy of his venom. "Full of unnecessary sugars and fats and oils. Eating so much of this will make you sick. We've talked about this."

You say nothing. You press your lips together. You won't give him the satisfaction of argument. You won't let him pretend like he has any right to lecture you on what you eat, and certainly not what you eat after you've escaped (however briefly) from his clutches.

"At least you didn't have time to ingest them during your ill-planned escape, hm?" He replaces his previous gloves--tainted with the thought of germs on the junk food bags, no doubt--and your stomach flips at the sound of the medical gloves he's snapped on in their place. "Which is more than I can say for the pizza." You never knew someone could say pizza with such a ridiculously nasty tone, but you've learned a lot of things during your captivity.

"You weren't content with this junk hoard," he says, gesturing towards the trash while keeping his eyes firmly on you. "You had to gorge yourself on greasy pizza from a dirty buffet, too? We are going to clean your mouth out, by the way.”

You hate the way he says gorge--you hate the way he says greasy--you hate the anxiety that comes with wondering what he’ll do to ‘clean’ your mouth. You hate him, you hate him, you hate him. The hate makes you answer defensively, despite your earlier resolution to stay quiet. You can't help yourself, in a lot of ways.

"I was hungry," you say, still feeling defiant.

"No one working on their fifth slice of pizza is hungry," he answers, simply. You feel diminished, but not enough to shut you up.

"So? It's not your business what I eat anyway.” A familiar tightness is springing to your throat. You don't want to cry in front of him ever again, so you clip the words out, fighting to retain control.

He presses a fist to his forehead in a sudden, rather surprising show of frustration. "Not my business? Not my business? It's my business to take care of you. Do you have any idea what could have happened to you out there?"

The fullness in your stomach, the cold rain soaking you, the remembrance of the wind and branches lashing at you as you ran hours before, all these freedoms have made you feel bold. Or maybe you're succumbing to the effects of an adrenaline crash and you just can't control your mouth.

"I could have been free. You can’t--you can't just keep me here. You can't just kidnap someone and decide you know what's best for them."

There's a long, steady pause as he stares at you. His expression--what you can see from his eyes--is blank, and you almost wonder if perhaps you've stumped him.

"I can," he says, lightly. Easily.

Fucker.

He sighs, and you get the distinct impression that you’re a nuisance, something to deal with, something he’s having to deal with instead of doing far more important things. "You’re showing a severe lack of appreciation for all the work I do to take care of you."

You don't know how to respond to that. "You kidnapped me.” It’s all you can think of--the bare truth.

He doesn't speak at first. Then he lifts something from the supply tray he's set up--a blue hospital gown, thin and short, and tosses it towards you. You catch it instinctively, feeling the thin, feather-light material in your fingers. He tosses a towel, next, and you hold it against your damp chest. He turns around.

"Change."

You don't want to. You don't want to. But you've never pressed your luck on what would happen if you refused to get dressed before, afraid that he might do it himself, and that fear overrides any thoughts of outright rebellion. For now. You slide off your wet clothes and push them towards the end of the table, then use the towel to dry off your skin. There are scratches and bruises, including a nasty looking one that's already turning green on your ankle. Your feet are swollen from running on the hard forest floor with your thin day shoes.

When you're finished, you clear your throat, and he turns back around. He tosses your wet clothes right into the trash--damn, you liked that shirt--and wipes off the table with a separate towel. You sit, legs dangling off the table, and wish he'd just get the punishment or examination or whatever it is he has planned over with. You can feel the coldness of the table through the medical gown, and its thinness makes you feel even more helpless. Weak. You want to retain that feeling of freedom that you had earlier in the day. Even choosing to return without a fight, choosing to avoid hurting the innocent people in that town, made you feel bold.

He stands in front of you until you force yourself to look up, to get it over with. He's swapped out his mask for a medical one.

"Have I ever hurt you?"

You hate this.

"No," you admit, voice tight. "Not physically," you add spitefully, because fuck him for trying to make himself sound like a decent person because he kidnapped you but didn't happen to hit you.

"Do I take care of you?" His tone is firm, commanding. It leaves no room for silences. Instead, it makes your stomach feel light, makes your heart feel like it wants to race.

"I can do that on my own," you counter.

"Can you?" He says, voice dripping in condescension.

"Yes," you spite, bile rising into your throat. "I can take care of myself."

He reaches back and grabs the little stool he keeps in this room, rolling it up to rest in front of the table and in front of you. He sits down and cups his hands together, resting them on his thigh. He leans forward. An easy gesture. Like he wants to have a conversation. But something about his movements sends out warning signals. Big, glaring, flashing warning lights that scream DANGER.

“You can take care of yourself.” It’s a statement, yet the way he says it is brutally mocking.

“I can,” you insist, your voice cracking just the slightest bit under his gaze.

"So, where would you live?" He watches you intently and it takes a moment for you to realize what he just asked you. He isn't offering you freedom, no. But maybe you can win an argument, just this once, and forcibly stop his delusions that he's "taking care of you."

"Anywhere," you say, but he looks unimpressed. "An apartment," you correct. "Like my old one. Doesn't have to be big." Your heart pangs with nostalgia for your old place, for your independence, for your life.

"Ah." Overhaul brings a gloved finger up to his chin and rests is there, nodding, as if he's seriously considering your words. "And how will you pay for rent at this apartment?"

You can't resist the snarky tone. "A job."

He rests both hands on his thighs. "Tell me, how much did you make at your last job, again? No--tell me, how long did you hold your last job?" You cross your arms defensively around your waist as he continues. "If I recall correctly, you were fired rather quickly from that one... and the one before."

You squeeze your waist, hoping for the tiniest bit of comfort from the gesture. "I... it wasn’t my fault.” You feel like you’re under a magnifying glass. “The first time. And the second, well, I was looking for something better, anyway."

He raises his eyebrows, curious. "Looking where? At the bottom of a bottle?"

Your entire body tenses.

"After all," he continues, voice almost taking on a syrupy sweet tone. "Your fridge was so well-stocked with them. Hmm. Do you think it's responsible to spend so much money on alcohol when you're behind on rent payments?"

"No," you say, voice tighter, "But--"

He doesn't give you a chance to finish. He stands, and you immediately squeeze your arms again. "And how much were you spending on other luxuries? Those clothes you kept carelessly shoved in your closet... they were a name brand, weren't they?"

Your throat is dry and your mouth is dry and you lick your lips. "There were sales," you insist.

