#me: i hate how hard it is to do things working grave shift everything is closed when I'm awake

[jinmukangwrites]

By the way when I say "businesses are hostile to people not available in mornings (ie people who sleep during am hours thanks to grave shift, or people who work mornings, etc)" I mean banks, doctor offices, DMVs, dentists, etc should be open to 9pm, not that Walmart should reopen to its pre-covid 24.7 hours hope this helps

[forever-rogue]

can I request a Joel Miller x reader fic where she's in love with him but is convinced he would never have feelings for her too as she's younger than him and shy and quiet but maybe all gets revealed (however you want to do that) 👉👈 super fluffy but put some angst in there too if you wish 🥰

AN | Okay, but I love this so much ❤️

Pairing | Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings | Language

Word Count | 2.3k

Masterlist | Joel, Main

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

People always seemed to call you shy. 

And you were you supposed, in your own way. It had a lot of perks when you really thought about it, and one of the main benefits happened to be that people often seemed to leave you to your own devices. 

You liked that you had the ability to watch and observe people without question. There was a lot that could be learned when people thought they weren’t being watched. 

And one of your favorite people to study happened to be Joel Miller. 

He was a quiet man and often kept to himself more than anything, but there was still a lot to be gleaned from him. He was resourceful and smart, kind and friendly but not in an overbearing way, and generally…the object of your affections. Not that you would ever admit that to anyone else. You’d never said those words out all loud - and never would. No, that was a secret you would take to the grave. 

You were he probably already knew - you felt like a pathetic, rambling fool around him. He managed to erase every sensible thought in your head and the ability to form any coherent sentences. Instead you fumbled over your words, feeling warm and anxious…so you usually tried to avoid him as much as you. Sometimes it worked, but other times it seemed like he managed to find you or be in the same spot as you at every conceivable moment. 

It sucked. You were sure that one day you’d accidentally spill the beans or somehow give away that fact you were desperately in love with him. As long as you managed to keep your guard up, you were sure that it would all be fine. All you had to do was avoid him for the rest of your life. 

How hard could that be?

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Hey,” that familiar gruff cut through your internal monologue as you gasped in surprise and almost dropped at the stuff in your arms. You turned around to him Joel watched you with a bemused expression on his face, “you alright? Didn’t mean to scare you, kid.”

Kid. You hated when he called you that. It made you feel like you were nothing in his eyes. Just a mere inconvenience. A kid that happened to be in his way.

“‘s alright,” you mumbled, righting the basket in your arms as you turned back to the vegetables and fruits you were tending to, “didn’t hear you is all.”

“Didn’t hear me,” he chuckled, the sound warm and familiar as it made the butterflies in your stomach flutter like crazy, “I don’t think I was being quiet in the slightest. Must have been awfully focused on whatever is going on in that pretty little head.”

You froze, eyes widening at his words, but continued to pick the fresh vegetables. You were so thankful that your back was to him as you tried to shrug him off. Otherwise he might have sensed just how flushed your face was and the lovesick expression on your face. 

You. You, you, you. 

"Nothing," you lied through gritted teeth, attempting in vain to slow down the beating of your heart and higher octave of your voice, "just thinking about what new things to plant once the season changes."

"And what did you decide?" Oh yeah. He was totally calling your bluff. 

"About what?"

"The vegetables?" 

"Oh…umm…cucumbers?"

"That's a summer vegetable," you cringed as he made a small sound of amusement. Did the man really have to know everything? You remained silent but could hear him shift, "last time I checked its almost winter."

"Well," you make quick work of gathering the rest of your veggies and placing them gently into the basket, "I guess I'll figure it out later."

You stood up and quickly turned on your heel to leave, rushing to get away and put this whole situation behind. You felt his fingers wrap around your wrist and gently hold you back. When you met his eyes, you noticed the little smile on his face, "everything alright?"

"Peachy," you lied as you gently pulled out of his grasp, "see you around, Joel."

"See you, Kid."

You hoped that maybe you'd never see him again and therefore avoid ever making a fool outside of yourself. 

Unlikely.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“And just where do you think you’re going?” you almost jumped in surprise, a small sound of surprise escaping your lips before he clamped his hand over your mouth. He put a finger to his lips and shook his head. You relaxed slightly when you saw it was him. When he realized that you weren’t going to freak out he dropped his hand from your mouth.

“Joel!” you hissed at him, looking around to make sure no one had followed either of you, “what are you doing here?”

“The better question is what are you doing here?” he crossed his arms over his broad chest as he raised an eyebrow at you. You put an innocent smile on your face and shrugged, knowing you weren’t fooling him in the slightest. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

“Are you asking me or telling me?” oh. He was loving this way too much already.

“Telling? Wait - no, telling you,” you huffed, annoyed with yourself for how nervous you suddenly felt, “I’m just…here.”

“Here,” he repeated as you nodded, “it looks like you were trying to sneak out of the safety of the QZ.”

“Ummm…” realistically there was no other thing you could have been doing in that particular location. You were both acutely aware of the truth of the situation, “I’m just hanging out.”

“Come on, Kid,” he reached up and brushed a few rogue strands of hair behind your ear, “I wasn’t born yesterday. I know you like to sneak out.”

“I don’t-”

“I don’t care that you do,” he dropped his voice to a whisper as you slowly swallowed thickly, “I care about the fact that it’s not safe.”

“You do it!”

“I can handle myself,” he insisted, putting his finger under your chin in order to turn your face up to his, “not that I don’t think you can. It’s different.”

“I don’t usually get into trouble,” you shrugged, “I just like getting out sometimes. It almost makes things feel normal sometimes.”

He regarded you for a few moments, inhaling deeply before exhaling slowly. Your heart skipped a few beats as you wondered if he would yell at you or get you in some sort of trouble, “let’s go.”

“I’m - wait. What?” your eyes widened in surprise when he definitely said the opposite of what you had expected, “go home?”

“Let’s go out,” he reached for your hand and gently took it in his before he started to tug you along towards the way out. You were rooted in place, staring at him incredulously. He laughed, the soft sound made butterflies explode in your tummy, “what?”

“You mean it?” you whispered as the smile on his face grew, “Joel?”

“Let’s go out in the world and get away for a little bit,” he insisted softly. A small part of you was convinced that this was all fake and that he was going to get you in trouble. But the larger part of you knew that Joel would never do just a thing. And the tender look in his eyes solidified that for you, “what do you say?”

“Yes,” you agreed with a shy smile and fervent nod, “let’s go.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“You should tell him, you know,” Lizzy nudged your side with your elbow and despite the serious look you were attempting to keep on your face, you giggled lightly. You ignored her comment as you turned back your attention towards the sky, as you studied the big, fat fluffy clouds. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you huffed, trying to tune out the way she looked at you with a coquettish little smirk, “busy Lizzy, mind your own business!”

“You’re my best friend,” she reminded you, causing you to grumble at her, but it was all laced with affection, “I’m a part of your life and I’m just trying to get you in the right direction.”

“There is no right or wrong direction,” you groaned, hiding your face in your hands, “there’s nothing there, Lizzy. I’m just a dumb kid with a big, fat crush and that’s all it’ll ever be. Can we drop it?”

“You’re so blind! It’s so obvious that he feels the same,” you loved Lizzy, and her tenacity was one of her amazing qualities. But right now it just felt so…overwhelming. You blinked back the tears that had threatened to well up and shook your head, “sweetheart-”

“Lizzy,” you put your hand on her arm and gave it a squeeze, “Joel doesn’t like me like that. I’m just a kid to him and that’s all I’ll ever be, and that’s okay. I’ll get over it…one day.”

“You’re so blind!” she was laughing, and despite the sound being so lovely and soft, your heart constricted in your chest. Before she could open her mouth to say anything else, you heard a loud throat clear from behind you. The two of you sat up in surprise, turning your attention towards the door to the roof. 

Fuck. Of course. Of course Joel Miller had to choose the perfect time to make an appearance. Lizzy had a huge grin on her face as she jumped up from the blanket you’d been lying on you. You looked at her in desperation as she practically skipped over to Joel and past him, smiling sweetly at the older man. 

In your anxious state you held up your hand in a meek little wave. Joel chuckled softly before making his way over to you. Without waiting for an invite, he sat down next to you, his thigh pressed against yours. 

“You heard all of that, didn’t you?” your entire body was warm and you almost wished that something would have popped up to create a distraction. Not like fully on clicker distraction, but something. You keep your gaze trained anywhere but him as embarrassment washed over you. 

“I did,” he admitted as you groaned internally. You could practically feel his pretty brown eyes focused on, but you weren’t ready to die of humiliation just yet. 

“Of course,” you nodded in annoyance, at yourself more than anything. You groaned before letting out a small huff. You finally managed to turn your face towards him and to your surprise, he didn’t look mad or angry, “I’m umm…sorry. I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” it was a genuine question that caused you to shrug noncommittally, “the fact that I found out or for the feelings themself?”

“Both, I guess,” maybe the ground could open up and swallow you whole. That might be a nice change of pace, “m-mostly the fact that you found out.”

“So you’re not sorry for the feelings?”

“Can’t really help your feelings, can you?”

“No,” he agreed, shooting a curious little look, “I guess you can’t.”

“I hope this doesn’t make things awkward,” you whispered, “I try to stay away from you, but I swear you always seem to pop up out of nowhere. It always feels like the universe is laughing at me.”

“Almost like it wasn’t a coincidence at all…”

“I guess you’re….wait,” you turned your attention to him, allowing yourself to look at the man in question, “not a coincidence? What do you mean?”

“You’re a smart girl,” he praised and oh. If you didn’t enjoy being praised before, you sure did now, “you can put two and two together.”

“I….Joel-”

“Lizzy wasn’t as far off as you think she was,” he stated it so simply like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Your mouth dropped open as you stared at him, waiting for him to drop the just kidding bomb. He put his finger under your chin and gently closed your mouth, “is it really that hard to believe?”

“N-no,” you admitted softly, “I guess not. Just…are you sure? Me? Why…I don’t get it. Why me?”

“Don’t do that,” he insisted firmly, “the self doubt - there’s no reason for it.”

“I’m just…me.”

“Exactly,” he answered, leaving no room for any sort of back-talk, “you’re not just some kid or just a nobody. Not to me.”

“But I…I-”

He rested his hand on your neck, his thumb gently brushing along your soft skin, “I’m going to kiss you now, okay?”

“Oh. Oh,” your eyes widened for a moment before you felt the soft press of his lips against yours. It wasn’t much of a kiss, more of a soft brushing of lips, both of you testing the waters. When he pulled back, you found him watching you with a soft expression on his face, “that was…you kissed me.”

“I did,” he echoed his words from earlier, “and I’d like to do it again if you’re okay with it.”

“Yes,” you smiled shyly at him, “I’d like that a lot.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” and he was kissing you again, like the two of you had been doing this for a long time, like it was the most normal thing in the world. 

Maybe you weren’t just some dumb kid after all.

[obsessivelullabies]

oh my god your Graves writing is so good!! I really enjoyed your last two pieces

I can't help but imagine sugar daddy or dilf Graves...oh my god the thought is so yummy

you can write this sfw or nsfw, whichever you prefer! thank you!

why not both? graves is probably in his early or mid forties, you’re still in college so you’re probably in your early twenties.

phillip met you while you were at work, he thought you were just the sweetest little thing. the more he talked to you, the harder he fell. he’d visit your work just to talk to you for a few minutes. whenever your attention shifted to another customer, he’d get jealous.

so, one day, he calmly asked for your phone number. after your shift, you got a text from him saying he wanted to take care of you. a pretty young thing like you shouldn’t be working so hard. you deserved to be treated with love and care, and graves could do exactly that for you.

due to how much you hated your job, you took the chance. phillip was overjoyed. that night, he took you out on a charming restaurant date, finally being able to have all of your attention. he asked you about yourself, bragged about himself and constantly told you how perfect you looked.

that night, phillip insisted you come back home with him. he’d be eager to slip you out of your clothes, finally admiring your body. this had always been his fantasy since he laid his eyes on you.

the sounds of your moans and gasps was music to his ears. phillip would tease you through it, “aw, sugar. ya’ look so desperate for me. i’ll give you what ya need.”.

once he’s finished with you, he’ll hold you as if he wasn’t ever letting you go. thankfully, the next morning he released you. you could tell he didn’t want you to leave, he kept trying to show you things or start a new conversation.

he definitely pays you an insane amount of money for just your time. he wants you to keep coming back to him, no matter the cost.

graves takes you on all kinds of different dates: shopping, movie nights at his place, dinner, even picnics. whatever you want to do, he’ll take you out.

he definitely wants you to just come to his house, cook him dinner, chat mindlessly with him and then hold him through the night.

phillip loooves when you give him a blowjob. he adores watching you sink to your knees and take his cock in your mouth til he cums down your throat or on your chest.

he always wants to cum inside you, as if he’s claiming you through the intimate act. graves definitely mocks you a little whenever you cum.

lord forbid someone ever tries stealing your attention from him. he’ll do everything in his power to keep your affections on him. he’ll offer more money, more dates, more shopping trips. anything. he definitely gets desperate.

phillip just wants to love you.

masterlist! | requests open. | reblogs and comments appreciated. | end is unedited.

[nihil-ism]

𝟐𝟎 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒.

1. How many works do you have on AO3? Nine and counting! I do have the occasional scraps of WIPs stashed in various places, including my singular brain cell, but I usually only start publishing once they are fleshed out enough.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count? 110,204 words.

3. What fandoms do you write for? Resident Evil and Final Fantasy for the most part. I am working on a draft for a Dune fic as well, but due to my shifted writing time, which is sadly not much presently, I put it on hold in favor of continuing my re fic.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

The Unquiet Grave (Resident Evil) | @virologikal

The Darker the Weather, The Better The Man (Final Fantasy VIII)

Fallacy (Final Fantasy VIII)

Day 1 - A White Lie (Final Fantasy XV)

Obsession (Final Fantasy VIII)

5. Do you respond to comments? Absolutely! I try to do so in a timely fashion, sometimes it does take me a while though, especially when I'm busy doing other things and not checking in on my AO3. I am deeply humbled whenever someone takes some time out of their day to leave some words (or even compliments!) on my fics and it means a lot to me.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? ...is this a bad time to menion I haven't really finished a fic before? x'D I mean, aside from my one shots of course. I have a penchant for working on massive ideas that take forever to write, so yeah. Anyroad though, the answer currently would be a hard tie between either The Price of Perfection (Resident Evil) or Love me whole (Final Fantasy VIII). The first is a glimpse at Wesker's life from birth to death, the second is a songfic based off of Missio's Love me whole, and focuses on a toxic interpretation of Squall and Seifer's ... "relationship".

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Day 2 - Festivities (Final Fantasy XV), easily. It was part of a series for an event or somesuch a couple years ago and focused on more casual themes (which I admittedly usually don't tackle).

8. Do you get hate on fics? Thankfully no.

9. Do you write smut? Big yes to that. I actually love writing intricate smut, which I did for Final Fantasy VIII without much story or context. I should get back on that for Resident Evil and Dune at some point (not everything has to be a novel Nihil, gdi.....) But admittedly, I enjoy when there is some set up around the actual smut just as much. It can be an amazing vehicle to convey character development, power dynamics, show trust or the loss thereof... I am a fan hahah.

10. Do you write crossovers? I did write crossovers in rp, so I think technically I could. But in fanfic, I personally don't really see the need to as I prefer to take the canon lore and expand on it, see how many headcanons I can make work with the actual lore so it fits seamlessly as if it was intended to be there. I do enjoy reading the occasional crossover though!

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not to my knowledge.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Not yet, no. I am comfortable writing in English, despite German being my mother language, and honestly I don't think I could properly translate certain things into German without it sounding weird/cringe.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? Nope! I could imagine doing that if I ever get my time schedule sorted. And I actually had plans to do a co-written fic with a friend ( looking at you, Bee :p ) but alas, time. I do sometimes help people brainstorm some fic ideas though if that counts^^

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship? Almahart (Squall Leonhart & Seifer Almasy), and of course Chrisker (Chris Redfield & Albert Wesker). Something about the blond bad guys and the brunet heroes ig °^^ With Almahart it's the tragedy binding the two together, the fact that Squall became everything Seifer wanted to be (without Squall even really trying/wanting it!), the resentment and rivalry that only barely manages to conceil the real feelings. I like them both as a ship that solves their hardships eventually, and as a toxic ship with Seifer never redeeming himself and not wanting to, either. As for Chrisker, it's a similar streak but darker, more violent, with a lot of psychological warfare included. The hardest thing is to convey Wesker's machinations and how he views the world (according to my interpretation) because I write him as extremely closed off, keeping to himself even with his facial expressions. It's a challenge to portray him correctly and I like it a lot. I love the tangle the both of them are in, how Chris wants to hate Wes so much for all he has done, while simultaneously being unable to let go, even decades later. There is desperation, hatred, blood, passion, everything I love in a ship.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? I am absolutely convinced I will finish both my Resident Evil project (which will consist of multiple one shots, The Unquiet Grave, as well as a sidestory to it focusing on HUNK), as well as The Darker the Weather, The Better the Man. What I will say though is that I am also certain it will take a long ass while. Both are huge and complex stories, so building them up and telling them correctly is time consuming, and oftentimes real life gets in the way, sadly. I hope the people who were excited about The Darker the Weather will have patience with me.

16. What are your writing strengths? I want to say my high standards when it comes to fleshing out characters, finding their voice and writing their perspective. It's at least something I get a lot of compliments for, so I seem to be doing something right ^^ Also, I am very thorough when it comes to canon. I try to keep everything in mind and weave my story into the existing lore and world as seamlessly as possible. For The Unquiet Grave I took a whole day to collect all possible information about the entire Resident Evil Timeline (it spans from 1909 to 2037), which I regularly consult while I am writing to make sure I have events lined up properly.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? I definitely question myself too much. As in, if the quality I am providing is good enough; if the characters are OOC, things like that. It's my perfectionism getting in the way of things. Generally I have a bad habit on putting too much unneccessary pressure on myself (publish within a certain time, write a certain amount of words, etc.) - silly, really.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? Ohhh yeah I love that! I don't use this enough and definitely should. (needless to say but it should not be too much untranslated content of course, and made available for the readers in some way so they know what is being said)

19. First fandom you wrote for? I believe my very first fic was Ville Valo x Lauri Ylönen, don't hit me for writing smut about real life people please xD I was young! Aside from that, Final Fantasy VIII or Angel Sanctuary, not sure anymore (I am rather certain it was FFVIII though because I have always been obsessed with it)

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?  Urgh this is hard.... Given how much my writing has improved and how I learned to apply certain tools (like drafting properly etc), I'd have to say The Unquiet Grave. Since I am not writing in my first language, the time I practised between this and The Darker the Weather definitely had a positive impact.

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘: @judasiskariot (thanks again!) 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐆: @sauron-kraut . @no-bee (if you like ofc) - any everyone who would like to do this, feel free to steal!

[grelfboy]

FUCK YEAH songs i actually listen to (you made a grave mistake asking me to talk about music @maleposting i’m about to get so VERY annoying)

let’s start with her. sad reflection song. end of semester anthem, ESPECIALLY end of spring semesters holy shit (but it works year long because my uni is in fuckass fl). in seriousness, the lyricism is so pretty, the outro production is beautiful, and i am a personal slut for any song with a reverb’d guitar.

next up, HER. i could’ve chosen literally any song from this album and it would’ve worked (i wanted to do Black Mascara but ik how RAYE feels about that song and how she hates dance pop so-). lyricism on point. vocals ON POINT. PRODUCTION?? ON POINT. fucking wonderful song and a great early album track.

HEHEHEHEHEHE. gracie. good god i love her so fucking much. this album is just…it’s like if a dying bisexual wallflower was an album. and the fact that the deluxe version coming in june is gonna have Block me out on it…she did that for me and me ONLY. lyricism is sad, chorus is so…oh my god, and aaron dessner produced this so you already know the production is fucking insane.

okay for #3, he’s is a relatively newer one i found! i love anything industrial, softer rock (horrible examples but With Or Without You, 1979, anytning with a peaceful reverb guitar and a good drum) and 90s rock. i found Third Eye Blind actually through their poppiest song (Queen of Daydreams) but it was AM-recommended tracks from on Blue that got me to go back to their old music. lyricism is great, the production is so…skittish? out of control in some places? the speed shifts and the guitars oh god i just love it. and Stephan Jenkins’ vocals…god there’s something so like…idk. he’s wonderful.

and finally…

three words CAAAAN WEEEEE GOOOOOOOO-

sorry. this song. this fucking SONGGGGGG. one thing about CHVRCHES they sure know how to open a fuckin album. anyways. my most listened to song of this year. 150+ streams already. not counting instrumental versions i listened to thru YouTube. it’s perfect. in every way. it’s like a 5min song but it feels like 2. everything about it. EVERYTHING. FUCK ITS SO GOOD. like what can’t i say about it. there’s a plot, there’s build, a production that’s so scattered and overwhelming in THEEE BEST way possible…….and the vocality HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH i’m in pain. it’s all so fucking good.

okay idc just do it if u want don’t even tag me if u don’t want to actually wait no tag me i wanna see yall talk about your favorite songs i love seeing it :D

[dairy-farmer]

Sorry, sorry if this question is poorly worded, but english is not my first language, but I love everything you write, you're great. I also have an idea in my head, but I can't write anything. Could you write me something where Bruce is Tim's biological father, is very possessive of him, and have a relationship.

thank you so much!!! I'm so happy you enjoy my work!! 🥰 and anon you might have the best timing I've ever seen!! I just finished a thread just like this based on a sinailr concept of bio dad bruce having a relationship ship with tim from these few tweets from this Twitter user!!!

❤️❤️❤️ talk about knocking out two birds with one stone ❤️❤️❤️

----

bruce has never felt for someone the way he has for tim. with dick, with jason: being their father had been different. it had felt different. there was something about tim that just filled bruce with some kind of satisfaction.

maybe it was because they were fucking. it hadn't been on purpose, bruce wasn't some depraved monster that was just waiting on the opportunity to prey on an unsupervised child.

but bruce he...after jason... he hadn't been in a good place. the world had been dark and he'd felt so hopeless. tim had squirmed in and in the beginning bruce had resented him. he'd hated him. wanted him gone. bruce didn't remember their first time. the alcohol had hazed his mind, blurred his memory.

when he woke up with tim on his lap, his softened cock nestled into a little wet pussy and soft snoring pressed to his chest. bruce should've been horrified. he should've been disgusted. but instead he'd stared. stared at where they were joined and at the dried spurts of cum coloring his cock and tim's cunt.

tim woke up slowly, lips smacking with drool and lifting his head up to stare at bruce who was silently watching him.

bruce should've taken that serious, grave and asked tim if he was alright. if he could tell him what happened.

instead all he could pay attention to was the shift of warm walls wrapped around his cock. tim was so stretched and sloppy around him and he was already wet with bruce's cum so he'd  just...

tim had looked so good getting fucked on bruce's office floor. his head had been thrown back, mouth open and gasping on his moans as bruce brutally fucked him. every bit of hurt, rage and anguish was pumped into tim's needy little pussy until bruce was cumming so hard he could barely feel the hole in his chest.

and afterwards...when the clarity returned to him. when he looked down and saw what he’d done. tim reddened and split open pussy drolling white, hot cum down his thighs, all he could feel was a sense of fulfillment. of accomplishment and lax pleasure.

maybe using sex to heal from trauma wasn't the best thing to do. maybe using the kid that he took under his wing made him a monster. but after a few weeks, he and tim developed into something...something more.

they worked together better, understood each other on a deeper level. they had things in common, interests and hobbies. they liked the same foods, disliked the same people. maybe it wouldve been easier to keep his distance like he’d been planning if he and tim didn't...get along so well.

bruce likes seeing tim, likes talking and interacting with him. the sex only gets better the closer they grow. it numbs bruce from the moments where he's reminded of jason but it also fills him with so much...arousal.

seeing as tim bends over for him, gets on his knees for him, spread his legs. bruce injects tim every other month with enough hormones to ensure he won't get pregnant. it's the easiest method they can get away with because alfred checks the medical supplies.

he'd see the birth control pills or the condoms but also....

bruce likes how it feels. he likes the hot grip of tim's unprotected pussy. he likes soaking his walls with enough cum to have it leaking out of the side of his cock that he plugs in him.

and tim doesn't mind. he hums in pleasure, makes soft noises as bruce presses down on his lower gut, right over his womb so he watch cum drip out of him in an obscene way. in reward for letting him cum as deep and often as he wants, bruce massages tim's little pink clit.

he fondles it until tim’s hips are squirming, trying to escape his hands, white pearly tears dripping down his cheeks as he whines "bruce! bruce! bruce!". bruce couldn't help the odd feeling that flooded him at the sound of his name coming from tim's pretty mouth. it's not that he didn't like it. but something about it felt...off.

he and tim have been sharing a bed for months when bruce is doing a routine health check on tim's. it's performed once a year and is similar to a physical. it's the first one tim's had since becoming robin.

bruce isn't even paying attention, he's working on something else while waiting for results from tim's blood test to come up. he's testing for hCG while he's at it too not that bruce thinks something mightve gotten messed up.

but it's better to be on top of that sort of thing. he and tim have been having sex A LOT. almost a few times every other day and bruce doesn't exactly hold back from cumming inside him. in fact bruce is waiting for tim to come back from school. he's been nursing a half hard cock most of the day since he woke up.

normally he'd press tim's sleeping thighs open and fuck him awake, cumming deep enough into him he'd be leaking all day. but it had been a long night.

tim's parents had returned for a week so tim spent time over there instead of the manor.

so bruce got used to sleeping in a bit later and ended up waking up after tim had already left. bruce was lost in thought when the results chimed in with results.

a gray box stating tim's blood had (2) matches on record appeared on the screen, which had bruce frowning because his data bank only had a specific brand of people loaded up on it. people he'd personally input himself.

bruce opens it and immediatly recalls a habit he'd gotten into when he 'fucked up'. that being having unprotected sex. bruce couldn't have his DNA on record because the risk of someone picking up a sample of his as batman after a rough fight and getting a match. it was too high.

so when bruce was younger and messed up with his various hookups he'd steal a swap or two and take a little blood to test for diseases in the cave. it was good practice for the newly put in forensic system and it saved him a trip to leslie.

bruce never worried about pregnancy because it was high society and wealthy, cultured women he fucked. women with careers and ambitions and babies just didn't fit into those plans. most used birth control. janet drake, it seemed, hadn't.

bruce remembered her. well actually he remembered the sweet cocktails on her tongue as they'd drunkenly hooked up in the hall outside a party. a drunken fuck. bruce too blitzed to remember it. it's ironic almost. like mother like son.

bruce stares at the match for "maternal line" and then let his eyes drift to the "paternal line" match. he should be sickened. he should be putting his hands on his knees and heaving with vomit burning at the back of his throat.

but all he can feel is a vague feeling of victory.

bruce hadn’t been happy when tim's parents returned. he especially hadn't been happy listening as tim babbled on about his dad and all the things he promised to do with tim now that he was back in town.

bruce had dismissed the strange feeling in his gut as discomfort from the fresh memory of his and jason's relationship but now he could identify that bitter tang in the back of his throat. jealousy. anger. frustration. it was why he'd kept tim on his cock the entire day leading up to his return to his home next door.

something about jack had tickled something in bruce. alerted a feeling of possessiveness in him because try as he might, tim belonged to jack first. he came from jack's seed, was raised by his hand, he was the one tim tripped over himself to follow and greet with a wide smile.

but that wasn't true was it?

bruce was deleting the results, removing the parameter to find matches automatically from the system. he didn't think of what tim would think, didn't want to risk the chance that he'd want to stop what they were doing.

not when bruce...not when he finally found what he needed.  he'd lost his child and maybe through some screwed up twist of fate a son was being returned to him.

something in his had 'clicked' when he saw those results.

his and tim's overwhelming similarities. that odd connection he'd felt for tim that he hadn't for dick or jason. the way his hands gripped and held tim when they fucked. making him take all of him, trying to stake a claim even when he knew he had a father.

well. not really. jack was more of a...fill in. he didn't have more of a right to tim than anyone else, certainly not more than bruce who knew tim. in the biblical sense.

bruce never mentions it. if anything he hides it. tim never seems to view bruce as anything other than a mentor but...eventually...after jack and janet pass and tim is as lost as bruce was after jason died. then. THEN he sees bruce as the father he always was.

and bruce cannot express the joy and satisfaction that overflows in him when tim first claws at him, scrambling for purchase and crying out "daddy! daddy!" with tears streaming down as bruce fucks into his little cunt.

tim had shivered and gasped, clenching around him so tightly when bruce first groaned in his ear, asking him to "tell daddy how good it feels". tim's cunt had gotten so sloppy and wet when bruce started stroking tim, calling him his sweet baby boy. cupping his tits and kissing them. asking if he liked when daddy kissed his little tits.

pressing fingers into him and asking him if he liked when daddy touched him 'down there'. bruce could see the desperation grow on tim's face. with every hitch of his breath and arch into bruce's body. every strained nod and broken moan.

until finally. finally. bruce's efforts were rewarded.

tim was sobbing, cheeks red and legs spread open obscenely, his pussy was sucking bruce in and coating it in clear slick from his gushing pretty cunt.

"oh my baby, you take me so good," bruce praised in his ear. he was pressing tim into the mattress, rocking their bodies together and holding back the heat bubbling in him as gripped tims hips to fuck him deeper.

"oh you're being so good for daddy, taking his cock, you want my cum baby? you want daddy to cum in you?"

tim's eyes were rolled to the back of his skull. his mouth was open only capable of letting out choked whines. bruce's cock was snug inside tim, stretching him out.

bruce could feel his cock was right at the base of tim's womb, head right against the cervix as he idly thrusted in. one of bruce's hands was tightly gripping tim's tit, squeezing it and digging hard fingers in until tim weakly moaned.

bruce couldn't get off until he heard tim beg him to cum inside, until he begged his daddy to fuck him hard, to finish in him. bruce had thoughts of one of the times taking. of him knocking tim up with both his grandchild and child. tim being pregnant with both his sibling and baby.

bruce fucked in a little deeper at the thought and tim jolted, his little pussy clenched and contracted around bruce. he opened up so easy as bruce fed more cock into him.

bruce had gotten tim's cunt used to the stretch of him. before it used to be a struggle to fuck in and bottom out but now bruce could slide in and tim fit like a glove. all snug and hot and wet.

"you don't let anyone but daddy fuck you do you?" bruce let out a breathless sigh at the tight grip tim had on his cock. fuck he was getting so close. "only daddy can put anything inside you-"

fingers, a tongue, cock, a fucking baby.

tim was his. all his. whether he knew the extent of which that was true or not. no one could ever have tim like bruce did, not when he was made from bruce’s very DNA.

constructed in his image and perfect. meant for this. meant for bruce. tim has been squirming more at his words, gasping and letting out choked groans as he tried to fuck down on the cock lodged inside him.

"b-bruce!! nnnmmm please! bru-"

"that's not my name," bruce replied even as he felt his balls clench tight. " you know what to say to get what you want baby."

bruce followed with a tender stroke of tim's cheek and tim broke.

"daddy!" tim was on the verge of wailing, his eyes scrunched and forehead creased in pleasure as he felt bruce rear back. "daddy please mmmnn please! PLEASE!"

there's something sick in bruce. broken even. bruce lost something when jason died, something that turned him into a man that would do this. that would gleefully swallow his child whole.

bruce covers tim's body with his as they cum together because they only ever cum together. he buries his moans in tim's tender throat as he bursts pure white into his young womb.

tim arches his hips off the bed, legs wrapped tightly around bruce's waist to keep him inside, so addicted to the pleasure of orgasms ripping through him with bruce tucked inside and warming him from within.

tim sobs, little sounds interspersed with pleading whines of 'daddy' as bruce grunts. fireworks flying behind his eyelids as he releases into tim, filling him to the brim with the same hot cum that made him.

"baby," bruce moans, repeating it like a broken record. cradling tim closer as he thrust in at another burst of cum. "my baby, fuck nnnmm yes, yes nnngh take me, take all of me-"

tim exists because of him,  for him.

he's bruce's. only bruce's.

bruce lets out a drawn out moan, swallowing his son's sobbing cries with his mouth and swirling his tongue in that hot, sweet mouth.

all of of tim was HIS. and bruce would make sure to enjoy every bit.

[writingmysanity]

Comfort

Pairing: Bucky x reader

word count: 543

TW: death mentioned, funeral

Prompt: "Dont cry, everything will work out"

Bright colors- greens, pinks, oranges and even some reds. Vibrant indication of spring- filled by flowers. Flowers, flowers everywhere… basking in the warm midmorning sun- in the cracks of the sidewalk, along the side of the road, and in your hands as you laid them to rest on top of your mother's coffin before they lowered her down.

Everyone had kind words to say, on the worst day of your life, and you couldn't bring yourself to care for a single one of them.

Quietly, everyone disperses, leaving you alone at the newly buried grave, with nothing more than a hand drawn marker to acknowledge who laid there.