"Ohh," he says, his voice lifting in mockery. "And I bet there were sales on the jewelry, the trinkets, the--" his eyes drift upwards, an implication of his disdain, "--figurines."

You lift your chin in defiance. "I'm allowed to buy things that I like."

He begins to pace. Not aimlessly, no, nothing with him is ever aimless. He paces until he stops in front of you, turning to face you for effect.

"What happens if you're late on three rent payments? Remind me of the policy that decrepit building you called an apartment complex had."

You squirm on the table. "I was only behind on two--"

"What happens?" His voice is firm. You can't avoid it.

There's a pause before you murmur, unwillingly. "You get evicted."

"So." He takes another step, and turns back towards you. "Do you think it's responsible to spend money you don't have on luxuries, when you're behind on rent?"

You want to run. Maybe you should have run at him earlier. Getting tossed into a solitary room after attacking him might be better than this interrogation.

"No," you admit. You swallow, dry and thick and a bit painful. "Okay. I'm not great with money. I bought things to make me happy because I was stressed out about---life. It's not that big a deal. I--I didn't get kicked out, anyway."

He sits again, but keeps himself upright, the air of faux casualness replaced with an air of command. "How did you catch up on your rent? Tell me."

You hate him. You stare at him, hoping he'll end this, but he simply stares at you until you blurt out the words. "You paid my landlord. Anonymously." You stare down at the floor, at the drops of water still there from earlier. "I didn't ask you to. I would have figured something out."

"I'm sure."

He stands, and you stare at the wall until you hear him roll the tray of supplies towards the table. Your body trembles of its own accord when he grabs your arm firmly and wraps a blood pressure cuff around the top. You sit in silence as the cuff gets tighter then mercifully deflates.

He tsks at the number, and jots it down on the pad resting on the table. For once, you're not tempted to peek.

"I need to take some blood," he says, and you stick out your arm in automatic, habitual compliance before your brain even realizes it. He grips your wrist firmly while he swipes your arm with an anti-bacterial agent.

"How much do you weigh?" He asks suddenly, voice nonchalant.

You stare at him, incredulous. He's never brought up weight before. He’s always been careful to avoid details about weight, nutrition--calories. The most he would do is point out that you need a well-rounded diet with the right vitamins and nutrients, and ignore your questions about sauces and cooking oils and grams, all attempts to find out something that could give you an ounce of control over what’s going into your body.

"I--I don't know.  You don't let me look at the scale when I step on it." He knows this. He knows that he's forbidden you from seeing the number, because he knows about your past, knows your tendency to get obsessive and strict and focus on food and weight and worth.

"Why don't I let you look at the scale?"

Your stomach feels like it's twisting.

"I don't know." The lie is bitter on your tongue.

The casual tone in his voice when he replies is far more biting than any cruel insult. "Yes, you do." 

His words are punctuated by the harsh medicinal smell of the next wipe. But you're in no mood to appreciate that he's still choosing to numb your skin despite your earlier transgressions.

The tears you felt building earlier begin to prick at the corner of your eyes. You don't want to cry, you don't want to cry, you don't want to cry.

“Why don’t I let you look at the scale?” He repeats, firmer, more insisting. He winds a band around your arm and taps at your veins.

Your arm looks fatter, like this. You swear it does. You look away to avoid your arm and the needle and his gaze.

“Because, um, I sometimes have problems with food. Or weight. Or whatever.”

“You have an eating disorder,” he tells you, all business as he plunges the needle into your skin; there’s only the ghost of a sting as he begins to slowly draw your blood. But you barely feel it, you can only feel the impact of his words, blunt and hateful.

"You were going to throw up in that germ-infested hovel. Eat until your stomach was distended, then head into a bathroom--which I'm sure the staff hadn't cleaned in ages--and stick your unwashed, greasy fingers down your throat until it all came back up. Am I correct?"

You can't tell if you feel woozy because of the needle or the way that your heart is racing at his words. Throw up. Greasy. Disgusting. You're disgusting.

"Stop it," you say, voice muddled with humiliation and anger.

He pulls the needle out, and quickly presses a bandage to your skin. He keeps a finger there, firm and pressing. He looks up at you, now, as he continues his onslaught.

"And then what? Let me make an educated guess. You were going to get on some filthy bus and open up all the junk you bought earlier? Perhaps," he muses, as he rips off a piece of tape to keep the gauze in place, "you could have asked the bus driver to stop at a public bathroom for a vomit break. And you'd probably make sure that whatever flea-ridden hotel you found along the way had a scale in the bathroom so you could keep track. And another one of your delightful," he practically spits the word out, "cycles would have started, hm?"

"Stop it," you repeat, voice breaking. "I wasn't--I wouldn't have--"

"You were going to," he says simply, interrupting. "Thankfully, we got there in time. Although I'm sure now you will endure a stomach ache after your reckless indulgence. A lesson, perhaps, though not the exact one I would inflict myself."

As if on cue, your stomach rolls and clenches. You’re keenly aware that you’re going to have digestive problems tonight, and the thought of being at his mercy while you’re dealing with them threatens to send you over the edge.  Could you get even more disgusting? The thought of how you look right now, stomach no doubt bulging, hair disheveled and damp, covered in ugly bruises and cuts--combined with the fear of spending the night on a toilet sends you over the edge.

You press your knuckles against your mouth and squeeze your eyes shut and try to force the sobs down. Your body begins to tremble, even more so as he lifts your leg. Without warning, he begins to unceremoniously scrub it down with a sponge dipped in disinfectant.

It stings and your eyes feel like they might pop at the sudden pain. You hiss at the feeling of the liquid on your cuts and try to pull away, to no avail. Your legs feel like jelly in his grip.

“That hurts,” you whine. 

“It can’t be helped,” he tells you, holding your leg firmly as he scrubs the sore bottom of your feet. Any sensitivity you had there is overruled by the soreness and pain from running, from the stinging aches that remain in your cuts. “I have to clean every cut or you may get an infection.”

He sets your leg down and lifts up the other, and you cringe before he even begins to move. You can’t help but whimper as he scrubs your leg, and the helpless stings of pain only increase when he moves on to your arms.

“Please,” you say, feeling low, nearly flattened. “I can’t… I can’t take this.”

He pauses, and the seemingly genuine concern in his eyes (it’s not, you remind yourself, it’s not--you think of the shop and the pizza place and the old man cutting his wife’s food, that was concern, that was care) has you feeling sorry for yourself.