The ride back to Stark tower was silent, but you were thankful for it. You weren't sure you could stand to hear "everything will work out" or "everything happens for a reason" even once more. Pepper had to keep you from punching out your great aunt, her tone unnerving, crass and judging.

"Don't cry, girl. Everything works out the way it's meant to" before off-handedly spitting in the way of the grave.

Your mother never liked her, and neither did you.

Everyone was just getting home from a mission when you walked in, they were still stripping gear. You, for once, didnt stop to inquire how things went.

They all came back alive. 

It went well enough.

Instead, you planted yourself in your spot on the couch, and stare at the tv. Nothing is on, but you couldn't bring yourself to care.

"You should go comfort her," Sam states as-a-matter-of-factly, digging through the cupboard, looking back at Bucky. A look of surprise crosses his face, point at himself skeptically.

"Me? Why me?"

"You're closer to her than any of us." Steve agrees, leaning against the counter. Shifting from foot to foot, Bucky looks over at you sadly. He hates seeing you like this.

"How?"

"Start with a-" the last words were muffled, as Sam continues to shove chips in his mouth.

"A what?" Bucky snorts, turning to look at him "and really?" He motions to him, still half in his falcon suit, shoving food in his mouth, crumbs falling on his chest. Sam huffs.

"Hug. A hug. Start with a hug, genius." He pauses, looking at the food in his hand "and what? I stress eat."

Rolling his eyes, bucky makes his way over to you quietly, settling in next to you without saying a word. After a few moments to gather is thoughts on what he is going to say, he turns to you. You watch as the words die on his lips, his hand twitching in his lap, wanting to grab something.

"You… you have something in your hair… um- do you want me to get it out?"

Amongst everything- the pain, the aggravation, the almost too chipper day- you laugh. Hard. And harder at his dumb founded expression before wiping at your eyes, tears finding their way down your cheeks.

"You suck at this comfort thing." You state, taking his hand lightly. He smiles down at you, lacing his fingers with yours.

"Awe shucks" he drawls, mimicking your accent. Badly. "Come here, doll"

As he wraps his arms around you, you melt, burying your face in his chest.

Everything will work out.

[livingwithlosingyou]

Living with Losing You - 8/23/2022

I am Exhausted. 

Today, my company experienced a small lay off. While it was small, I unfortunately ended up losing half of my team. It really feels like I cannot catch a break. While I completely understand the direction of the organization, and appreciate the care they took in this situation, it still is hard. we are all human, and have emotions. 

My hands look a lot better today, but my feet look scary. To be honest, I kept them in shoes / socks for most of the day. I had not soaked my feet in Cassidy’s magic sauce that she made (Cassidy should trademark it) but I caved and am currently letting them soak. I also realized that the rash that I have on my legs and under my butt got worse too. I felt the pain, but I didn’t realize how bad it was until I took a picture of it. I am not sure if I want to put anything on it, it already burns. I feel like anything would make it worse. Let’s see how that is tomorrow. I will spare the pictures of my feet and below my butt. 

Today flew by because i worked for about 12 hours. I felt bad because I definitely flubbed on part of my project, but it is what it is. I have been trying to give myself grace in more aspects of my life. especially right now while I am going through so much. I got Public Square again, I really can’t stop eating it. I need to be better about cooking and such, it was just literally painful with my hands, plus it’s been really hot outside. When I cook it makes the entire apartment like 10 degrees hotter. I’m just sorta at a point where I am like “take my money” and just living off of takeout. I realize this isn't sustainable, but it’s temporary. Just need to get better, 

I felt like I needed to get something off my chest today, but I had a little bit or writers block. I hate it when that happens. I am sure it’ll come to me in the next few days, it always does. I have just been thinking about how much I miss you. I just miss all the little things. I miss knowing you existed, and that I could call you, text you, etc. whenever. I miss those nights when you’d drive to my apartment after your shift and sneak in bed. I miss waking up at 4am with you to help you get ready for work. I honestly even miss the times when you were drunk and sleeping, and I was taking care of you and holding you. I miss EVERYTHING. I would assume that’s normal. Wanting drunk you over not having you. I loved you so much James. I should say that I love you so much. I know you can hear me when I say that. 

I was able to take Sadie on a pretty good walk this evening. She needed it after being cooped up in here all day. I am grateful for the reduced schedule, because after tomorrow I will have a couple of days off to recoup. I really need that. I did end up moving my flight to KY, I will not be there from 9/29 - 10/18. It’s weird to think that a year ago a little after that time was when I flew out to Pennsylvania to meet you after you got out of Rehab. I still can’t believe that this is where we are today. 

I wanted to be able to be with your family on your birthday, because I know it’s going to be a hard day for all of us. I think I know what I want to do for you on your birthday, but I do not want to disclose on here what all of my ideas are yet. I know your mom and I talked about your favorite vanilla bean cake (she said she would try and make it GF., sorry to ruin your cake LOL). I did get to talk to both of your parents today. They’re hanging in there, we all are. I hope that you are giving them signs and love too, they need it. 

Something that is worth mentioning that I literally laughed out loud at was the conversation that your dad and I had about the placard on your gravesite. Beth and I had talked about a few funny ideas, since that’s who you were to your core. mark had mentioned maybe doing describing words, such as “loved, lived, laugh” and I immediately stopped him. I said, “Don’t Live, Laugh, Love Jake. He is probably rolling around in his grave at this conversation”. Honestly though, don’t think you’d want that on your gravesite forever. NOPE. I won’t let it happen, don’t worry. Maybe send your dad a sign that that is not what you’d want on there. Is it heaven, or is it just a white woman’s instagram aka Jake’s gravesite placard. You would have appreciated that joke. 

I really am excited to go back to KY though. For multiple reasons. I think it will be very sad to go to the places that we did just one year ago, but it will be nice to make new memories while I am out there. I really want to try and be there for your family as much as I can be, they mean a lot to me. And I know you meant a lot to them. You still mean a lot to all of us. 

Your legacy will continue. That is a guarantee. 

I should really try to get some sleep, I have a long day of delegating tasks for work. The hydroxyzine is definitely kicking in. 

Every morning and evening I greet you. People might think that’s weird but it is what it is. It’s really not when you’re in the thick of it. 

Well, I love you, forever and always. You’re the reason for the tear drops on my guitar, and saying goodbye is death by a thousand cuts. #taylorswiftreferencesFTW

I love you, it’s you I love. 

Rest in Peace, James Burton Nichols

10/1/1993 - 7/16/2022

[datingdonovan]

a/n: I finally sat down and wrote this the other day and ive lost the will to edit it any more :) you get it. anyhow have approx 2.25k cece calm down bro, stop going so hard????!!!?!?! for the wonderful @hinatawa's can I get your name to go? collab <3

ps. @mimi-cee-hq, the gemini™️, and all other futakuchi lovers. come get ur food <3

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t nervous for your first day. You know you should be grateful to your friend for putting in a good word for you when they quit, but honestly, working in the coffee shop just off campus was never an idea you’d found particularly alluring, or even really considered before they’d brought it up.

It’s turning out to be even more stressful than you thought it would be, now, in the back room at 6:30AM, with this dorky shift manager standing in front of you explaining all the ins and outs of what to do. You thought he would set you free after he finished his spiel on how to make all the different kinds of coffee, but now he’s on to the part where he describes—in great detail—every type of customer. Which you’ve conveniently been spacing out for.

“Hey! Did you get that last one?”

The poor man eyes you a little warily, like he’s finally getting the sense that trying to teach you everything at once is a woeful waste of time.

You don’t know what to do but tell him the truth. “Kogane, look, I’m sorry. This is just a lot to take in—.”

“I know. I know.” He holds his hands up in defense. “I’m sorry, I’m rushing you. It’s just, I know these people better than you do and I want to make sure you’re prepared.”

“I mean, is it really that bad?”

Kogane’s eyebrows pull together immediately. “No, no! Being a barista is great. I love it.” Of course he does. He’s a social butterfly and a ball of boundless energy, bouncing from foot to foot even now. “I just think there are some people who won’t go easy on you just because you’re new.” All of a sudden, he stands still and fixes you with a grave stare. “Some people need their coffee now.”

“But you know them. You can help me, right?”

“Not this afternoon. We’re gonna be short-staffed. Just me and you. And I’m gonna have to help unload some new stuff getting delivered. That’s why this is so important.”

You take a deep breath. You barely even remember how to work that machine that does frappes. How you’re going to hold down the entire shop for half an hour while he unloads the truck is beyond you. “Okay, Koganegawa. Tell me again.”

His eyes flick up to the ceiling and dance around like he’s searching the depths of his brain, trying to figure out the key things to emphasize to you. When he meets your eyes again, he’s determined. “The most important person to watch out for is Futakuchi. I mean, he’s a great guy, really. Just hates his midday classes. He always skips lunch and then winds up in here acting like a total grouch, but he knows I’ll give him a discount so—.”

“Wait. I’m confused. If he’s rude, why are we giving him discounts?”

Kogane stares at you, dumbfounded. “Because we’re friends.”

“The scary guy I have to watch out for is your friend?”

The man in front of you stays quiet for a moment, mouth hanging open as he thinks. “Well, yeah. He can just be kinda intense sometimes and you don’t know him like I do so I don’t want you to get offend—.”

The bell on the door dings and Kogane turns on his heel toward the sound. “First customer!” He smiles back at you. “I’ll explain the rest to you later.”

He did not, in fact, explain the rest to you later, so here you are, standing behind the counter, counting down the minutes until he gets back. You know you shouldn’t be nervous—apparently the guy you’re supposed to be afraid of is a college student. How terrible could he possibly be?

Still, your palms start to sweat a little every time someone new steps into the cafe. Kogane didn’t even give you a description of his friend, so you have no clue what you’re supposed to be watching out for. At this point, it’s been twenty minutes that you’ve been manning the counter by yourself, and you’ve heaved a sigh of relief every time the person entering the shop looks older than twenty-five.

And when someone your age does come in? Oh, hell. Earlier, a blonde kid had stepped up to the counter and said his order a little bit too fast. You’d immediately assumed the worst, completely clamming up and embarrassing yourself, only to leave the guy stuttering apologies as you almost spilled his drink all over him. You honestly wish Kogane hadn’t given you a warning at all. It’s freaking you out, maybe even more than being taken by surprise would.

You’re sure your shift manager will be back any minute, though. All you have to do is hold out for another customer or two, and then he’ll come save you from having to deal with the notorious Futakuchi.

The bell on the door jingles, pulling you out of your thoughts, and an unassuming tall guy walks in. You can't help but tense a little at the fact that he looks your age, and you wonder if this is the moment you've been stressing about all afternoon. But as this guy walks closer, you realize he doesn’t look angry, just bored, staring down at his phone with his brown hair flopping in his face.

The man steps up to the register, not even sparing you a glance. “I’ll have my usual.”

And you just stand there. Not only is the man in front of you asking for something you have no clue how to give him, he’s standing close enough to you that you can see his sharp jaw, the way his eyes track the game he’s playing, the soft slope of his nose, and you can just faintly smell his cologne, and he’s… well, he’s hot.

“Um.” Your brain feels like it’s working at half-speed as you try to formulate an acceptable answer. “I don’t actually know—.”

“Come on.” He groans softly, but it’s noncommittal, no bite to it. “Don’t mess with me.” The man glances up at you, just long enough for you to get a glimpse of his eyes. They still look more bored than anything, maybe a little bit annoyed, and then they flick back to the phone in his hand as he continues. “I have somewhere to… be…” The sentence dies in his throat and he lifts his gaze again, eyes fully open now, examining your face more closely for the first time. “Oh.” He locks his phone and tucks it into his back pocket. “Sorry. You’re new.”

“I’m new,” you repeat dumbly, unable to look away.

The man in front of you smiles a little. His tongue peeks out to wet his lips before he speaks and you don’t know what you did to deserve good luck like this. “So, my usual… is… a caramel latte, but a little extra caramel in the whip cream on top.”

“A latte.” Thank God. You could make a latte at home in your sleep. “Okay. Great. Easy.”

You gingerly punch the order into the register, careful not to skip a step and have to go back to repeat it. Your eyes are focused, trained on the machine in front of you, but you can feel the way the man on the other side of the counter is watching you.

“Do you like it so far?” When you shoot him a confused look, he elaborates. “The job, I mean. Do you think you’ll stay?”

You laugh a little, feeling like you’re being interviewed all of a sudden. “I mean, this is my first day, so hopefully I’ll stay for a little while, I think. Although.” You shouldn’t continue to ramble on, but you do. “I guess I am kind of nervous. Seems like some customers are less than understanding.”

“Who?” The man in front of you looks around at the patrons of the little shop as though he’s offended for you. “Tell me, and I’ll have a polite conversation with them.” He glares jokingly, this little glint of mischief in his eyes, and the two of you both laugh. When he speaks again, he’s more serious, like he’s trying to be suave. “This is the best customer service I’ve had in years.”

You really hope he can’t see how hard you’re sweating right now. “Um. Thank you. Uh, you can put your card in now.” You reach around to show him where to insert it. “Tap or swipe or…” Holy hell. He presses cash directly into your palm, his cold fingers dancing along yours when he pulls his hand away. You gulp down the lump in your throat, just trying to think straight enough to put the money in the register and make change.

“How much, um…” He’s suddenly scratching the back of his neck, like he contracted your nervousness from the skin-on-skin contact. “How much do people usually tip... when the barista is as cute—as good as you. When the barista is as good as you. I didn’t mean to say—.”

“No, you meant to say it.” You laugh.

The man in front of you glances down at his feet and you catch sight of his ears, tipped red from blushing. When he meets your eye again, you can't help but bite your lip, partially because this hot guy is hitting on you and partially because you're... successfully hitting on him back? You honestly have no clue where this is going, but you decide you’re not going to miss your chance to keep the momentum. “Um, usually people don’t have to leave a tip. If they’re going to take me on a date afterward.” You make sure your hand touches his smooth skin when you hand him his change.

“Gonna need your number.”

“Gonna need a name,” you retort. He smirks, and both of you are this perfect mix of coy and bashful. You grab a cup for his drink and prepare to write.

“Futakuchi.”

You drop the pen, mouth hanging open. “You’re—.”

“Futakuchi!” Kogane barges in from the back room, looking between his friend and you. “I see you’ve met our resident grump. Hope he hasn’t given you too much trouble—.”

“Aw, would you shut up?” The dark haired man shoots Kogane a glare and you take the opportunity to scramble for the pen on the floor, allowing yourself to fall into a fit of laughter as the two men talk over the counter above you. You hear the voice of the man you’d been flirting with, a distinct bite to his tone that he hadn’t used with you. “We were actually having a nice conversation.”

“A nice conversation? You? What?” Kogane teases. “Did I miss something?” He looks over at you when you rise from the ground, pen in hand, and something about the way you smile makes him raise his eyebrows. “Oh… Oh.” He flashes Futakuchi a taunting grin, hooking his thumb over at you. “Didn’t know they were your type.”

“Shut up,” the man in front of you mutters.

“You’re so into them, aren’t you? It’s written all over your fac—.”

“I will climb over this counter and strangle you.”

Kogane lifts his hands in defeat, creeping toward the back room. “Alright, I’ll leave you to it.” Before he steps out, he turns to you. “This guy gives you any trouble, you call me, ASAP.” You nod, unable to contain your small huff of laughter. On another day, you’d probably be embarrassed, maybe even upset about the entire conversation that just transpired. Who could blame you? Your shift manager had just joked about whatever feelings this guy had as if you weren’t standing right there in front of the two of them. But the fact that Kogane so obviously meant for it to embarrass his friend—and the fact that it had worked—has you feeling more amused than anything else when you turn back to Futakuchi, whose face is still beet red.

“Did he... say anything about me?”

“Oh, nothing. Just that you’re a really rude, angry customer who can’t stand to wait and always needs to have a discount and—.”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” The man laughs, covering his face with an exaggerated groan. The bell chimes on the front door behind him and he barely looks up at you as he moves away from the counter to wait for his drink.

Kogane slips out from the back room to take care of the next customer, and you write Futakuchi’s name on the cup in your hand. You finally make the simple drink, remembering the extra caramel on top, and when you finish snapping the lid on, he’s there waiting.

“Futakuchi.” You call his name quietly, looking up at him, and the way it sounds coming off your tongue is the sweetest he’s ever heard it. His fingertips brush yours again as he takes the cup from you, the man’s dark eyes earnest as he holds your gaze.

“Guess you aren’t going to want that date after all, huh?”

You smile wide and roll your eyes, shaking your head in disbelief. “I think I can handle your grumpiness. Especially since it seems like it’s literally only directed at Kogane.” The man in front of you laughs. “Just call me whenever.”