“The stinging will go away in a few minutes. You chose to run away, you can certainly deal with this minor consequence.” He retains his grip on your upper arm and he swipes the sponge across your shoulders, briefly pushing the fabric aside as he does so. He pauses when he sees the blooming fingerprints on your shoulders, but says nothing.  You wonder if those men will survive the night.

There’s a a cut, thin and long, dragging from your collarbone down across your chest. He dips unceremoniously below the gown, touching you in a spot he normally avoids. The feeling of him so close, touching you--not quite on your chest, but close enough--only intensifies your humiliation. You whimper again and try to pull away, but his grip offers no room to move.

“I can’t--” You don’t finish. Your throat is so tight and you hate it, you hate that you can never talk about anything with him, never argue with him without clamming up with tears and a thick throat.

You bring your hands up to your hair, tugging on it until it prickles. Your breath starts to come in short bursts, your chest having as you pull on your hair and will yourself to be anywhere but here. For a flashing moment, you wish you’d never tried to escape. If you didn’t, you’d be getting ready for bed right now. Things would be--not okay. Never okay. But you wouldn’t be here, on this table, cold and stinging and in pain and utterly despondent from having your failures shoved in your face. But then you remember that if he’d never kidnapped you, you wouldn’t have had to try to escape in the first place, and the wish fades.

He remains silent, and instead simply keeps a steady, firm grip on your upper arm until your breath slows, until you can control yourself. Your skin feels at once numb and prickling in anxiety and adrenaline and emotions coursing through you.

Overhaul gives your arm a squeeze that is, perhaps, meant to be reassuring. “Are you suitably recovered?

You nod. Your stomach feels sour. You want to ask if you’re done, if you can just go sleep or get sent (you dread the idea) to solitary confinement or whatever it is he has planned in the wake of your escape. Anything would be better than this room and this soft, thin gown and his bright blue surgical gloves and your failure hanging in the air.

He extends his arm out and you pause for a moment before you grasp it, holding tight as you get off the table and stand on wobbly legs. You’re loathe to touch him, but you’re even more loathe to fall flat on your face on the hard floor.

He speaks before you get a chance to ask if you can change out of the medical gown.

“Now, we’ll go to the bathroom.”

Your knees suddenly feel like they might drop out from under you. “The bathroom?”

He nods, and pulls himself away from your weak grip as he begins walking towards the door. You follow without thinking, pausing when he stops to slide his medical gloves into the trash before slipping on another pair.

“We’re not finished here,” he tells you, and you swear his voice is almost giddy as he turns his head to meet your questioning face. “I told you earlier, we’re going to clean your mouth out.”

He can’t mean--

You take a step back, and your knee buckles. He’s quick--he catches you before you fall, but doesn’t let go. His pulls you upright and pulls you along. Your legs have no choice to walk--walk or be dragged--and you struggle for words as he leads you out of the clinic. Before you know it, you’re back in your room (familiar, warm, the same as it ways this morning) and led swiftly into the attached bathroom.

He pulls you in far enough that he’s able to shut the door behind him, trapping you inside. As if you wouldn’t be trapped by his mere presence. For a moment you wonder if he was bluffing, trying to scare you into submission, but by the time you take another breath he’s running the sink water and tearing into a new box of bar soap.

Your voice catches as you finally speak up. “You--you can’t be serious.”

“What makes you think I’m not serious?” He doesn’t even face you as he speaks. Instead, he turns on the tap and fills a paper cup with water before setting it on the sink’s edge. Next comes the bar of white soap, which grows slick underneath the water. He turns off the tap and lets the excess water drip off, before turning to you, soap bar in hand.

“Open your mouth.”

Your lips press together automatically, and you shake your head. No, no, and no. This isn’t happening.

He sighs, and again the feeling that you’re annoying him creeps under your skin. Why does it bother you that you’re annoying him? It shouldn’t bother you at all, but somehow you feel a pang of regret at how much has changed in less than 24 hours. 

“If you don’t open your mouth willingly, I will open it for you.” He takes a step closer, but your legs feel heavy now, rooted to the spot. It isn’t like there’s anywhere you could run, anyway. “I don’t want to do that,” he continues, voice slightly softened. “Cooperate and open your mouth.”

What choice do you have? You could protest, you could argue, you could leap into the bathtub and make him fight for what he wants. You could keep your mouth shut tight and force him to find a solution. But he is stronger than you, in more ways than one, and he would get his way in the end.

So you make the only choice available to you. Your entire mouth shakes and seems to fight against you as you slowly open your lips in compliance. You feel stupid, standing here with your mouth hanging open.

You can’t reflect on the feeling for long, as he wastes no time in shoving the bar inside your open lips. You can’t help but whimper at the intrusion, but he doesn’t let up and begins methodically scrubbing at your tongue. At first, there’s no taste--then the built-up slick of clinical soap makes itself known, and you take advantage of the soap slipping out of your lips to press them together again, denying him entry.

“Open,” he orders, soft and firm.

And you do, heaving your shoulders in an unreleased whimper. What else can you do but listen? He continues to scrub, this time moving the bar into the side of your mouth to scrub at your teeth. The clammy, greasy feeling of soap coating your teeth makes you curl your wide open lips downward. You must look ridiculous, in all respects, lips gaping in an unpleasant frown as your captor mercilessly soaps the inside of your mouth.

“Do you not like the taste?” His eyes glance over at your frown, and the mockery in his tone is more than blatant. 

“Uhh-uhh,” you mumble, open-mouthed, shaking your head. The position you’re in--Overhaul scrubbing into your mouth, your shaking body, the dim feeling of your bruises and cuts from earlier--makes you feel so painfully exposed. So painfully helpless.

He hums and rests the soap against your tongue. Before you can attempt to move your tongue, lessen the feeling of the taste of the soap against it, he gives you a command.

“Bite down.”

Your teeth sink into the soft bar, keeping it in place, and your whimpers grow stronger at the humiliating order you’ve just obeyed. Could you sink any lower?

You watch him through tear-brimmed eyes as he moves to stand in front of you. You know what’s coming before he even speaks and when he does, it’s no surprise.

“Have I ever hurt you?”

Back to this, again.

You shake your head, mumble around the soap: “No.”

“Are you capable of being on your own?”

You hesitate, and he merely jumps to another question, one far more pointed.

“Have you held a single job for longer than a year?”

You want to protest, but any attempt at complicated speech is marred by the soap--the weight of it, the taste, and your need to keep it steady in your mouth.