Futakuchi rotates the warm cup in his hands and sure enough, there’s your number scrawled beneath his name (which, by the way, is the prettiest he’s ever seen it written, too). He gives a small, timid nod, lifting the cup to his face to hide his smile. Then he holds his hand up to you in a little wave, and he’s leaving through the front door. You don’t miss the fact that when he passes Kogane, he casually throws him the finger.

[1kook]

attachment: 1 image

— jjk x (f) reader

summary; But for Jungkook to initiate some sexting, nevertheless sexting at 1pm on a Saturday, when you were at work and you were almost positive he was supposed to be on stream right now? Unheard of, you had to mark this down somewhere. warnings; sexting, dick pics, dirty talk?, phone sex, vivid depictions of jungkook being just so sexy bc its true, rating; mature (18+) misc; mentions of youtuber kook 🥰, he’s just horny, stupid selfie trends (see here), he’s a little whiny but so hot v.v  wc; 4.6k 

notes; I've had this in my drafts since april 😐 n then i was like maybe we should actually finish this so i started n then last night i hit another follower milestone!!! so then i rlly forced myself to finish this bc i was so 🥺🖤👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 anyway enjoy lmk what u think its not proofread bc uhhhhh yeah 🤩

You’re at work when it happens.

It’s sometime between your usual listless thoughts of what to write for your weekly reflection papers for some course, and your trip to your store’s pharmacy to bother a coworker. Your phone vibrates in the pocket of your work apron. You’re normally pretty good at ignoring the sound, most of the times it’s just a classmate asking for help on homework or Jimin lamenting his love life, so you’ve grown used to ignoring the tiny vibrations, stocking a quarter shelf of different cooking oils before something in your brain tells you to check your phone.

You already know it’s not something grave, but that thought alone means nothing at the sight of the tiny jungkook♡ that appears at the very top of the list of notifications. Your boyfriend’s texts tended to be wildcards, never following a certain routine or alluding to any specifics. He could send you a long paragraph on how much he misses the scent of that one shampoo, the one you’d briefly run through last year because your usual brand was out of stock, with a ten point explanation on why you should switch back to it. Or two word, caveman sentences that drove you crazy because you never understood what exactly he wanted when he’d send those nondescript “munchies dip” texts.

You unlock your phone, clicking to the messenger app instead of directly on the notification. Hopefully the preview will give some warning on whether you should invest in this conversation or not. You hated the read receipts on messages, choosing to ghost conversations as you pleased, but Jungkook had wiggled his way into your phone one afternoon and specifically turned them on for his chat with you, and you’d never turned them off since. So he knows if you choose to ignore Attachment: 1 Image at 1:43pm exactly, and he'll pester you about it until you respond.

You contemplate it all for twenty seconds. It could be a variety of things, you guess, but the only way to find out is to actually see with your own eyes what he’s up to this time. He knows better than to distract you at work, is usually really good at waiting until your shift is over to spam you with messages. For him to send you something now, only a few hours into your shift, is uncharacteristic of him.

But you glance down the aisle anyway, taking note of some elderly woman you’d helped a few minutes prior and another teenager aimlessly walking around, probably looking for the snack aisle. You inhale and press down on your chat with Jungkook.

It takes you a moment to make out exactly what the image is, twisting and turning your phone around as you fight to see it without raising the brightness. It’s only when your eyes finally adjust to the dark screen, the faint beeping of the check-out registers fading into the distance, that you realize it’s a shot of the front of his sweatpants.

“Hm?” you murmur, getting brave enough to pinch the image between two fingers, zooming in until you’re able to decipher a multitude of details. For one, there’s a Flaming Hot Cheeto stain on the hem of his sweatpants, the same one you’d accidentally put on there a few weeks back and haven’t been able to wash out since. Then there’s that huge palm of his, tattoos and all, rested carefully against his thigh. It’s veiny and thick in all the right places, bringing all the attention to his knuckles, which you guess is what he was going for when you consider the centerpiece of the image—his hardened dick straining against the grey material.

There’s no text attached to the message, no snapchat font slapped over the image, so you wonder what exactly he wanted you to do with this information mid-shift. Well, realistically, you know exactly what he wants, but that doesn’t mean you won’t clown him before getting there. After all, Jungkook was seldom the naughty texter; sexting annoyed him, he would whine, because he would do all that and not even get to feel the true pleasure of sex, of being inside you. You’ve dabbled in it here and there, but it never went as perfectly as it did in pornos. He’d drop his phone and forget it, or you would straight up ignore the damn device as you went all in on yourself.

But for Jungkook to initiate some sexting, nevertheless sexting at 1pm on a Saturday, when you were at work and you were almost positive he was supposed to be on stream right now? Unheard of, you had to mark this down somewhere.

you what’s this about?

You decide to play it safe, because as exciting as the image of Jungkook at his computer chair, cock hard and angry at the thought of you, fluffy hair ruffled in that way you adored, jaw twitching and tightening as he touched himself, moaned deep and rough and just how you liked and—

As nice as that image was, for all you knew this vague message was Jungkook sending you a picture from a week ago to purposefully fuck with you at work.

jungkook♡ what time u get off? jungkook♡ miss you bad baby

Your stomach flips, and it takes everything in you to not squeal and bounce between the shelves like a toddler on a sugar rush. Here was your boyfriend, the cutest, sweetest boy, sending you dirty pictures of himself and telling you how much he needed you. Yes, YOU, not some random on the street, or someone else in a club, Jungkook needed pleasure and that pleasure could only come from you.

You glance back down the aisle again, checking your surroundings for the second time that day. You’ve been standing here, stock cart empty for a little over five minutes now, so it’s probably best to change location lest your manager come barking down your neck. You send one quick text before heading off for stock again.

you 4pm :(

Your phone dings again just as you’re leaving the stockroom, but you decide to check it once you get to the hygiene aisle you need to work on next. Still, the prospect of Jungkook having texted you has you walking with a skip in your step, one your coworker teases you about when you pass by her.

jungkook♡ fuck jungkook♡ tell me what panties youre wearing jungkook♡ please ?

You bite your lip, stopping yourself from smiling at the tone you’d picked up from his message. There was no doubt he’d been riled up for a while now, and you wonder if he sat through his usual Saturday morning streams with his cock hard, pushed against the edge of his desk like you knew he did when such things happened. The thought has you nearly fumbling with a bottle of aloe vera.

you seamless black thong you the one you bought me at the last vs sale

Briefly, you wonder if you should have lied and told him you were wearing that red lace set he’d given you last Valentine’s Day, the one he’d bought with his first big YouTube check. But the beauty of being in a relationship with someone like Jungkook is that you could have told him you were wearing grandma undies and he’d still think you were the most beautiful person to grace the planet.

jungkook♡ mm jungkook♡ tiny ones u ruined last time?

You set your phone down, speed stock a row of sunscreen like you’re on some shelf stocking national competition, before daring to text Jungkook again. Your cheeks are still warm, and your hand tightens dangerously around a bottle of shaving cream.

Before you can formulate some response, he’s sending another one in.

jungkook♡ u soaked those jungkook♡ came fast that day jungkook♡ want u so bad

Your cheeks burn, a little embarrassed that he remembers such details. As with all Victoria’s Secret panties, they were, like Jungkook said, extremely thin. You pause, shift your stance just barely, but you’re definitely wet. Not terribly so, but with this fabric, you’d start to notice it sooner than with others.

you mm you makin me wet bunny

It’s not a complete lie, but knowing Jungkook this is exactly what he needs to hear to get that competitive streak going. You shake your head to clear your thoughts, stocking another section of men’s shaving cream. It takes longer for him to message you back, and you wonder if he got off fine on his own. If it’s over now, at least he provided you with some distraction midway into your shift.

When he texts you again, you’ve almost completely convinced yourself he’s finished, so the Attachment: 1 Video that appears on your lock screen throws you for a loop.

It’s a short clip, no longer than ten seconds, but it has you scrambling to lower the volume on your device as some unsuspecting mother of two wanders past. You flash her your practiced smile, the same one you give all the store’s customers. Not like your boyfriend is jacking it off on your phone, shallow pants filtering out from the speakers.

You turn your phone over carefully after she leaves, try to at least pretend you’re still doing your job as you play the video again.

Sweats are gone, but boxers remain. Legs deliciously exposed, thick thighs with muscles that ripple when he moves. Shirt pulled up just slightly to showcase that broad expanse of tummy, cute belly button and defined abs that tighten with each glide of his palm over the outline of his cock. Your mouth fills with drool at the sight. He was so hot.

Your brain hasn’t even processed it yet, all your energy directed towards your clenched pussy, when he shoots another text.

jungkook♡ im so fckin hard jungkook♡ wanna kiss yuo every where baby jungkook♡ come ove r soon ??

Shutting your eyes and counting to ten doesn’t help ward off the sudden wave of horniness that consumes you, but it does remind you of the job you’re supposed to be doing now. You shake your head, as if the image of Jungkook’s dick throbbing beneath his boxers, low voice in your ear, will magically disappear. It doesn’t, and it plagues you even more when you begin stocking a section of sunscreen, numbly instructing yourself on what to do next. Shaving cream, sunscreen, lotion next, you repeat.

It doesn’t help.

Two minutes later and you’re scrambling for the phone you’d hastily tucked into your apron pocket, tapping your passcode in until your messages with Jungkook are pulled up again.

you after work you promise

Your head is absolutely spinning, the coil in your stomach too tight for you to try and be a functioning member of society. Something in you says to sneak off to the bathroom and call him, but your boss is a little bit of a prick when he wants to be, thinks you take too many bathroom breaks as is.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. A curt call of your name has you whirling to face your shelves again, phone tightly pressed against your ribs like maybe it’ll melt into your skin and he won’t see it. At the same time, your sudden fright has you scrambling to turn it off, fingers sloppily pressing against the buttons, hitting the volume like seven times before you eventually feel the familiar click that signals it’s off.

Your boss disappears shortly after, and with his sudden appearance having made every hair on your body stand, you find yourself now slumping against your stock cart. Jesus, that man was a handful to deal with.

The paranoia sticks for a little bit, has you stocking shelf after shelf like a robot until you finish the entire row of hygiene products, back stiff from bending over so much. It’s only when you return to the stockroom ten minutes later that you dare take your phone out again.

A pleasant surprise awaits.

It would appear that during your haste to hide your phone from your boss— Jungkook’s scandalous messages and all —your frantic hands had done something else. A fuzzy picture on your end, a blurry display of lotion bottles you had stacked just before your boss’s impromptu appearance, with no words to accompany them. Normally Jungkook would have ignored that; you frequently sent accidental messages like this, butt texted him, he says.

But there’s something about Jungkook’s horny brain that makes him do stupid things, makes him blow up your phone with a series of question marks, call you four times, whine and fuss in your message thread, and eventually, send you probably the oddest image to date.

jungkook♡ ??? jungkook♡ ????what is that jungkook♡ baby please jungkook♡ I don’t get it ??

jungkook♡ Missed Call (4)

jungkook♡ baby jungkook♡ what does it mean jungkook♡ please ur drivign me insane jungkook♡ jsut wanna hear yuor voice jungkook♡ fuck please just

And then, there’s another one of those cursed Attachment: 1 Image messages.

You shouldn’t be as surprised as you are. You’ve been dating Jungkook for a few months now, know he had that sort of unique personality most college dropouts turned YouTubers do. But every now and then the absurdity of his actions makes you question him still, makes you wonder what exactly goes on in that pretty head of his to warrant such ideas, makes him balance a bottle of body lotion on the thick outline of his cock like this.

Unlike the first few images, this one was taken in front of a mirror. The blinding fluorescent light in his bathroom paints him in a stark color, has every inch of his pretty face on display for you. Rosy cheeks, dewy skin. Perfectly swollen cock straining beneath his grey boxers, curved up against his hip. Shirt pulled up, finally freeing that expanse of muscles on his abdomen, cute little belly button on display once again. The red material is pulled up to his mouth, pearly white teeth biting down on the fabric, and he’s got this flushed expression on his face.

But the real star of the show isn’t his chiseled abdomen or sexy expression, but the sheer hardness of his dick that lets him balance a bottle of body lotion over it, like a fuckin’ shelf or something. He’s so hard, dick so full beneath his boxers. So big too, the little boxers pulled taught around said engorged cock and thick thighs.

Your brain says to laugh, to tease him for being such a clown even when he’s horny as hell. He won’t take it to heart, will probably laugh along with you and you’ll add it to your still growing list of funny memories.

But your caveman libido says call him, so that’s what you do, ducking down behind a new shipment pallet with a squeak as the phone rings. It only lasts four seconds before he picks up, voice breathy and low, but it sounds so loud in the silence of the stockroom.

He doesn’t even let you get a greeting in. “You like my picture, baby?” he husks. It sounds like he’s right there, right beside you, speaking into your ear. Your pussy throbs at the way he sounds. Paired with the picture from before, it has your body tingling all over.

“What the fuck is that?” you hiss, trying to not let the sudden overflow of arousal leak into your words. Jungkook chuckles.

“What?” he huffs. There’s the brief sound of shuffling, the scratchy noise of his phone presumably being pressed against his shoulder. “I’m so hard, baby,” he sighs before you can pretend to reprimand him any further. “Fuck— you, can you just talk to me?” he groans, and the disgusting sound of him spitting into his palm fills your ear.

Your face feels warm, eyes nervously peering across the stockroom like your boss will suddenly appear now of all times to rip you from this important phone call. The anxiety and arousal mix weirdly, have your leg bouncing but every new movement sends a shock up your aching cunt to your chest, and then out to the tips of your fingers.

“You shouldn’t be doing that when I’m at work,” you murmur hurriedly, moving to nervously bite at your finger. Jungkook moans softly.

“Uh huh,” he says.

The air conditioning turns on and you nearly jump out of your own skin. “Kook,” you stress, frazzled by your own burning arousal and the fear of being caught. Like you said. Weird mix. “I— not when I can’t respond.”

He shudders on the line. “You’re responding now,” he points out. You hate when he’s right. Before you can defend yourself, define what a proper response is in this scenario, he’s beating you to the punch. “Baby,” he whimpers, voice so airy yet low, makes your eyes roll into the back of your head, back unconsciously arching. “Couldn’t stop— fuck.”

Your mouth feels dry, all and any form of lecturing fading from your thoughts as you become consumed in Jungkook’s little whines and whimpers. He talks smoothly, a modern day Casanova, and it’s certainly because of that cult-like harem he’s gathered on YouTube. Teenage girls who kiss his ass, tell him he’s cute and dreamy. Make his ego so big.

But then he gets horny and can barely contain that lisp you tease him about, shivers and melts when you put his cock in your mouth. “Couldn't what, bunny?” you mumble, voice drawn tight because now you were really horny, and it was all his fault.

The nickname makes him mewl prettily, your speaker suddenly going scratchy as he fumbles with his phone. “C- Couldn't stop thinking about you— your mouth,” he admits, and now you’re certain he’d sat through that Saturday morning stream like this. “T- Tits,” he adds, lisp slipping through. “Fuck.”

You bite your lip, eyes fluttering shut as you remind yourself now was not the time or place to get yourself off. But, well. That didn’t mean you couldn’t get him off. “Sat through your stream like this?” you murmur, circling your kneecap with a trembling finger as if it’ll ward away the raging lust in your abdomen. Jungkook confirms with a breathy moan. “Had all your little fans wondering why you ended so early.”

He groans. “No,” he chokes, voice hot from how much it wavers. “They— I lied,” he confesses out of nowhere, “s- said I had a doctor’s appointment.”

You muffle a giggle into your palm. “Naughty,” you tease. “Too hard to do your job.”

“Just,” he cuts off, voice feathery. He sounds so close and you haven’t even said anything of substantial value yet. “Tell me,” he says quietly, “what to— mmh, what to do.”

A smirk consumes your features. You try to hide it, but there’s no one here anyway so you’re left grinning at an unpacked box of dental floss like a madwoman. “Why?” you inquire playfully, bask in the sad little whimper he responds with. “Shouldn’t you know how to make yourself cum?”

Another groan of frustration, desperation seeping into his tone when he speaks again. “Baby, please,” he begs, and it feels good. Feels nice to have this big YouTuber begging for you like this, whimpering your name like his doesn’t appear on the top 25 most viewed. “Like when you— ah — when you tell me… what to do.”

Your body feels hot, thighs pressing together with each whimper that falls from his lips. “Okay,” you concede, and he audibly moans in relief. “Tip first,” you instruct softly, eyes defocusing as your brain slowly starts to manifest the image of Jungkook spread out on his bed. Thick thighs, grey boxers pulled taught around them, fat cock between his pretty hands, inked knuckles squeezing around his member. You swallow. You can tell exactly when Jungkook does as you say because another muffled moan fills the speaker. “One finger,” you remind him quickly, head spinning from the mere memory of his dick. “Run it… run it over the slit, bunny.”