“No,” you admit, hating the feel of the bar as your lips press against it with the effort of speech.

“Would you have been evicted if I didn’t pay off your debts?”

“Yes.” Tears sting at your eyes. You want to wipe them away but you’re afraid you’ll get soap in them, somehow.

“Are you responsible enough with money to hold a job, maintain an apartment, and buy yourself the necessities for life without someone else stepping in?”

The soap somehow tastes even more bitter. “No, I can’t.” Your tongue pushes up against the soap at this, and you resolve to keep it to one-word answers only.

“If we didn’t intercept your little outing, would you have attempted to throw up at that restaurant today?”

You shake your head, but it’s a lie, and you know it’s a lie--and he knows it’s a lie. So you nod, weakly. “Mm-hmm.”

“Have I been feeding you healthy meals? Have I been ensuring that you don’t engage in disgusting self-destructive behaviors?”

He has, but that’s not--your mind wants to argue, but you’re so tired and sick and your stomach hurts and the taste of the soap is too much. So you nod, instead.

He nods in response, and you pray that he’ll take the soap out and end this. Instead, he lifts your chin with a single finger, making you keep eye contact as he speaks.

“Do I take care of you?”

“Yes,” you cry out, your words garbled around the wet soap bar. He releases your chin and it’s these words, this final question, that make you break entirely. Your shoulders ache from bruises as you cry, hunching over slightly and watching as some drool-laden soap droplets fall on the floor. “Yes, yes, yes,” you repeat, mechanically, crying around the bitter soap that’s digging into your front teeth.

Satisfied, he takes hold of the bar and waits for you to release it, then tosses it with ease into the trash. You blubber and spit, only succeeding in releasing a trail of soapy drool down your chin. Your tears are hot and stinging as they roll down your cheeks. You open your mouth, you try to say something, but all that comes out is soft cries punctuated by your attempts to spit out the soapy film.  

“Look at you,” he murmurs, bringing a gloved hand up to your cheek and wiping at the tears. “My poor thing. You can’t even speak. You can’t even articulate yourself. How could you ever hope to make it on your own?” His words are soft and cruel and you merely cry harder, humiliated and helpless.

Your throat is sore. Your stomach hurts. You want your warm nightgown on. You want to be in bed. You wish your stomach didn’t hurt so much from eating junk. You wish you weren’t covered in cuts and bruises. You wish you’d just enjoyed the garden and went back inside. You wish you’d never done this at all. You’re so stupid. You’re so stupid.

And you finally say so, all of it, blubbering, bits of soapy drool dribbling out of your mouth as you cry and admit your faults out loud.

After your wrought-out apology dissolves into meaningless whimpers, Overhaul finally grabs the glass of water he set on the edge of the sink, and you gratefully swish the lukewarm liquid with earnest. You lean over the sink and spit, body trembling, then fill the cup again and repeat the gesture again and again to get rid of every bit of white soap stuck in your mouth. Even as you spit, you realize that the taste isn’t going to be completely gone anytime soon--it’s stuck in your mouth like a bad memory.

You jerk when his hands are suddenly on your back, rubber gloves sliding up and down the thin medical gown covering your cold, helpless body. But he merely keeps rubbing, gentle and soothing, while you swish and spit, and cry and cry.

His hands leave your back only to grab a washcloth from the built-in shelves across from the toilet. You watch as he wets the cloth and you stand silently, allowing him to wipe up the drool and soap from your chin, your neck, even a bit on your chest where it dribble-dropped downward.

When you’re all cleaned up, he fills up a cup with mouth wash and silently hands it to you. You gratefully swish it for as long as possible before spitting it into the sink. The soap taste is still there, but lessened somewhat by the overpowering mint of the mouthwash. He gestures to your toothbrush and you pick it up, and begin mechanically brushing your teeth, stopping when the 2-minute timer flashes on the bottom. You instinctively grab your floss without having to be told and make quick work of that, too.

He opens the door to the bathroom, but gestures for you to wait. You do, standing numbly, wishing that he let you have a mirror so you could see your own state. But he doesn’t, and you can’t, and so you wait until he returns with a bundle in his arms.

It’s your pajamas. A soft, pink nightgown--he didn’t pick the soft blue one, tonight, and you’re grateful to avoid any reminders of the medical gown you have on--with matching socks and underwear. You nod and accept the bundle meekly. He turns around and you make quick work of the medical gown, tossing it in the trash yourself before you get dressed for bed.

“M’done,” you mumble, though you quickly realize speaking makes the lingering soap taste stronger. You follow him silently out of the bathroom and into your bedroom, which is just as you left it that morning. The only thing different is you. Subdued, humiliated, helpless.

Overhaul pulls the cover on your bed and you sit down, numb and chastened. You pull your legs up and tuck them under the soft comforter. You’re forcing yourself into the routine you’ve been following for the past few weeks, but the secret thrill you once had of obeying with ulterior movies is no longer there. It’s been replaced by a heavy stillness, the knowledge that you failed in more ways than one. The occasional roll of your stomach reminds you that the night may not be over, bedtime routine be damned.

But you ignore it for now, and you lean your head back on your pillow as he pulls the comforter towards your shoulders, tucking you in. Rather than leave immediately, he sits next to you on the bed, looking down at you with an obsessive, possessive expression in his eyes.

You force down an instinctive flinch when he suddenly begins to stroke the top of your forehead, moving up to pet your hair softly. His gloves are gone. While not completely new, it’s rare--rare enough that the feeling of his bare fingers is still an unusual sensation.

You close your eyes. It usually makes him leave faster. Your heart begins to pound as you hear him stand, as you sense him leaning in, as you feel the ghost of his breath against your face.

“Sweet dreams. We’ll start fresh in the morning.”

What a silly thing to say, you think. Your dreams are never sweet anymore.

[urlkssknt]

a deep love confession

warnings!! nsfw!! unprotected sex!!

johnny x fem reader, 3k

johnny stared at you with such intensity, you had never seen that look in his eyes before. he looked mad. he was mad. at you, specifically. of course, you were a grown woman, one who could handle any form of danger, but that knowledge didn't help the anxiety that was weighing down on johnny's chest heavily. "where were you?" johnny tried to speak in the calmest tone he could muster but he was failing to mask his emotions. was it because you didn't inform him that you left for the deal or was it because he felt like you didn't trust him?

you scanned his posture as he stood still in your bedroom, a room that all of your men were forbidden from entering, even dohwan. yet, you always welcomed johnny. sighing, you began to shrug off the jacket you wore and placed it on your bed, not bothering to answer the man in your room. to you, it didn't seem like such a big deal, you were simply doing your job.