“Nngh—“ Jungkook sputters. You can only imagine the face he’s making now, the bottom lip he’s bitten raw by now. He does it a lot; it’s a nervous habit. But as sexy as it looks when you’re in bed, you know he has sensitive lips because of it, bleeds easily if he’s too harsh. You have half the mind to remind him about it now, but then he’s hurriedly gasping out for more. “And, and then? Wha— what then, baby?”

He sounds so sweet, melodic voice dripping with honey. “Touch your balls,” you say a little breathlessly. “Don’t squeeze,” you add, “just roll your palm over them.” Your palm squeezes against your thigh, as if it’s remembering the feel of his body, the soft skin between his thighs when you’re down there. He gets so jittery, thick thighs nearly crushing you if you drag him along too much. “O- Other hand on your cock,” you stumble, thighs squeezed together. “Stroke yourself just like I do, bunny.”

Jungkook complies. “Just like you?” he mumbles, suddenly sounds farther away. As if he’s dropped his phone off to the side. “Fffuck,” he grunts, “m- mouth is so pretty.”

“Hm?” you inquire, so consumed with tampering down your growing arousal for a second that you miss his sentence.

Jungkook’s breath stutters, and for a moment you’re met with the wet squelch of his cock in his hand. And then, “pretty mouth… make me— make me wanna see you cry.”

You bite your lip. “Why,” you say tentatively, finally caving in with a hand fluttering over the front seam of your jeans. Not a question, more of a gentle nudge for him to spill his thoughts.

“Be- Because,” he cries, fucking into his hand. He sounds closer and closer. You have to wonder just how long he had been riled up. It’s been a while since his first message, he was probably desperate by now. “Y- You’re so nice,” he cries, and the sentiment, though oddly out of place, makes your heart squeeze with adoration for the boy on the line. “Wanna be,” he groans, “wanna be so fucking mean to you, baby.”

The sudden change of tone makes you choke on a moan, hand pressing against your mound like it’ll somehow penetrate the thick material of your jeans and give you the sensations you crave. As it stands, it’s a muted feeling you get instead. When your hands fail, his voice compensates. “Fffuck, don’t you— don’t you think about it too?”

Admittedly, no.

Jungkook had always been a gentleman in bed. Always cared for your needs before his own, went out of his way to make you feel pampered and adored during your most vulnerable moments. Contrary to what his online persona might say, he was a good boy. Sweetest boy you knew, touched you like you were made of glass.

So to suddenly learn of this dream— fantasy? kink? —of his that you would certainly enjoy equally as much, well. It made you whimper into your palm, eyes worriedly flickering toward the stockroom’s entrance.

“Why?” you whisper, feeling like a broken doll repeating the same phrase over and over again. You’re suddenly aware of how hot everything was. Your polo felt sticky against your spine, apron too tight, jeans too stuffy. How long had you been hiding in here for? You don’t even know. Hopefully your absence on the floor had gone unnoticed.

Jungkook pants into the line; everything sounds so sticky and wet on his end, hand undoubtedly working away at his cock. “Shit,” he curses, doesn’t really answer your question until you prod a second time. “I- I like it,” he stammers. “When you… fuck, when you look small.” He elaborates before you can even ask, breath heavy and drawn out. He was so close. “When your mouth… when it hurts,” he says, thoughts a scrambled mess. “Like when you— when you cry because my cock is— it’s too big for you.”

A blatant ego boost you’ll ignore for now. Not like you can focus on too many things right now anyway. “Your cock is big, bunny,” you agree softly instead. Your legs feel cramped from crouching so long, so you push yourself to your feet. Except then you’re made aware of how fucking wet you are, panties soaked from the phone call with your boyfriend. You shift and they stick to your folds, make you release a shaky exhale that Jungkook doesn’t miss.

“I— you’re wet,” he says boldly, and this time your meek confirmation isn’t a lie. Jungkook grunts. “Fuck, baby, I—“ cut off by his own whiny cry, probably bucking into his hand like a madman by now. “Wanna, wanna kiss you everywhere,” he says, a call back to his earlier message. Your legs feel like jello. You want him to kiss you everywhere too— lips, tits, cunt that is dripping for him now.

“I- I’ll be over soon,” you stammer, feeling like you’ll pass out if he carries on any further. He sounds so good on the line, soft pants, rough growls. You can’t possibly listen anymore, not when you’re so wet and horny in the middle of your shift. “Just,” you pause, can’t get the image of his pretty cock out of your mind. Every blink makes it more vivid, reminds you of the vein on the underside, the exact shade of the tip.

“What?” Jungkook hisses, voice higher than usual, parts of it lost under the rapid movements of his hand. “Tell me, baby, tell me what to do,” he begs hoarsely, “I’ll do it.” Sounds so desperate and needy, two seconds away from busting all over his hand.

You have to lean against the wall of the stockroom to ground yourself, remind yourself you’re not in the same situation as Jungkook and can’t cum in your pants like a teenager. “J- Just cum,” you choke, eyes fluttering shut.

He must’ve been waiting for that command, because the second the words leave your throat he’s filling the line with breathy groans and cries as he comes all over himself, probably ruins his t-shirt. The sounds have your hips unconsciously bucking forward into nothingness, the frustration of not being able to cum with him manifesting in the form of a tiny little sob. Luckily, he doesn’t catch it.

When it’s all said and done, he’s left panting into the receiver, flooding your speaker with breathy sighs that only make you more and more aroused.

“You’re terrible,” you frown, cheeks flushed, body tingling. You flip your wrist over and check the time; it’s been about sixteen minutes since you disappeared from outside. Sixteen minutes of listening to Jungkook touch himself and moan and whine and whimper. Tease you with new possibilities you had never considered before. And now he’s satisfied and you’re not.

Jungkook chuckles, low and tired. The sound shoots straight to your cunt. “Come over after you shift,” he says, as if you’re not planning to fake a severe case of the flu right now in order to get off early and run to his bed. You only had a little less than two hours of your shift left anyway. Not like they paid you well to begin with. Jungkook shifts, releases one of those saccharine groans as he probably snuggles into his bed, all sweaty and worn out. “Want you to fuck my face, baby.”

You frown, counting to ten to calm yourself down. Another few minutes of listless conversation, and you hang up. Your body feels featherlight, a little woozy as you make your way back out into the floor.

Nothing has changed. Customers pour in and out, your boss scolds you for a display you didn’t do, and life inside the store drags on. No one knows that you’re soaking your panties to hell and back, Jungkook’s soothing moans in your ear. Life goes on.

you shift ends in 20

jungkook♡ sweet jungkook♡ got your seat ready jungkook♡ Attachment: 1 Image

Copyright © 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[koishua]

𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄𝐒 ━━ 𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆

warning: an argument because of overworking reader.

a small black car comes to a slow halt next to your languid step, clothes ruffling harshly from the undying blows of the wind mixed with light droplets of water that hit your face every once in a while. it's his voice coming from behind the rolled down window of the passenger's seat, "do you want to send me to an early grave with all of this worrying or something?"

you would have laughed heartily at his words had it not been for today, instead you stare blankly at the handle of the door right in front of you, "what are you doing here? i thought you were busy."

"just," he leans over the gears to push the door open for you, "it doesn't matter. hurry up and get inside, it's freezing."

he takes your bag and settles it on the backseat while you pull the door shut. your numb fingers struggle to properly connect your seatbelt, which leads him to take the harness from your hand to fasten it himself. you can see the rigidness of his jaw from where you lean back on the seat while his arm reaches over to tug on the belt to see if it's secure enough.

satisfied, he starts the car once more, a clear destination on his mind. the silence in the enclosed space is odd, one that you had never experienced in his presence before. it's tight, filled with tension that you are hesitant to cut through.

"are you mad?" you ask after meddling over your thoughts for a while. he sighs, tightening his grip on the wheel, "not at you."

you turn to face him, "you can talk to me, i'll listen."

something shifts in the way he stares intently on the road ahead, an unreadable expression clouding over his features, "why do you always have to do things by yourself? why do you always worry about others, but not yourself?"

your lips pull into a confused frown, "hee, are you okay? i don't understand—"

"there, you did it again," he interrupts you, voice hallow, "can you not see just how tired you look? stop thinking about others for a damn minute and look after yourself. do you know how frustrating it is to see you work yourself to the bone from day till night? you refuse to take breaks, refuse to receive help and you just keep driving yourself to the edge. it was cold outside, it was raining and it was dark. were you really set on walking all the way back home by yourself? why can't you just answer your calls? was taking the bus that hard? could you not have called for a taxi?"

tears well up in your eyes no matter how much you try to fight them away, "listen, i don't know what's come over you right now. i just forgot my wallet at home today and my phone died, i didn't mean to ignore you. you don't have to fuss over me, i would have been fine. you know how much i hate bothering people."

he runs a hand over his face, "it's not a crime to ask for help, why can you not get that through your skull finally? i want to help you, i want you to lean on me whenever you're in need, i want you to learn that you don't have to keep doing everything by yourself— you are not a bother."

you still, everything suddenly comes down crashing on your shoulders and the weight of his words seem to strike something hidden deep inside you. "heeseung, stop the car, i want to get out."

it feels like a slap across his face when he takes a glance at your face, a stray tear barely escaping your eyes before you turn away to quickly wipe it off with your sleeve.

"i'm so sorry, i didn't mean to hurt you." he bites his lips, cursing at himself in his head, "i'm just worried about you."

you beg for your voice not to give up on you, "why are you always so adamant on this? why would you keep coming for someone like me? i'm wasting your time, you said you were going to be working in the studio."

he pulls the car to a stop somewhere safe before unfastening his seatbelt to face you, "i care about you. did that thought ever cross your mind before?"

and that brings your world to a stop.

"you mean so, so much to me. it hurts me when you keep working yourself to death when you know yourself, that you don't have to. whenever you're sick, i can't help but feel the need to drop everything and run to take care of you. i feel happy when you are, sad when you're unhappy, hurt when you hurt yourself."

a beat of silence runs between the two of you, both unsure of what to say next while he struggles not to just take your hands in his, wrapping his fingers around yours.

"that was a lot, sorry. what i'm trying to say is, that next time, just think about yourself some more."

the silence continues, maybe somewhat lighter than before.

[llamagoddessofficial]

Happy (late im sorry) birthday @aka-indulgence !!! I wrote you a special thing... with one of your special boyos whomst you managed to convert me into loving. I hope you had a fun day!!

Tw; caves, broken bones

You’d stopped screaming a while ago.

There were a lot of reasons- for one, the air in the cave was damp, thick, choking... screaming required you to take a deep inhale of the stale smog and your lungs were already starting to reject it. It was borderline unbearable and you were pretty certain that if you survived this, you’d be choking and coughing for a week at least.

... But that wasn’t the biggest reason. That wasn’t the most important reason you were keeping your mouth shut tight, as you laid on your back in complete darkness, eyes darting around as fast as they could and leg numb with agony.

By this point, screaming was a critical danger that would get you killed.

... The cave just behind the cliff was rumoured to be impossibly deep, to have once contained some kind of legendary terrifying monster that reacted violently to intruders and killed those who didn’t heed its immediate warnings to leave. Of course, there were no modern sightings of this mythical beast, and it definitely sounded less like fact and more like some urban legend designed to keep people away from a dangerous area. No one had ever mapped it... no one wanted to, even the most intrepid of local explorers. The stories (and a healthy serving of common sense) seemed to have prevailed long enough for that particular entrance to just be left alone.

...

So of course, your study group decided it’d be such a good place to spend a Friday night, armed with nothing but half-charged torches, rucksacks full of drinks, and borrowed walking shoes.

You could feel tears gathering at the corners of your eyes, gravity dragging them down the sides of your face as you stared upward into the total blackness. It was stupid to come down here, horror movie levels of stupid- but you just couldn’t say no to them. The study group was the closest thing you had to friends, and you let them lure you into coming along, you’d allowed yourself to be led by your terror of being left out.

... You had no idea how long you’d been lying on your back in total darkness with your immovable leg throbbing with pain, but it was getting clearer and clearer no one was coming back for you.

... So I guess you’ve been left out after all- left out in a cave to die. 

...

A noise. You turned your head, quickly- a familiar blood red colour standing out against the black, closer than last time. Panic jolted through you once again and you grappled with your flashlight, turning it on and pointing it directly at the red; a harsh white circle of light appeared and illuminated a section of the cave. You saw bone and a wide maw of terrifying teeth for a split second before it retreated quickly from the glow in a flurry of movement, disappearing back into the nothingness, an aggravated snarl rippling through the cavern.

...

Your friends, if you could even call them that, seemed to have followed the philosophy of ‘don’t outrun the bear, just outrun the slowest person’. When the monster had attacked your group in the dark, everyone panicked and ran for the exit... and when you stumbled, falling down a steep shaft into what was most likely going to end up being your grave, you became the slowest person.

And the ‘bear’ focused on you.

... It was hanging around in the darkness surrounding you. You could hear it, scuttling, waiting, the terrifying sound bouncing off the walls and coming from every direction at once, you hated how your panic and the enclosed space worked perfectly together to fuck with your hearing. Your only hope was the flashlight you clutched in both quivering hands.

...

You turned to the left, and caught sight of the red again. An engorged, blood coloured orb, slowly moving closer to you like a stalking wolf- it paused when you raised the flashlight, ready to recoil, and you jammed your clammy thumb onto the on button.

...

Nothing.

...

“... N-no.” You said, tiny, voice cracking, shaking the device and mashing the useless button over and over. Suddenly, just like that, the darkness around you had swallowed you completely whole. “No, no, no...”

... 

The monster made the same realisation you had. The flashlight was out of battery. The bloody red eye contracted a fraction... and then, upon realising your only line of defence was gone, advanced toward you.

...

You screamed as loud as you possibly could. You screamed with your whole chest, so hard it ricocheted across the walls and rang in your ears, you kicked your good leg against the ground in a desperate attempt to push yourself away but your heel just slipped on the floor. The sound didn’t deter it- and the eye got bigger and bigger, coming closer by the second, the true scale of the thing hunting you was dawning alongside the panic.

It’s gonna eat me.

The eye was the size of your fist. You could smell something, something warm, its breath, you were seized with unparalleled fear and you blindly swung the useless torch like a weapon. To your shock, it connected- landing squarely on what must’ve been a cheekbone. But it did about as much damage as a pillow would to a rhino and the flashlight shattered into pieces upon impact, with the monster not even so much as flinching.

It was definitely breath, you could feel it in your hair. It smelled like blood. Giant hands moved around your torso, under your arms, and picked you clean up off the ground- and the oh-so-familiar heavy ‘scuttling’ sound of him moving filled your ears. 

S-someone help me!

You punched at his ribs, still ‘screaming' (it was hardly screaming anymore because it was punctured by cracks and thin breaths), the world was beginning to drown out. The sounds and smells and pain were all so overwhelming, the dark and red of his eye were already eating you before he’d even opened his mouth, all you could think about was how no matter how much you didn’t want to you were going to die.

...

Light. Light that wasn’t his eye. It was enough to distract from your shouting, pathetic attempt at making noise catching in your throat. Little glowing rocks- crystals, maybe, they dotted the floor and walls, creating a faint white that was just enough to see by but still filled the world around you with wriggling shadows.

... It was enough to, for the first time, properly see the creature that was taking you.

He was huge; a skeletal upper half, barrel-chested, shoulders twice the width of your own and a heavy sternum with ribs like prison bars. The size of his jaw and thickness of his teeth told you he wasn’t the kind of predator that wasted any time with theatrics; there was no serration, probably no venom, he wasn’t going to be using valuable time to suffocate victims. With a mouth like that he would get right to the point- crushing straight through bone like eggshell.

He was staring ahead. Concentrated.

... Your eyes darted past his skeletal body to the main thing you'd been afraid of seeing; his lower body was a centipede. Giant scar-mottled gleaming brown carapace, trailing off into the dark, massive hooked 'feet' working in perfect undulating tandem to move him effortlessly across the uneven cave floor. You had absolutely no idea how long he was, you couldn't even hazard a guess. No wonder you'd heard his scuttling all around you in the darkness, it wasn't your mind playing tricks on you, he'd literally been all around you- you never stood a chance, did you?

You'd wedged your arms between yourself and his massive ribcage, shaking hands pushing as hard as you could. Despite how obviously little it was counteracting his hold, it was your last way of feeling like you were fighting. Your face and neck ached, your chin was wobbling, your head pounded.. you were a melting ice statue ready to shatter at the slightest push.

You were running out of fight.

... He carried you up, over a lip, into a small alcove. A recessed section of rock, a cave within a cave- a slightly more concentrated cluster of those glowing stones revealed the interior was lined with furs, rags, chunks of sleeping bags, old and well-loved blankets. Some kind of nest.

I’m... am I hyperventilating? you thought, feeling disconnected and dizzy, mind retreating further and further away from your body as a final defence mechanism. Everything’s spinning. 

...

Softness. At first, you thought you’d just gone completely numb... but when you concentrated a little more, you were surprised to find you were staring up at the glow-dotted stone ceiling. 

...

... He’d... put you down. On his nest of blankets? He was hovering over you, breath still brushing your cheeks and forehead... that terrible eye shifted its gaze down your body, you felt like a dinner being surveyed.

... You couldn’t even bring yourself to try and wriggle away. What chance did you stand? Further and further into numbness... am I going into shock?

...

He reached toward your broken leg. You didn't even want to look at it; it hurt so badly. You squeezed your eyes shut, suppressing a sob.

...

Warmth.

A pleasant kind- like you'd just laid the broken limb beside a fire. Tingling faintly... magic? Healing magic? You couldn’t look, you didn’t have the stomach to see just how mangled the leg was, that’d just make it hurt even worse. But it was... 

... Nice.

The warmth was like an eraser. It floated over the leg, fuzzy and comforting, and wherever it floated the pain just... ebbed away. 

...

You opened your eyes again. When he stopped, there was no more pain in your leg. None at all. And he was just... sitting there. Staring at you.

...

“Y-you...” You croaked. The hole in the centre of his eyelight shrank a fraction. The magic felt like it was doing something to you; you could feel your shoulders slowly unwinding, chest relaxing enough for you to take breaths that actually filled your lungs, throbbing head settling down. “... You healed me?”

... Was clubbing him with a flashlight the wrong idea?

...

... He made a sound. Several sounds, actually... soft, throated, deep and staggered... chuffing, like a tiger. Such a gentle noise, for such a giant monster...

...

He seemed to make a decision. With one last little chuff and a nod to himself, his socket lidded... and he laid down next to you. One of his thick-as-your-head arms gently looped over your middle; you were vaguely aware of his centipede body gathering itself into the little alcove, some of it draping lazily over your lower legs.

... Keyword ‘vaguely’ aware. You were so tired, so tired and sick of being in pain, that you barely even wiggled in response to his strange cuddle-like gesture. He was... actually pretty warm... and he smelled like amber and campfires.

...

You were asleep before you could remember you needed to be scared of him touching you- that claws carding lovingly through your hair wasn’t supposed to feel nice.

[unohanadaydreams]

DAMAGE DONE FOR KENPACHI SOULMATE CAN YOU IMAGINE THE A N G S T AND CONFUSION

 I know ppl who follow this blog have taste because you were the the first of four ppl to ask for this exact combo jdhdjsjs. We are all Kenpachi brain rot compliant.

Features: Cutting/self harm, a real shit start to a relationship, and angst.

Bleach Your Soul: Ask Meme

Kenpachi Zaraki + Damage:

So much of your life was defined by isolation. A patient treated terminal. Everyone paid you the same attention they would a ghost, fleeting smiles and tears that fell over your bed as though it were a grave.

How could you not feel tortured and angry, to be saddled with a soul mate determined to drag you through hell with them? There were times you truly believed were your last. Stabs too close to your guts. Slashes peeling open to far towards your heart.

There was little room in your thoughts to worry about who suffered with you, other than to curse them. Whether they struggled to live or delighted in violence, you didn’t know. You didn’t care. It was hard to care about anything while laying in your deathbed. Through childhood, your heart withered like the flowers always dying on your window sill. If only they’d throw you away for good, as well.

You garnered hobbies to keep busy rather than to enjoy them. Your stitching, calligraphy, and precocious little drawings stained in blood more often than not. The 4th division was your jail. Your soulmate, your warden. Keeping you there, always.

For years, you begged them. Desperate to be heard--to have a modicum of fucking control--, you carved words into your skin. Were they scared the first time you did it? Did they hate it? Did it hurt them?

Vindictive, you hoped all your horrible thoughts were so. When you cut ‘stop. stop. stop. stop.’ you did it on your side and hip, so it would reopen. Again. And again. And again. And--

They never responded. No matter what you wrote. ‘Please stop.’ ‘It hurts.’ ‘Doesn’t it hurt you?’ ‘I hate you.’ ‘Who are you.’ ‘Don’t you care?’ ‘Kill me.’ ‘Die.’ ‘I’m sorry.’ 

Slowly, then suddenly, the damage that had been near daily stopped for so many years stopped. Your family settled you back in the home, a living urn. They said your name and stroked your cheek and smiled too small when you spoke.

Your skin buzzed with the absence of what had plagued your entire youth. Was it sickness or shame that drove your blade through your skin still? Did you just miss it? Was the violence boiling you alive with no where to spill out anymore?

There were times you swore minuscule nicks would appear, healing too fast to smooth over, but staying long enough to feel. Older, able to be among people, you realized what that could mean. What kind of person you’d told to die as a pithy little tween.

Were they alive--really alive? Did anyone else care or were you the only one?

‘Songbirds.’ ‘Hello.’ ‘Your name?’ ‘Sorry.’ ‘Work sucks.’ ‘Too hot.’ ‘Alive?’ ‘Hotpot.’ ‘Cut words.’ ‘Please.’ ‘Alive?’ ‘Shinigami.’ ‘13th.’ ‘Rank?’ ‘Rukongai?’ ‘I’m sorry.’

@

Retsu Unohana, the only woman he couldn’t quite look in the eye, was there to smile all serene-like over him. After he’d lost. Figures she’d be there when he fucking lost.

She asked him all those annoying questions about how his body felt and told him all the things he needed to heal from. He wanted to shake her like Yachiru did when he wasn’t paying attention enough for her liking. Who gave a shit about all that--he lost and got what he deserved. He had to get stronger. Just because she’d abandoned her pride didn’t mean he would. 

“Your soulmate is here, too.”

Kenpachi couldn’t ignore that one. He never ignored that one. Not that they let him, with all their fucking writing. Saying the strangest shit sometimes too.

When he was young, he’d been paranoid, not knowing what the fuck was doing the writing. He’d swing his sword over his calf or side or thigh, expecting to lob and invisible arm off. Running, Kenpachi would try to out pace the fucker.

 Yumichika explained it like having one was exciting. Ikkaku had yelped for Yumichika to knock it off as the man with beautifully kept hands had given himself a paper cut.

“See? It means the person you’re meant for feels everything you do on the battlefield.” His colorful eyelids narrowed, sights shifting between his captain and Ikkaku. “Or in the file cabinet, if either of you would bother to help out.”

The more he understood--and thought about it--the less he wanted to meet them. His soulmate. Kenpachi wasn’t a person who forgave weakeness and anyone meant for him wouldn’t either, right?

He’d been consumed by sleepless nights, futile attempts to nap, and brutal training sessions, trying to keep his failures out of mind after the realization. What if Yachiru had been forced to take every blow the same as he had? Whenever he tucked in his lieutenant, the question ate at him further.

With time, there had come some form of solace--one day he’d find the thrill of a horrible battle again, to drown the thoughts out. But what Ichigo Kurosaki had offered hadn’t been horrible in the way he’d imagined. And here he was, face turned away from Unohana’s thinly veiled impatience, his feelings too complicated to bother with fully.

“Well?”

Unohana stood, like she was disappointed and Kenpachi couldn’t help but snap at her, “Fine. Whatever.”

She smiled, soft as she’d gotten, and went to the door. “Fine to what? I only told you they’re here. But if you’re so determined to see them, Captain Zaraki, follow me.”

@

Grumbling about how much he hated ‘that sneaky shit’, Kenpachi did follow her, and went through the door she gestured at before being closed in with your recovering body. Your body hadn’t healed as fast as his, but that wasn’t a surprise--you’d be a captain for sure if you could pull that shit off.

Worst of all, you were awake, the scar lining one side of your face as thick as his own. No one else was in the room with you. There were no flowers or cards. And your mouth was hanging open.

“You’re alive.”

“Yeah well,” Kenpachi didn’t know what to say, trailing off as one of his fingers brushed over his thigh.

“Everyone is talking about your fight,” you said, filling his silence with a light shrug. “I figured it was more than coincidence that I ended up like this at the same time. I’m glad it was you and not the ryoka.”

“You thought that kid was your soulmate?”

“How was i supposed to know? No one’s seen him since your fight, or so they’re saying.”

“The scar’s pretty fucking obvious.”

“Uh, I’ve never seen you before and it’s not like you’re ever in the Seireitei Bulletin or...or wandering around where people could find you!”

Kenpachi winced, not because of your words, but because the closer he got, the more your sweat and shaking arms showed. You must’ve been like this for a lot of your life. A worming feeling of guilt he seldom felt curled in his belly. Now that he had a person to pin to the thought, it swelled large.

Maybe if he were a softer person, someone rounded out like the long gone Yachiru turned Unohana, he’d say something comforting or concerned or even charming. But his hand was still on his thigh and his mounting frustration at himself, all revolving around his lack of strength, felt thick on his tongue.

“This mean you’re gonna stop with the fucking words?”

You pulled your head back slow, looking up at him like you couldn’t decide between succumbing to exhaustion or lunging at him.

“What if I don’t? What if I just keep going till you respond?”

“You’ll keep going until ya die.”

“Well, great! There’s you’re answer,” you scoffed. “You’ll have to kill me.”

It was a shit start, all things considered, and the silence that took over the room as Kenpachi sat on the nearest chair, so hard it almost cracked, felt as horrible as his zanpakuto refusing to answer him.

“The name’s Kenpachi Zaraki,” he said, resolved to at least get your name.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Damn right, you do. Now tell me yours.”

You wouldn’t have introduced yourself if he hadn’t looked so...well, you couldn’t quite tell what he looked like. Tired, maybe. Tired and wanting something.

So you gave him your name, your relief that he was alive, that you hadn’t wished him to his grave in your youth, outweighing your anger. An apology for putting you here was like grasping at the sky and hoping to hold a star, if his reputation proceeded him. So you let it go as best you could.

And Kenpachi settled back in the chair, grunting in acknowledgement. He didn’t think learning your name was gonna make him stronger, but it felt nice to hear someone talking to him like a person and not a beast.

If he was being honest, it’d always felt nice to be given your words, when so many people refused to give him any. A bit awkwardly, he stayed while you fell victim to sleep, your breath slow before he spoke again.

“Thanks.”

[rowanaelinn]

Safe Place

rowaelin month day four : librairies @rowaelinscourt

warning: not descriptive nsfw content

Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius could be described as a calm male. Out of all his companions, he probably was the one with the most self-control and he thanked the Gods for it every time one of his friends said something stupid.

However, it didn’t apply when his wife was concerned. Around Aelin, Rowan’s self-control seemed to vanish. She had the ability to get him angry, to become a blushing mess or a soft idiot with just one sentence. There was no control around his mate and it was one of the reasons he loved her.

But when he woke up in the middle of the night to an empty bed, Rowan lost the little human part he had in himself. Rowan lost all control the moment he smelled a lingering scent of fear. Her fear.

Has she been taken again?

Has it all been a dream? Had he not got her back?

In a second, Rowan was standing, knives at the ready around his waist. He would fight to get her back if he had to. Not having Aelin by his side made him feel like all the air in the world was gone.

Rowan wanted to yell at himself for falling asleep, he should have protected her.

In all the times her Fireheart was in danger, Rowan was never there to protect her. What a poor excuse of a husband and mate he was. He still didn't know why his queen was keeping him and hadn't already thrown him out. He was useless. Completely useless.

He kept complaining because of the royal duties, kept saying he liked being a prince just fine because it didn’t bring him any mess. His only role as King Consort, mate, and husband was to protect Aelin and he had shown the world how bad he was at it. Multiple times.

She wasn’t okay, he could feel her sadness from her side of the bond. Rowan felt like a prick for being relieved at the feeling of her emotions just because it meant she was still alive and not in a damn iron coffin that blocked every chance for them to communicate.

First, he came out of the royal apartments, following Aelin’s faint scent. She had become so damn good at hiding herself with her magic, a trick Fenrys taught all of them. It was a useful skill to have, Rowan was relieved most of the time no one could track her with her scent but he wasn’t tonight. Not when he needed to see her.

Thankfully with Aelin’s condition lately, her scent was stronger which meant she couldn’t cover up all of it. He refused to imagine she had been taken away until he had searched the entire castle twice. She had to be here, somewhere.

He went first to the kitchen, hoping to find her behind the counter, a plate with chocolate cake in front of her. She would look up, fork still in mouth and she would smile guiltily at him. She would apologize, saying she was always so hungry lately and he would shake it off, taking another fork and join her even if he hated cake. Just to show her she wasn’t alone.

But when he opened the door, the kitchen was empty, making Rowan’s heart clench.

Next, he went to the throne room, hoping to find her sitting on her throne, a sad smile on her face she would try to conceal with a smirk. He would ask her what she was doing here and she would tell him she needed to be alone and to feel in power, and what better than her throne to make her feel powerful? But this room was empty too, and Rowan’s heart crushed a little further.

Maybe she was in the inside cemetery, kneeling between both her parent’s graves. She would look up at him and wouldn’t try to hide her tears. She would have a smile on her face, telling him she needed to feel close to them. To be between the two of them without waking up with blood everywhere. Rowan would nod and sit behind her, letting her rest her back on his chest and he would let her cry bringing her all the comfort she needed. But she wasn’t here, and Rowan didn’t know where to look for her now.

If they were in Rifthold, he would probably think she was speaking to either Sam or Nehemia, telling both of them everything about what happened in their court since the last time she spoke to them.

But they weren’t in Adarlan so it left only one place where she could be. His walk to the library was slow, slower than he wished. He could just shift and fly instead of taking all the stairs but if she was there she would make fun of him for it, she had enough to tease him already.

When he arrived at the library, as always, he was dazzled by the splendor of the room. The last time the librarians counted, Aelin and Rowan owned three hundred thousand books and that was a decade ago, just after the construction work was finished.

Aelin had cried and laughed and smiled for hours when she first saw it, walking through all the sections to see every book, then made love to Rowan on the floor, more tenderly than they were both used to, to thank him.

As if seized by a frenzy, Rowan walked like a mad man through the library to find her. He regretted giving her something so big, having to look at every fucking row. There were so many places to hide.

After what seemed like hours, Roan saw familiar blonde hair. He let a sob come out in relief. She wasn't gone. There was no Valg Queen that had pulled her away from Rowan, no, his Fireheart was just sitting on a couch that looked very comfortable, six pillows behind her back.

"Rowan?" She asked, raising her eyes full of concern. "Is everything okay?" Her eyebrows were furrowed.

Instead of answering, he rushed to her side, falling onto her lap to be on the same level as her and scanning her entire body to make sure she was okay and truly in front of him.

His eyes fell on a small scar on her right knee, a scar she had made during one of their training sessions. He remembered kissing the mark every night for weeks when he noticed it after enjoying his wife's goddess body. He hadn't noticed that she was injured during their workout and he felt terrible about it.

Aelin kept telling him he was fussing, but he knew deep down she liked it. She loved to be cherished and protected. He dropped his head to her lap, unable to fight a sob. She put her book aside, sitting straighter and one of her hands found her way in his hair. Rowan hated himself for the tears streaming down his face as he looked up at her, he hated himself even more for the look of agony on his mate’s face.

“Speak to me, please.” She begged him, her hand still playing in his hair.

He swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice even and strong but he couldn’t. “I thought you were gone.” He breathed deeply, trying to calm down and focusing on where he touched her, his hands and arms on her legs. “I woke up to an empty bed and your fearful scent and I panicked.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Rowan.”

“You weren’t supposed to go anywhere either last time but you still did.” He hated the poisonous words the moment they felt his mouth but his mate didn’t seem hurt, knowing anger was his way to cope.  “I’m sorry,” He hid his face on her leg, not wanting to see her hurt face.

“Don’t be,” Was the only thing she said as she kept stroking his hair. She was too good to him, she had always been. She had known so much pain her entire life but she was still an amazing person, Rowan didn’t know how much strength it must take her. The Gods knew Rowan lacked that particular strength when the time had come, he had turned into the worst version of himself. He admired his Fireheart.

After a moment, Rowan looked back at her and she smiled, his entire world brightened at this. She was okay, she was right here with him. She was safe.

“How are you?” He asked, feeling selfish for crying when she was the one who had a nightmare.

“We’re both okay, Rowan.” She reassured him as her free hand came to rest on her slightly rounded belly. Rowan’s heart swelled at the sight, he still couldn’t believe it. After years, decades, of trying Azlin was pregnant. She had been glowing for the past four months, even if she said otherwise.