"y/n, i just asked you a question."

both of your eyes locked onto each other, a mutual look of intensity, hoping to try and read each other's minds, johnny just wanted to understand you but you were making it so difficult for him. your eyes were blank. you showed no detectable emotions.

"i don't answer to you," was what you said that threw johnny off the edge. whatever patience was left in him now vanished. groaning loudly, johnny ran his hand through his hair and held onto his neck. he couldn't shout at you, he couldn't do anything.

you infuriated him.

johnny decided it was best to leave you alone, maybe forever. the feelings he felt for you heavily trumped what you felt for him, johnny assumed in his mind, that was always constantly things about you. there was no way to tell what you were thinking and it stressed him out. he just wanted to understand you.

"wow," johnny scoffed, placing his hands on his hips as he glared at you, the way you just gazed back at him obliviously pissed him off even more, "i guess i shouldn't have worried about you then, huh?" anger was laced with every word he spoke in a voice that was quiet so no one that happened to be walking past could hear but loud enough for you to listen. the warm light of your room illuminated johnny's features, his beautiful face hardened like a rock, jaw tense. "do you even care that i was worried about you? i get that you don't care about you own life but i care, y/n! me!" you were speechless. feelings were never your strong point, voicing them aloud was even worse. slowly, you began to process johnny's words, however the said man took your silence literally and as a rejection.

feeling fed up, johnny began to walk towards the door, the sound of his leaving footsteps booming in your ear like thunder. it awoke something in you as if a switch had been turned on. johnny's fingers were ready to reach out for the door handle to leave out of your life before he froze in his steps, "i'm sorry."

you had apologised.

the two words were foreign to your tongue but you hoped johnny could hear the sincerity in your shakey voice. it was only a matter of a few more seconds before johnny felt your hands wrap around his waist, your head resting against his broad back. he felt warm to you. any anger that he experienced quickly evaporated with that one act.

"i can't stand to see the sight of you walking away," the image of it was still fresh in your mind, causing you to tighten your grip on him, in fear he would actually leave. your fingers trembled as you clutched johnny's cotton shirt. "the way i feel for you," you began slowly with a wavering voice as you thought out every word, trying to piece everything you wanted to say, "i haven't felt this way about anyone before, and i don't know if i deserve to feel it." your heart was hammering in your chest, you were afraid that johnny could feel it beating, a sheet of paper couldn't pass between your grip on the taller man.

as johnny felt your grip loosen, he instantly held your hands against him again.

"i love you," you whispered quietly in a defeated tone.

johnny turned around so quickly you were afraid he might have experienced whiplash. the hardened features of his face had finally softened, showing you everything you found so dearly beautiful about him. as his dark eyes pierced into yours, johnny raised one of his large hands to cup your face. he didn't miss the way you nestled into it further, the simple act causing his heart to skip a beat. the organ was beating so loudly out of his chest johnny was almost certain you could hear it in the comforting silence, unbeknownst to him, your heart matched his rapid pace.

"i want to be the one by your side, y/n," johnny's other free hand snaked around your waist to draw you closer to him, with your hands still wrapped around him, "please, i can handle everything you throw at me, just... let me be a part of your world." his forehead rested against yours, you could feel his warm breath falling upon your skin, finding peace in it. johnny was real and not a figment of your dreams that were beginning to replace the recurring nightmares that occupy your sleepless nights.

"but you'll get hurt," your body stiffened at the thought of johnny becoming hurt or worse, dead. all because of you.

"then let me," johnny held onto you tighter, embracing you with both arms, his scent unknowingly calming you down, "i know you'll protect me no matter what," he had spoken with a smirk that was so obvious in his voice.

gazing upon your face once more, johnny knew he reached your ice cold heart. that all his efforts didn't go to waste. your neck craned as you looked up at him with endearing eyes, as if he was the most perfect creature to have been created. it began to cause a stir in him. taking advantage of your dazed state, johnny angled his head lower so he could meet your lips. unlike the first kiss you both shared, the taste of tobacco is no longer lingering like a reminder of your habit, just the taste of your lip gloss. it was so sweet. johnny indulged himself in the sweetness, you kissed him back with an equal amount of eagerness. your slender fingers ran up the expanse of johnny's chest, standing on the tips of your feet to match his height but yet you were still shorter than him. the soft kiss quickly became anything but innocent, the urge to have johnny bed you almost had your knees buckling.

somehow, johnny had moved you both to your bed, where you sat in his lap, your thighs on either side of him. warm comforting hands ghosted along your bare legs, the skirt you wore had ridden up, revealing more inches of your body for johnny to touch. "i want you," you breathed as you pulled away from johnny's swollen lips.

johnny groaned at your words. he had imagined this moment ever since you deemed his yours, the thoughts normally continued in a lonesome cold shower and the company of his hand. a blush grazed his cheeks at the embarrassing thoughts. the blood rushed to his dick at the sight of your doe eyes pleading him to consent. "fuck," johnny's voice dropped an octave, "you sure, darling?"

the small nod of your head was the green light. his hands gripped at your hips, guiding you dangerously closer to feel where he needed you most. intently, johnny watched as you gasped at the feeling of his hardening dick through his jeans.

"i'll make you cum on my dick instead of my tongue," the lewd words were whispered softly, hot breath fanning against your ear, only for you to hear. in a matter of seconds, you felt johnny's pulp lips press opened-mouth kisses along the juncture of your neck, his lips upturned into a smirk when you titled your head to allow him to have more access. cherry blossoms trailed from beside your ear down to your collarbone. a gasp emitted from you at the harsh sting of your skin between johnny's teeth.

"you're so beautiful, y/n," you wondered how johnny viewed you, a psychotic bitch who needed to be locked up or someone who was deserving of love. cradling his face between your cold hands, you littered soft kisses all around johnny's handsome face, mentally swearing to yourself to kill anyone who as much places a scratch upon it. johnny stilled at the sudden affection. your wondering hands turn south from johnny's chest, you had the blessing of being able to peel the white t-shirt off from his body, leaving him bare before your eyes. johnny was very confident in his body, the way you drooled over him like a child craving a candy, made him chuckle. the laughter died when you suddenly began to undress yourself, revealing the dark lace undergarments you wore. johnny's mind wondered if you purposely wore such a thing for his eyes only.

returning to his lap, you innocently rolled your hips against johnny's unbelievably hard dick, eliciting a sound from him that made you clench around nothing. "do you want me to cum in my pants?" you blinked at him in confusion as if your heat wasn't sat directly on top of the area where he needed you most. johnny rolled his eyes at your unresponsive reaction. for a mafia boss, you knew nothing about sex. "where do you keep your condoms?" he shifted his weight in order to search through your bedside table for the packaged rubbers.