“Is she still kicking?” He asked, one of his hands joining Aelin’s.

“Your son is restless, I hope you slept enough in your life because he’s not going to let us sleep much once he’s here.”

Both Aelin and him had a divergence of opinion on their baby’s sex. Aelin was sure it was a boy, whereas Rowan believed it was a girl. A girl had been their oldest in the vision he had for months when Aelin was gone. It had been too realistic to be a dream, had felt too real.

Yrene knew and had asked them if they wanted to know, but both of them agreed they wanted to keep it secret. They had too many surprises in their lives and none of them had been good, but this one would be. No more surprises unless it’s a good one.

“She’ll be worth every sleepless night.” His lips turned into a smile at the idea of a little Aelin and Rowan.

Aelin snorted. “Wait until you have to change diapers.”

At that, Rowan laughed, soon followed by Aelin. When he saw a hint of sadness in her eyes, his smile faded. “What did you dream of?” He asked, needing to know why his wife had left their room after a nightmare instead of waking him up.

She lost her smile too, her body tenser than moments ago. “Nothing important.”

“Please, tell me.”

She took a deep breath and some time to answer. Rowan didn’t mind, he’d give her eternity if she needed as long as he knew what troubled his wife. He got up, lifted Aelin's legs so he could sit next to her, and then rested her legs on his while he caressed her thighs in comfort. “I was you.”

“With Maeve?”

She shook her head making his confusion grow. She had already told him about nightmares of him being taken on that beach, of him being whipped and tortured for months. He had held her as she cried, as she told him the pain of losing him would have been so much more than the pain she experienced all these months away from him.

“In Arobynn’s cave.” She whispered as tears pooled in her eyes. He wouldn’t take her in his arms, he would wait for her to do it first, no need to overwhelm her. “With your eyes missing, whole body destroyed and a cold body.”

Oh.

Oh.

“Fireheart…”

“Have you ever dreamed of me like that?” She asked and he knew she didn’t mean just dreams of her, dead.

“I did.” He admitted, his heart beating faster at the thought of it. “First in Wendlyn, when you left for Rifthold. Every time I closed my eyes I lived the day I found Lyria over and over again. But it wasn’t her small body that I saw, it was yours. It haunted me for months.” He took a deep breath, controlling his emotions. Aelin was crying, she didn’t need someone else to become a wreck. “Then when you told me you were pregnant, it started again.”

It happened more than he wanted to admit. He knew it wouldn’t happen, it was impossible, but he still could see her dead body in front of his destroyed mountain home.

Aelin didn’t say anything but she straddled him, his hands finding her waist as her fingers slipped through his hair. Her forehead came to rest on his as they both closed their eyes, enjoying each other’s company. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

His hand stroked her back, his fingers drawing the lines of his tattoo he knew by heart now. Every part of her body was written in his mind. “You were sleeping so peacefully, I know it’s rare lately.” Her warm hand cupped his cheek and he sighed in her embrace. “Whenever I don’t feel okay and you’re not around, I come here.”

“The library?”

“Or the theater if I feel like walking.” Which wasn’t a lot lately, his wife’s pregnancy was taking her so much energy they didn’t go to the theater in months. She was always so tired or in pain, he knew she missed it. “Whenever I’m here, I feel so close to you, as if part of your soul was here between these walls.”

His heart clenched at it, he lifted up his head, his lips settled gently on hers. He kissed her languidly, generously, putting as much love and passion as he could. He loved her so much he felt like dying. He would die without her.

Slowly, she began to unbutton his shirt, her tongue continuing to play with Rowan's. The kiss turned from passionate to needy. He needed the reassurance she was here, she was with him, and his mate knew it.

In a matter of moments, Rowan was shirtless and had pulled her nightgown over her head, revealing her naked body. Aelin had gained weight in the years since the war, her body that had once been too thin was now full. She had had a hard time adjusting, she had been starving most of her life. Even during her years with Arobynn, she was always under a strict diet to stay the best. She had never been in a stable enough place for her to thrive.

So when her flat stomach rounded out, thighs grew and cheeks filled out, it was a shock. Rowan had been there to worship her body day and night, reminding her that she was just living, and seeing her happy was the most beautiful thing Rowan had ever seen.

One of Rowan’s hands was teasing Aelin’s sensitive nipple, tearing little cries out of her perfect, delicate, lips. Her hands undid his buckle quickly as Rowan lifted his hips to slide his pants and underwear down, freeing his hard member.

Aelin didn’t waste time before taking him, her hand around him applying just the right amount of pressure. His hand slipped between her legs, directly finding her wet and warm entrance. They moaned together as Aelin’s hand movement quickened and Rowan plunged two fingers in her warmth, hitting that spot inside of her that made her scream every time.

As good as it was, Rowan craved something else, so when he groaned Aelin understood. He pulled out his fingers, bringing them to his mouth to taste her. No matter how many years had passed since the first time, Rowan kept being surprised at how good she tasted. He moaned around his fingers as Aelin teased her entrance with his erection before sinking down, making both of their heads drop back.

Being inside of her had always felt so good, had always felt so right, as if he had been born just to do this. Her belly prevented their chests from touching but Rowan didn’t mind as he ran his hands on every inch of her skin as she started moving.

Aelin kept bouncing slowly on top of him, taking her time as she chased her pleasure, and once again Rowan realized how much he loved her. His Fireheart, his mate, his wife, and his best friend.

He loved her so damn much and he told her so, repeated it over and over again as they both fell over the edge, gripping the other’s skin as they reached the peak of pleasure.

They were both breathless as he lifted her up, pulling out of her and he used his shirt to clean her up. He didn’t want to get dressed not yet, anyway. He lied on his side, tucking his Fireheart next to him. That way, every inch of his front could touch her back. One of his hands came to rest on her belly as he took her book, opening it to where she had left a bookmark.

“What are you doing?” She asked him, her voice sleepy. He used his magic to extinguish most of the candles in the bookstore, leaving only the ones behind him lit to give him some light. "Shhh." He said softly into her ear, moving slightly to be more comfortable, and pulled her even closer to him. "You don't have to come back to reality now."  He told her then began to read her book aloud.

He couldn’t see her but deep down, he left her smile as she put her hand against his, both of them holding their baby as they hugged each other.

Aelin fell asleep quickly but Rowan didn’t stop reading, even if after many hours his voice became hoarse and his throat hurt. But if his Fireheart heard him maybe she would know he was still here, even in her sleep.

—————

@sheharahu // @morganofthewildfire // @thestoriesyoutell // @fromthelibraryofemilyj // @swankii-art-teacher // @itsforeverinnocent-blog // @becarefuloflove // @imnotsogoodatthis // @rowaelinismyotp // @a-court-of-milkandhoney // @feysand-loml // @surielandiareendgame // @live-the-fangirl-life // @story-scribbler // @loves-books // @fangirlprincess09 // @theysayitscrazy

[bucky-barmes]

☾✧✧✧ I'm just looking for a good night ✧✧✧☽

female enhanced!reader x tfatws!Bucky

In which you get dragged into a mess in Madripoor while just trying to enjoy yourself. But is the infamous Winter Soldier as bad as you always thought?

[ a/n: idk what this exactly is but i don't hate it, and who doesn't love asshole bucky? maybe i just have a problem, also loosely based on that madripoor episode. also also tried something new for the writing style so i hope you don't mind lemme know if it's shit ]

Minka is polish for strong-willed one, and is a name but here it’s used as a nickname as it’s reader insert

[ word count: ~3,580 words (this started as a lil drabble of reader meeting bucky at a bar, but i guess my brain had other ideas)

includes: asshole bucky, swearing - like a lot (i'm aussie okay?), drinking (alcoholism?), it's pretty fkn angsty, asshole bucky (i'm warning you ok), no -18 pls as it's not entirely g rated & has some implications

[ all works are my own, do not steal, repost or translate ]

tagging some friends (message if you wanna be on a perm taglist/if you don't wanna be tagged in future (i won't take it to heart i promise)) @sweetdreamsbuck @beefybuckrrito @mymindslabyrinth @igotnoname4thisblog @theluxuriousfangirl @posinhay @barnesand1

The music was blaring, sending vibrations through her body as she swayed to the fast beat. Drink sloshing around as she waved her arms around her above her head. This was it. This was living. Drunk, surrounded by strangers. No one knew her and she knew no one. She was free. And it was incredible.

Going to clubs alone was dangerous, she couldn't remember the number of times her mother had warned her not to. She must have been rolling in her grave at her daughter not only going to a club alone, but to a club in Madripoor no less. The thrill that anything could happen only exciting her more. That, and knowing that the Powerbroker wouldn't let anything happen to her, wouldn't let anyone lay a finger on her. That was the perk of being enhanced and not looking like it, it made you useful.

She had lost track of the hours, and the drinks, thinking only of how good the music made her feel. Of how nothing had felt this good in so long.

She waded through the sea of people, already locking eyes with the bartender as she made a beeline for the bar. She was stopped in her tracks, however, by a wall of bodies.

An almost animalistic growl ripped through her as she slapped her hand down on the shoulder of the man in the middle, a big fur collar adorning his coat. A hard hand gripped her wrist in response and her eyes shifted slowly from the back of man one to the owner of the hand.

Her eyes widened at who they landed on, then narrowed to barely visible slits. Yanking her hand back she didn't break her glare.

"I'm sorry, Dove, did we cut in?" The voice of the middle man broke her chain of thought, and when she looked back to him, he had turned to face her. "How about we buy you a drink to apologise."

"I don't want your handouts, Baron." Venom dripped from her words as she spat back her response. She wedged herself between the Baron and the third man, not someone she recognised, to snatch the drink the bartender placed out for her. "Besides, I don't pay here anyway, don't want you wasting your money."

She was about to work her way back through the crowd of people and to the middle of the dance floor again when she had a thought.

"Hold the fucking phone." Spinning on the spot, her eyes narrowed again, this time at the Baron, but that didn't stop her from seeing the man to his left step forward defensively.

"How are you even here? Last I heard you were stuck in a prison in Germany." Her drink was down and she slammed the glass down on the bar, getting threateningly close to him as she did. "Thought you were never getting out after what you did to them." Her sentence trailed off as her eyes flicked to the man next to him, the one with the metal arm.

The Baron offered her his signature smug smile. "Some people had other plans."

"Well, whatever you're planning," She closed the gap between them further. The shifting of bodies next to them was halted with a raise of the Baron's hand. "Stay the fuck away from me." Hatred seeped from her whole body.

Snatching the new drink that was placed on the bar, her gaze was turned to the apparent bodyguard.

"And I'd think twice before you lay a hand on me again." There was no response, but a subtle cocky smirk instead that only heated her further. She was gone before any of them could speak another word to her.

She was only able to start enjoying herself once more when the sight of the three men had disappeared, then, she was able to let her guard down and the beat of the music slowly took her over again. Until she got a call.

Plugging her other ear so she could hear, she took mental note of the location she was told to move to. The call ended abruptly, they always did with the Powerbroker, but this one was serious. She had begun picking up on the subtle differences between the calls.

Her gun was pulled from her thigh holster as she advanced towards the room Selby used for meetings.

She listened from a distance, the ability being one of many. A phone rang. An awkward silence as the conversation started. Names were thrown around, first Smiling Tiger. 'Yeah, that guy was definitely not Smiling Tiger', she thought to herself as she listened, remembering her run in with him one time. The phone call ended with a goodbye to "Sam"?

There were gunshot before she had time to process anything further.

Kicking the door down, she stepped through slowly, gun raised. It had fallen silent, the three men stood in the middle of the room.

"Holy fuck, what did you do?" Her voice was a mix of shock and anger. The men snapped their heads up.

"Things didn't exactly go according to plan, Dove." The Baron regretfully shrugged as he looked around at the collection of bodies on the floor, inclusive of Selby's.

"Well, why the fuck am I-" A fifth person joined the room before she could finish.

"Because the Powerbroker requested it." Sharon Carter approached her, stone-faced. “And nobody disobeys the Powerbroker.”

“I don’t know, I might’ve had I know it was for these idiots.” She was dead serious as she said it, glaring at the men responsible for the bodies strewn about.

Sharon shot the other woman a look, a look that said ‘you better cut it out right now’.

"Don't, Minka." Sharon's use of the others' nickname amplified the seriousness of it all.

The men in the room didn’t know it, but she, Minka, was the only one who knew who the Powerbroker really was. And you could say she was somewhat of a bodyguard for them.

“The Powerbroker requested it. End of, so get over it.” Sharon snapped at her.

“I can’t believe you’re helping these people.” Her grip on her gun tightened as she interrogated Sharon. “After everything that happened last time.” Her sentence ended with a scoff, clicking on the safety of her gun. She didn't place it back in her holster just yet though.

“Enough.” Sharon’s remark was a bark. An order. “Whether you like it or not, you’re involved now, you’ve seen the bodies. You’re part of it now.”

Minka just glared at her, mumbling “lucky me” under her breath as her daggers turned to the men again. Her anger only bubbled more when she saw the one with the metal arm, the Winter Soldier, staring right back, something she couldn’t quite pick up on behind his cold eyes.

Many hours and gun fights later, everyone made it Sharon's place alive, much to the acrimony of some of them. Of Minka.

"You have a beautiful place, Miss Carter." Baron was walking around, admiring the art as he made the genuine compliment, but he was being eyed. Sharon's personal guard wasn't about to let him touch, ruin, anything.

"Don't touch anything, and get changed, everyone knows what we're wearing now." The last part was directed at the whole group. "And you look like shit, too." Her nose scrunched as she looked them over. Even her associate was included in the statement.

Sharon watched as her figure retreated to the room she had set up, she was there often enough to warrant her own one, and then directed the men to where they could pick out some clothes and change.

There was a soft thump as her body landed on the bed, and she released a long sigh into the covers.

"Yeah, Sharon, I'm not in the mood." Her voice was mumbled from the bed, but was loud enough to hear the frustration.

"Minka, huh?" That was not the voice of Sharon Carter. Her head snapped up to face the door to her room that she swore she locked.

"You don't get to call me that." If looks could kill, the man in the doorframe would have dropped to the floor in record time.

"Is that not your name, Doll?" Arms folded over his chest, a mix of metal and flesh.

"Is your name The Winter Soldier?" The words were laced with malice as she slid off the bed, moving towards him to push him out of her room, her safe space. "Now if you don't mind getting the fuck away from me."

A heavy boot stopped the door from clicking into place, his metal hand forcing it back open, eyes dark. "No, I don't think I will." He stepped into the room, pushing the door closed behind him. This time it was her that stopped the door from closing, hand gripped tightly on the handle, pulling back.

"You've got some fucking nerve coming here like that." Minka yanked the handle as the soldier pushed the door harder, breaking it clean off. "Coming back into Sharon's life like you aren't the one that fucked it up in the first place." The handle dropped with a loud thud.

For a moment, something flashed through his eyes. Regret? Sadness? Whatever it was lasted a mere second before he regained control.

"So, you're like me?" His gaze dropped to the handle on the ground, taking the opportunity to gaze down her body as he did.

It was all she could do from punching him right then and there. "Absolutely not!" If the venom in her voice wasn't evident before, it definitely was now. "I don't kill innocents."

The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. The soldier staring down darkly at the smaller woman.

"It's Bucky."

Her eyes narrowed. "What?"

"My name, it's Bucky. And you can call me that."

She couldn't hold back the scoff that fell from her lips. "I won't be calling you anything. After all this shit is cleaned up, you'll never see me again."

Bucky's head tilted ever so slightly, his voice soft but dark. "I wouldn't be so sure of that." But before she was able to punch question him, Sharon's voice bellowed through the building.

"Downstairs, now."

The pair ripped their eyes from each other, Minka's falling to the handle on the floor. "I'm telling her you broke that. Now fuck off so I can change." And she shoved him out of the room, closing the door over between them, making sure to not close it the whole say so she could actually get out when she was ready.

By the time she had finished getting ready and made her way down to everyone else, people had begun meandering in, admiring the art.

"Took you long enough." Sharon walked up behind her, whispering harshly in her ear.

"Yeah, well you can thank your old friend for that. He's an asshole, by the way." "And he's not a friend." "Well he's the reason I need a drink." She turned to face Sharon, giving her a look of 'I hate you for dragging me into this' before heading to the bar, fully intending on double parking it the whole night.

It didn't take long for her to finally loosen up again, 5 drinks to be exact, and be back in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by sweaty bodies. It may have been an art auction, but nothing was ever not a party in Madripoor, especially if it was organised by the Powerbroker themself.

Minka was so caught up in the moment that she had forgotten entirely about the events of the day, the people of the day.