"i don't have any," you told johnny, watching the way the muscles in his back tense, "you're my first."

he knew this already but it spurred something in him to hear it again. johnny turned his head to you at lightning speed, catching you off guard. a voiceless part of him takes pride in knowing that you never took pleasure in someone else before him, unlike what the rest of the boys believed. if they only knew, johnny thought.

"darling, we can't do this then."

"no!" the sound of your own voice shocks you, never did you think you would be so intoxicated by a man that you'd loose all sense of pride, but johnny sat there, peering down at you, and suddenly the desire for him to fill you increased tenfold. "isn't it better without?" you reasoned, remembering the conversation with yuta about sex being better without protection. the chance of you getting pregnant during your first time seemed low to you, you knew it was a risk but you'd do anything to cease the throbbing you felt.

"yeah but-" johnny's reasoning was cut short by your lips kissing along his chest, so lightly like petals grazing against his skin, "baby." his groan only added to the wetness that was pooling in your panties, all for him.

your hands wrap around his neck to bring johnny's gaze back to your lustful ones, "it'd be nice," your voice sounded as smooth as butter, coaxing him to give into your every desire, "my belly swollen with your baby." you practically purr in his ear. johnny felt his dick twitch in its restrictive confinements, reminding himself of just how unforgivingly hard he is.

"for a virgin," johnny sighs shakily, feigning disappointment, as he began to undo his trousers, pushing his boxers down with them, "you have such a foul mouth," he moved to sit against the headboard of your bed that was fit for a king, "should i stuff it with my dick?" johnny hummed, not missing how your thighs rubbed together slightly.

all the arrogance left your body when you peered at johnny's dick, eyes lingering for a moment too long. you gulped. there was no way for you to tell if his size was regular, due to your inexperience, but he looked big.

mocking laughter fell from johnny, you looked so scared sat in his lap, having no absolute fucking clue what to do, a sight people would pay billions to see, and yet you trusted johnny enough to be the one who sees you like this. his chest swelled with pride. he was your first. somewhere in his heart, johnny knew he'd be your last too.

the tips of your fingers curled between johnny's soft locks as he pulled you back in his strong arms, slotting his warm lips between your own. his mind drifted back to when he ate you out, the taste of you still fresh in his mind. you moaned sinfully against him as his hand groped your breast through your bra, you rutted against him in response to the pleasure. his other hand itched it's way to your back, managing to unclap the lace material, freeing your breasts. leaning down, johnny doesn't miss the opportunity to press a kiss along the valley between your mounds, leaving you a sighing mess above him.

"please, john," you said breathlessly, you were aching for him to touch you in the area you desired most yet he avoided completely.

gripping your hips tightly, johnny guided you to be on top of him, your thighs straddling his waist yet again, after throwing your panties to pile with the rest of the disregarded clothes on the floor. your body trembled slightly out of nervousness. johnny cupped your face with his large palm, "we don't have to do this," he said again. your pleasure was the only thing that mattered to him, he could withstand another cold shower for your sake. however, you urged him to continue.

your hips bucked at the feeling of johnny's hand cupping your sex. "you're dripping," his eyes darkened at the way your wetness glistened under the lighting, before licking his hands clean as if it were the richest frosting, something straight out of a porno. the hum johnny produced caused a chill to run through your body as you completely focused on him.

wasting no more time, johnny aligned himself with your enterance, helping you slowly ease yourself onto him. every cry you emitted from the discomforting stretch was shushed with reassuring mumbles, encouraging words about you 'taking him so well,' and soft kisses peppered around your pain-ridden face. the air in your lungs left your body at the feeling of being completely filled. it took all of johnny's strength to not just thrust into you and take you as he pleased. your walls were so tight and so warm around him, his mind felt like it was going to explode.

as the pain surpassed, you began to rock your hips at a slow irregular pace. each second was agonising for johnny as all he could do was grip at your hip. he was sure a bruise would be left there tomorrow. the other hand kneed the flesh of your ass, coaxing you to move a bit faster. johnny's lips attached themselves to your left breast, swirling his tongue against your nipple softly, the gasp you let out only encouraged the assault. it wasn't until his teeth grazed the sensitive peak that you clenched around him deliciously. johnny cursed out as his hips bucked into yours, hitting a spot you didn't know existed, "do that again, darling."

your breaths were loud in your partner's ears, chest heaving as the air was knocked out of your lungs, your mind was filled to the brim with thoughts of johnny, much like your cunt was. the feeling of your orgasm approaching burned in your lower body.

"j-john," you tried to silence your pathetic whines by pressing your face into johnny's shoulder, his name fell like a mantra from your lips as if it were the only word you knew.

"my pretty, pretty girl," johnny cooed at the fucked out expression adorning your face, a look no one apart from him would ever be able to witness.

the rolling of your hips became sloppier, the longer you chased your high. your legs began to feel numb. johnny's hips suddenly began to thrust up into you, so deeply that tears prick the corners of your eyes.

"'m so close." it was a miracle that your nails didn't break as they created deep crescent-like cuts in johnny's back. you hung onto his shoulders for dear life. if you were hurting him, johnny didn't show it.

he was embarrassed to say it but johnny could feel his high rising in such a short time. the way you called his name when he couldn't be more closer to you made his head spin, slowly loosing control as you clenched around him tighter. grunts and groans fell from him, immediately being swallowed by your parted lips.

sweat adorned your skin, your hair matted against the top of your forehead, johnny couldn't imagine what he looked like himself, his hair was probably a mess from your clutches.

"fuck, john, why is your dick so big?"

"you did not just say that," johnny snorted, wishing he had a camera to capture the blush that crept on your cheeks in embarrassment, had you said the wrong thing?

"do you want me to cum in you, darling?" the lewd question was said with such innocence, no one would have suspected the effect it had on you, "should i?" johnny's grip got stronger, as if it were possible, and began to thrust his hips up into you, repeatedly hitting the spot that had you seeing stars. the quiet moans falling from your lips and the way your walls clenched around his dick were a big giveaway that you were nearly at your high.

you emitted a gasp as the coil in your stomach snaps, the pleasure quickly become too much as johnny continued to pound you from beneath. in a matter of seconds, you could feel the warmth of his load coating your walls.

finally, your lover stilled in you, waiting just one more moment before leaving your warmth. the whine from the loss of johnny's dick almost made him do a double-take, desiring to fill you up again. however he knew better and wanted to let you rest. johnny kissed the crown of your head, his strong arms holding your slumped body up against him. "you okay?"

you managed a small hum, feeling too tried to respond. johnny noticed your drooping eyelids, he gently helped you off his lap and lay down on your bed, despite your protests of missing his warmth. a small chuckle fell from him as he looked at the marks you created along his chest in the bathroom mirror. he went in to get a towel to clean you up with and a shirt for you to sleep in so you wouldn't sleep cold. by the time johnny returned, you had managed to fall asleep in the short time. regardless, the older man continued to clean up the mess between your thighs, he couldn't manage to slip your shirt on you so johnny made sure to tuck the blankets in tightly.

"john, can you sleep with me?" your small voice asked, tired eyes meeting his with a pleading look.

"what did we just do earlier," johnny joked as he put his boxers on, the light in your room casted a glow around him that likened him to an angel.

"stay with me."

your hand had managed to sneak its way out of the blanket and beckoned johnny to lay beside you. the sucker he was for you, anything you desired you would have, who was he to deny you of himself. sighing, johnny clambered into the cold bed, he shivered as he laid beside you. like a moth to a flame, you reached out to touch him, yearning for the warmth of his naked body. johnny was always warm and you were always cold.

"haechan will notice i'm not there," he said softly with his long fingers running through your hair.

"i don't care," you said simply, the members were almost certain that something was happening between you and johnny, they just needed confirmation. "neither should you, your thoughts should only consist of me."

[levicanpunchme]

AAAAAA I LOVE YOUR WRITING SO MUCHHHH SYEGHQYEHW can i request something where the reader tries to persuade levi to take a break from his paperwork?? aaaaaaa i literally love u some much jagduwyshdsj thank you<3333

AAAAAA, I LOVE YOUUUUU 🙈 thank you so much for the kind words 🥺 I’m sorry this took a while but it’s finally here~! And thank you for requesting babe <333

——————————————————————

Levi X Y/N

Genre: Romance/Fluff/Angst

Sharing Your Exhaustion

The hallways were eerily quiet, presumably because the members were drained off after hectic training; they couldn’t help jump into their dreams before they had to head back for more painful training. You took nimble steps towards the captain’s room and rushed to open the door, knots forming in your stomach in bustling excitement. Yesterday, Levi was so busy with paperwork, you had chose not to visit him, not wanting to disturb him. There were days when you had to ignore your feelings because you were in a relationship with none other than Captain Levi, the strongest solider who shouldered the burden of humanity’s right to existence.

As you stepped in, you realised the room was lighted up, which was foreign because by this time, Levi would be waiting for you in bed with lights off. Your gaze sauntered from the empty bed to the wooden desk next to the window and caught sight of your raven haired boyfriend, seated before his desk with a pencil in his grip as he sharply wrote something down. You frowned, staring at the clock for reconfirmation.

It was one am. By this time, Levi would have tidied up his messy desk, taken a shower and waited for you to come over-sometimes even making personal trips to your room to get you.

You lightly shut the door behind you, taking light steps towards your hardworking boyfriend. Despite making zero to no sound, you caught his attention immediately as if he sensed you around; his bleak eyes seemed to warm up like the moonlight, his thin lips morphing into a tiring smile.

“How was training?” His gentle voice already calmed your nerves. “Tiring,” you muttered with a generous smile and made your way to his chair.

“Tch, don’t work so hard, brat,” he gruffly muttered, his voice etched with concern.

Nearing him, you noticed the blue lines of fatigue on his pale skin carved under his eyes, his forehead creased from tension, posture seemingly uncomfortable with his back positioned away from the chair, probably from leaning down to observe papers. An awful feeling arose in the pit of your stomach. Your judgment stood corrected as you observed the stack of parchments bundled on the side of his table. Just looking at it gave you a headache.

You instinctively stepped closer behind his chair and snaked your arms around his neck tightly, recompensing for the time away from him. The smell of him on the shirt you were wearing was nothing compared to his actual embrace. The shower you had taken before had helped your nerves ease after practise but Levi’s embrace completely sucked every last drop of ache out of your body.

A breathy sigh escaped his mouth as he eased into your hold, his breathing calm against your frame. For a moment, it was only you and Levi in your own bubble; nothing else existed. Two aching souls finding peace in one another. And then a moment later, the bubble bursted.

“Y/n, turn the lights off and get some sleep. I’ll need to stay working,” he put his hand over yours which were resting on his chest and nudged his head against yours, encouraging you to go to bed.

You frowned, your chest tightening.

Ever since the commander’s announcement for a new mission outside the walls, the workload was piquing- especially for the captains. The pile of documents needing Levi’s attention were still toppling his desk and he hadn’t even moved an inch from the worktable since before yesterday night. You didn’t see him at practise, lunch, dinner or even in the meeting with Hange. He seemed to have disconnected entirely from human interaction, determined to get his work done.

“Levi, you’ve been here since the whole day,” you muttered, expressing your discern with a frown. Your arms only grew tighter around him worriedly.

He shook his head, giving your hand a tight squeeze. “It’ll take me one more night and I’ll be done.” You peeled yourself away from him and stared at the man with desperation. You had come to a realisation that Levi coped in different ways in tense times. When the atmosphere became grim, he spent days drowning himself with papers and refused to take breaks- as if he was punishing himself. Even when he came back from expeditions, you wouldn’t see his face until a week after. He stared at words for so long that they probably haunted him.

“Levi, you’re overworking yourself to the bone. You need sleep,” you argued, scowling at the lack of concern in his narrow eyes.

“I’m perfectly fine, don’t worry. Now, go and get some sleep. You must be exhausted,” his words were stern, commanding you and his gaze indifferent, holding no room for debate. His eyes remained cold but you could tell he felt apologetic as he softly caressed your cheek with his palm, stroking them. He limply smiled, then nodded at you and motioned towards the bed, implying you leave him alone.

You stared at him distraught. How could Levi expect you to turn away and conveniently slip into bed while his red-rimmed eyes were starving for rest as he pushed himself more and more? Again an unsettling feeling arose in your chest; even his fingers were inflamed from gripping the pencil for too long; he rubbed the back of his neck occasionally which meant he had been craning it for too long to read the goddamn papers.