She had, yet again, lost track of the number of drinks she'd had. But every drink handed her way was downed immediately, not taking any time to register where, or more like who, they were coming from. That was always her greatest weakness, denying alcohol.

She was happily about to take yet another unknown drink being handed to her, when it was snatched from her reach and discarded on a nearby table.

"Hey, what the fuck, that was mine!" She growled, turning with her fist ready to launch into whoever had the nerve to steal her drink.

"Stop taking drinks from strangers, are you an idiot?" Suddenly the memories of the men she had to deal with throughout the day came flooding back. "You're gonna get spiked- in fact, you were about to with that one."

"What? Have you been keeping an eye on me? That's not very Winter Soldier of you." Her tone was mocking as she glared up at Bucky, struggling to stand thanks to the combination of copious amounts of alcohol and continuous movement of people around her.

Bucky placed his large hands on her biceps to keep her steady, eyes narrowing at her words. "You really don't know how to be nice to people, do you?"

"You really don't know how to stay the fuck away from people that don't like you, do you?" She retorted immediately, pulling herself from his grip. "I don't need a goddamn babysitter, especially not you. You don't exactly have the best track record with protecting people." Her back was turned to him and stalking off before she even finished her sentence, but she was yanked back in by her forearm.

"Yeah, I don't think so. You're being watched like a hawk by at least 3 men. Who knows how many of them are trying to spike you and get you separated from the crowd." Bucky's eyes were anywhere but hers, scanning the vast room for anything suspicious, clearly on high alert.

"I don't understand why you fucking care?" Bucky's eyes snapped down to hers, alarmed by her intensity.

"Keep your voice down or you're gonna draw attention to us." He hissed at her, lowering his head and pulling her arm to move her closer to him.

"Good, maybe security will see you're harassing me and escort you out." She snarled, anger rising with every word he spoke. "I'm just looking for a good fucking night and you've managed to ruin it twice now."

"Well take it up with Sharon then, she's the one that told me to keep an eye on you. So clearly she thinks you do need a babysitter." He dropped her arm, that would be enough to keep her in her spot for now.

"You're lying." Her words were barely above a whisper, eyes narrowed at him. "She knows I can hold my own. She's literally hired me for personal protection before."

"Clearly not this time." Bucky's eyes were back to scanning the room. "Not with the types of people here tonight." Minka couldn't help but scoff.

"Oh, because you know Madripoor, right? You've spent how many years here? Oh, that's right, none." She suddenly saw her opportunity to escape, Bucky's eyes not trained on her and her arms free.

"Tell her, as much as I appreciate it, she can shove it." And with that she had weaved her way though the crowd of bodies.

But her abandonment didn't last nearly as long as she had hoped.

All of a sudden she was being pushed against the far wall of the room where she was escaping to, breath knocked out of her.

"What the fu-" Lips landing on hers cut off her protests. Her eyes widened when she realised who said lips belonged to.

"Get off of me!" She spat when she was finally able to push Bucky off. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"People are following you. If they know you're with me they're less likely to try something."

"I'm not with you. In fact, I want to be as far away from you as physically possible right now." Bucky's arms, which were trapping her in by pressing against the wall either side of her face, fell to his side. His face turned emotionless for a moment before returning to his usual arrogant demeanour.

"You can't tell me you didn't feel the spark." He winked, a cocky grin plastered on his face when he saw the heat creep to her cheeks.

"Please, you wish there was a spark." Her eyes rolled as she paused. "I've had knife fights with more spark than that."

"Maybe we should have a knife fight sometime then." Bucky's response was quick, and smooth.

"Have you forgotten that you're never going to see me again after all this shit? Although," Minka tapped her chin in mock thought. "If you're offering to let me stab you, I'll gladly take you up on that." Unlike Bucky's, her face held no semblance of humour.

"I'm sure you'll change your mind by the end of it." Bucky eyed her suggestively.

"God, please don't tell me you're into me. Maybe I do want those supposed guys to take me, seems better than the alternative." She groaned at the thought of having to deal with him fawning after her.

Bucky's face indicated that that was definitely not he case. His eyes, however, suggested her words had hurt him a little. "God, never. But if you really want, I can hand deliver you to them myself." He pointed in the direction of said men.

Her nose crinkled. "Okay, maybe not them."

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

"Sharon, we have a serious problem!" Minka stormed into the kitchen after the last few people had left and the party was over, Bucky not far behind her. "So I need a babysitter now? I thought I was the personal protection around here." Her fist collided heavily with the table.

"You are," Sharon looked at her nonchalantly as she poured herself a glass of whiskey. "Until alcohol is involved. You're as useless as that new Captain America when there's booze around." A sip. "Case in point." Sharon hummed, watching your eyes follow her glass from bench, to mouth, to bench again.

"Oh please." She snorted. "And you thought pairing me with this idiot was a good idea?" He hand gestured back to Bucky at idiot, not caring if it offended him. "He just makes me want to drink more."

Sharon was about to give her a look, but Minka just shook her head, throwing her hands up. "No, I'm not dealing with this tonight. I'm going to bed." "Take him with you." Sharon nodded towards Bucky.

"Oh fuck no, why the fuck would I-" "Because everyone knows you're involved, and your head is on a spike now, too. They want you dead, Minka." She couldn't argue with Sharon when she used her nickname for her. And the pain in her voice was evident.

"Fine, but you're sleeping on the floor." Bucky just shrugged, "nothing new."

"You sleep there." A finger pointed to the sofa on the far side of the room. Conveniently away from the bed. "I'll get you a blanket."

Bucky's brow quirked. "I thought I was on the floor?" He feigned confusion, head tilting to the side before his cocky smirk returned.

"Keep going and you will be." The blanket was thrown at his face, along with a pillow.

"A pillow too? Wow, it's like a 5 star hotel." She just glared.

"If you snore, you're out. If you sleep talk, you're out. You make any sort of noise and you're out. Capisce?"

"Guess it's a good thing I don't sleep then, huh?" Bucky threw the blanket and pillow onto the sofa.

"Now see, that just makes it weird. Like that scene from Twilight." "Well, yeah, when you put it like that it is." His face screwed up at the thought, recalling the scene.

"How do you- Actually no, I'm tired and I don't care." She had been about to ask how he understood the reference, but decided that was going to open a whole can of worms that she didn't care about.

"I may be over 100, but I have seen Twilight. Wanda made me watch it with her." He didn't need to be a mind reader to know what she was about to ask. And he didn't blame her, it probably would be surprising that a 106 year old had seen Twilight.

"Don't worry, Doll, I won't stare. Much." And now it was her turn to scrunch her face up.

"If you fucking touch me, I'll rip that metal arm from your body and shove it so far up your ass." Her sentence trailed off, however, when Bucky stepped closer to her, his gaze intense as he looked down at her.

"And how do you think I would touch you?" Another step closer, making her step back and gulp.

With her mouth agape, Minka was lost for words, probably for the first time in her life. Sharon unknowingly came to her rescue, though, when she knocked on the door while entering.

"Set your alarm for 6," Her eyes narrowed at them both and the distance, or lack there of, between them. "We've gotta be out of here asap tomorrow. Make sure you get enough sleep." "Will do, Sharon." Minka's gaze flicked to her, nodding once before she left the room, confusion plastered on her features.

"Right, well that's bed time then." Her tongue ran over her lips nervously, and she was painfully aware of Bucky's eyes watching. "I'm going to get changed." She turned and basically ran to the bathroom attached to her room.

"I'll be out here waitin'." "You're disgusting, don't think anything." "Wouldn't dream of it, doll."

[rotworld]

3: Salamander

The apprentices of Magister Hezethril seem to be dying of horrific accidents with suspicious frequency.

->contains gore, murder, non-consensual touching, yandere, threats, and extreme power imbalance (basically teacher/student).

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There’s a commotion in the hallway. A crowd of apprentices, swarming together in a sea of black cloaks, have gathered in the open doorway of the alchemy laboratory. But there’s no excitement among them, no jovial anticipation. They’re whispering and weeping, clinging to one another anxiously. Your heart skips a beat. It can’t be. Not again. You push your way through the crowd, refusing to believe it until you see it with your own eyes, ignoring the voices all around you.

“...looks like Bianca…”

“...the third this week…”

“...couldn’t have done this to herself…”

“Excuse me,” you mutter, shouldering past a pair of gawking boys. You’re hardly a step into the room when the stench hits you, sharp and unnatural, rust and ozone. Something pale green and foul-smelling is spilled across the stone floor, dripping from an upended cauldron, but what’s worse is the blood. You can follow a trail of pain and slow suffering; a bloody handprint on the glass case in the back of the room. A smear across the table. A spattered drag across the floor, all the way to the lifeless body of an apprentice, her hands frozen in rigor mortis claws in front of her face. Her mouth is still open in a silent scream.

“What in the seven hells is going on in here?” 

The words crack like a whip through the tense air, cold and razor sharp. The crowd parts silently, allowing Magister Hezethril into the laboratory. You make way for him, scrambling out of his path. The Magister is imposing in his long red robes, towering above the apprentices and pushing them aside with webbed hands. His bronze skin turns ink black halfway down his extremities, his nails lacquered with gold. He sweeps forward wordlessly, tendrils of long black hair waving in his wake. His frightening eyes, spots of gold in black sclera, fall upon the dead apprentice. He scowls in distaste. “Who was in the room when this happened?” he asks.

A trembling apprentice steps forward, a young man with blood on his hands. “I was,” he says hoarsely. “I came in to use the lab. Bianca was already here, working on something. She dropped something into the cauldron, I didn’t see what. But all of the sudden, she was gasping and convulsing. She started,” he swallows hard, his hands trembling, “scratching. At her own throat. I tried to stop her, but she fought me. She just kept scratching. There was this awful, wet noise, and then she…” One of the other apprentices puts an arm around him as he begins to sob.

“I see,” Magister Hezethril says. He turns on his heel and walks away. “Clean this up,” he orders, leaving shaken apprentices in his wake. Some scatter, eager to be far away from the gruesome mess, but you stay with a handful of others. The young man who saw Bianca die sits, unresponsive, against the wall. He’s going to need all the help he can get. Several apprentices cover Bianca with a white sheet and take the body away. You and a few of your peers begin scrubbing blood from the floor. You wince at the fleshy chunks of tissue among the mess.

Luca finds something in the bottom of the cauldron that makes him wrinkle his nose. “She was poisoned,” he mutters. “This brew was extremely toxic. No one in their right mind would have brewed it, but there’s some kind of residue in the bottom. I think she was sabotaged.” He pinches a fine, ashy dust between his fingers. You can’t recognize it anymore, singed as it is, but you believe him. The smell in the room leaves a distinct burning sensation in your throat.

Beside you, Sheila squeaks, “Sabotage?” She’s had to leave the room twice to vomit, and she looks like she might need to again.

“It’s not unheard of,” Phoebe says, shrugging. She wipes Bianca’s bloodied handprints from the cabinets. “Lots of mage apprentices die under suspicious circumstances. It’s new apprentices, usually. Young, impulsive, trying to compete. They just want to get ahead.”

“I don’t want to think about it,” Sheila insists. “What’s there to compete over, anyway? The Magister hates all of us.” 

That gets a bitter chuckle from everyone in the room. Working together, you get the laboratory cleaned up in no time, every trace of blood and poison mopped up and disposed of. It leaves an empty feeling within you. It feels like you do this more and more often lately, erasing all traces of your fellow apprentices. Memorial services, if there are any, happen in the distant hamlets and villages where the apprentices came from. Life in the Magister’s tower goes on uninterrupted and you’re expected to behave as though the sudden holes opened up at certain desks and in certain dormitories simply do not exist. 

The others are thinking about it now. You can feel that heaviness in the air even with the body gone and all traces of death washed away. Accidents happen anywhere you gather inexperienced mages, but not nearly this many, not so close together. There’s a field south of the tower full of fresh graves and wooden crosses. “Why isn’t the Magister doing anything?” Sheila whimpers. “Is this what he wants? Are we all supposed to kill each other until only one of us is left?”

“Of course not,” you insist. You give her the water pail you were going to use to rinse your hands, letting her take it first. She sniffles as she scrubs Bianca from beneath her nails. “The Magister must know something’s happening. Maybe he’s just being careful. He doesn’t want to say anything until he’s certain he knows who’s responsible.”

“Are you kidding? Magisters get off on things like this,” Phoebe says, rolling her eyes. “It’s a power trip for them. You saw how he looked at Bianca, right? Like she was an insect. He only cares about his favorites. Bet you get extra credit for offing somebody.” 

“That’s awful,” you tell her. 

She shrugs. “That’s life.” 

“I assume you’re done in here if you have time to gossip.” 

The Magister’s voice is like ice down your back. Sheila practically sprints from the room. Phoebe sheepishly greets him and keeps her head down as she leaves. Luca eyes the Magister suspiciously but passes without a word. “Magister,” you address him, bowing your head. He holds out his arm when you try to step past him. 

“Just a moment, apprentice,” he says. You’ve heard him speak to your peers, reducing them to tears with nothing but his hard gaze alone. But when he looks at you, his strange gaze softens with affection. He says “apprentice” as though it’s a term of endearment. You shift uneasily, peering into the hallway behind him in search of your friends, but they��re long gone. A sinking feeling overtakes you when he bumps the laboratory door with his elbow, shutting it behind him. “I won’t keep you long,” he assures you. “Solstice preparations will begin soon. Could I persuade you to assist me?”

Could I persuade you, he says. A phrase unheard of, coming from the mouth of an elder mage. They don’t ask favors. They don’t plead or beg. They give orders, and apprentices jump to follow them. Magister Hezethril is no different, but for you, he will dress up the truth in pretty language, will say it sweetly so it scares you less. But you know better. You hear the threat unspoken. His hand hooks beneath your chin, demanding eye contact. The webbing between his fingers is soft and damp, slick against your skin. “Yes, Magister,” you say quietly. “I would be happy to assist you.”

The Magister’s smiles are uncomfortable, too wide and hungry, too inhuman. “Excellent,” he says. “See to it that your schedule is open, I’ll need you the next few evenings for preliminary research.”

“Of course,” you say. “But, ah, I will need tomorrow evening to myself.”

“Oh?” the Magister says, sounding so unconcerned and casual that you almost slip up, forget who you’re talking to. “And why is that?” You try, subtly, to slip out of his grasp. A mistake, you realize too late, Magister Hezethril’s pupils narrow into slits and he corners you against the back cabinets, slamming his hand against the wooden panels beside your head. You hear the cabinet door splinter, feel it shaking and collapsing inward. You hold your breath. The Magister bends slightly from his great height, his gaze piercing and heated. “Where are you going, apprentice?” he hisses. “Why the rush? Are you hiding something from me?” 

“I’m not, I swear I’m not,” you insist, too weak and hesitant to convince him. You can never lie to him. He always drags the truth out, one way or another. “I just...I promised one of the others that I’d tutor them in incantation.”

The Magister makes a frightening, inhuman sound, somewhere between a hiss and a growl, flashing fangs and a black, forked tongue. “This again?” he mutters. “How many times must I tell you that you are above them? They do not deserve your attention. How could you possibly learn everything I have to teach you when you are too busy with these wastrels you call your peers?” He doesn’t give you time to answer, nor the space to breathe. His sharp nails trace your jaw, titling your face towards him when you try to turn away. He looms so close you can smell the fire in his lungs, magic that could reduce you to ash if he so desired. 

“It would be such a shame, wouldn’t it, if another apprentice were to die,” he murmurs, looming inches from you, his breath warming your lips. “Such a terrible waste. So many accidents these last few months. So many dead.” 

“Please,” you whisper, clutching his shoulders. His robes bunch up beneath your grip but it’s worthless. He’s so much older and stronger than you. “Please don’t hurt anyone else.” 

Magister Hezethril tilts his head, drinking in your fear and submission. He traces your lips with the sharp tip of one nail. “Are you available tomorrow, apprentice?” he asks. 

“Yes,” you say shakily. “Yes, I swear, I’m all yours.”

It’s just what he wants to hear. Smiling, he pulls you into his chest. Gently, he smooths down your hair where it ruffled against the cupboards, pushing the creases from your cloak. But he pauses as he does this, catching sight of the thick turtleneck fabric you’re wearing beneath. He toys with it, peeling it down to expose tender flesh. You shiver under the attention, the careful stroke of his fingers along your pulse. “You aren’t just yet,” he says. “But that’s alright. I can be very, very patient.”

You wince when he slices into you, just enough to break the skin. He rolls your turtleneck back up. The wound throbs hot underneath. “See you tomorrow, apprentice,” he purrs. You nod numbly. The laboratory opens and slams the shut, the sound echoing off the stone walls.