Your fists clenched in despair as you bit back the curses you wanting to ensue; dating a workaholic man with zero awareness was a pain in the ass. You sighed sympathetically at the man you loved and then stepped closer to the desk, in front of him. You grabbed one large pile of his documents and brought them with you to the bed.

“Hey-hey! What’re you doing?” He immediately sprung out of his chair, and it made you want to cackle because it was probably the first time his leg muscles contracted since he sat down with these documents on that damned chair.

“I’ll help,” you explained as you sat cross legged on the cold sheets of his bed, picking up the first stapled document.

“No,” he rasped. “You are doing no such thing. Get to bed, right now,” it wasn’t a suggestion but a chilling command; Levi’s tone was dangerously low, making your stomach knot up with nervousness.

You glanced up and regretted it immediately because it magnified your anxiety: his misty eyes were staring down at you scornfully, burning your skin; his chest heaved impatiently and his fists were clenched like he would pounce at you any second.

“Levi—“

“Every-fucking-one is beaten after today’s practise, I know that. Just because I wasn’t there, it doesn’t mean I don’t know shit. Hange informed me about your pathetically long training,” Levi’s voice was oddly rough but the coldness in his eyes melted. His face was scrunched in distress.

You loved this man so much with every part of you. How could he be worrying over you when he was literally starving and sleepless from the work pressure? Your nose burned, and you felt your eyes welling up, with overwhelming emotions, but you didn’t let him see that or he’d lose his sanity and flip the world over to know exactly the reason behind your tears.

You stepped out of the bed and walked close to him, edging to him until his nose was brushing yours conveniently since you both were the same height. At close proximity, his almond shaped eyes were tired-red and sully but there was also a strange glint of warmth in the dull grey clouds, reflecting the effect you have on him. His breathing was unsteady as he stared directly at you.

“If you’re too exhausted, we can share the exhaustion just like we share love, Levi,” you whispered, your lips meeting the corner of his mouth and landing it with a kiss. Jitters ran down his spine and his mouth tingled.

We can share exhaustion just like we share love. The words reverberated again and again in his head, tugging at the strings of his heart. At that moment, he wished to throw you into his bed and kiss your exhaustion away. He forcefully stepped back, his insides twisting in misery, desperate to have his way with you. You were always so understanding. Levi could never wrap his head around how you were so transparent and loving. You stood by him in miserable times, struggling to heal his endless wounds. Your selflessness ate at him because in this big, relentless world, he only wanted you to be selfish.

“I’ll arrange these documents, so you’ll know which ones merely require signatures and which need proper attention. It’ll decrease your workload and reading time to a great extent.” You were already on the bed, reading through the document with vitality.

He surveyed you for a moment, his heart drumming faster against his chest. “Come on, get going. We have a lot to do.” Levi timorously stepped back, watching you.

You already got to work and started assessing papers and reading through files. You almost threw in the towel by your fifth document but continued working, determined to help him. You mentally praised Levi’s great work ethics, his neat textura script making you smile.

Levi, on the other hand, stood frozen in his tracks; his chest felt strange as he watched you work on his documents. No one had ever done this-not that he ever wanted it. Hell, he was the strongest, most independent man, who never let his guard down which is primarily the reason why people didn’t bother with him. He alone equated to the strength of a thousand army of titans. He created this headstrong image for the world, Levi Ackerman, the hope of humanity, as he filled in gaps of weaknesses left in his trails.

Why did you see him? You knew he could take it, then why didn’t you let him be, like everyone else? Why did you want to shoulder his burdens by sacrificing your peace?

His head began pounding.

Before he saw you today, he was perfectly fine with his negligent ways: he didn’t feel his stomach rumbling from emptiness, his mouth as dry as the desert, his back aching from distress or his eyes stinging from sleeplessness. Now, when he saw you rubbing your red eyes, squinting them to read the documents and massaging your template in soft circles, he recovered his sanity.

As if he regained his humanity, his body which was numb from the moment he sat with those papers, collapsed into a surge of emotions.

He couldn’t bear it.

He treated himself inhumanely. But not you. God no, never you. You didn’t deserve it. He couldn’t treat you the way he treated himself. He’d rather throw himself off a cliff than give you a taste of his pain. Feeling overwhelmed, his vision blurred as he took heavy steps towards you. You looked up from the paper, hearing him moving towards you and your breath ceased.

Silver eyes were shadowy with a thunderous wave of agony, and a deploring frown weighted down his lips as his steps faltered towards you. You immediately stood up, your hackles rising in concern. You had never seen Levi look so defeated and beaten— not even when he came back from outside the walls. Your stomach twisted in despair. Maybe you had hurt him in your attempts to stick beside him. You felt tears choking your vision as you waited for him to throw you out of his room.

He was an inch away when his body fell against you, a squeal leaving your mouth. His arms were clasping around your waist as he pushed his weight down, causing your knees to buckle against the bed and you both fell. He was on top of you, his body completely attached to you like he were a part of you. Your heartbeat escalated as Levi looked at you, his red eyes drunk with exhaustion staring into the depth of your orbs.

Inside your dark eyes, he only saw himself. Only himself. His breathing hardened, mouth watering at the sight. He couldn’t take it anymore, his love for you triumphing over the last shred of common sense left in his brain. Drained and disillusioned, he found solace within you.

He attacked your mouth like a starved beast, every ounce of his being wanting you to feel the love bustling in his veins. Your toes curled in pleasure, the warmth of his mouth creating an euphoric sense of stability in your soul. You gripped his hair softly, running your fingers through his scalp and his eyes screwed shut in comfort. His lips kissed to your jawline and in the crevice of your neck, trailing downwards, marking your skin as his.

Your moans and his heavy breaths filled up the silence in the room.

“I love you,” he whispered and you swear you felt a wet droplet fall against your skin. Your stomach clenched; It was his first time telling you he loved you. You tried saying it back but no words left your mouth, just a stream of sobs.

Before, you felt him love you through his own unintentional ways but nothing could counter these three words falling off his lips just for you.

And then he rustled against the sheets, laying beside you and pulled you on top of him, your head resting against his chest. His heartbeat vibrating against your frame caused your tense body to ease in his hold. The documents sat on the edge of the bed, neglected. Soon slumber overpowered both Levi and your senses. Even though you both had to wake up within the next-six-hours, It was the best damn sleep Levi had ever gotten.