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unholyhelbig · 5 months

Note

Natasha Romanoff x Reader with "Who did this to you?"

Title: Hallway Meetings

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Wordcount: 2077

Warnings: Injuries, blood, bruising, mugging, Bad Grammar

[A/n: I haven't written Nat in awhile, so here is some hurt comfort!]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

By the time you made it back to your apartment, the adrenaline had sufficiently worn off. The rush of energy that kept the pain at bay was the only thing that made it possible for you to sit through the bus ride across the city, the lights were much too bright and blue, your head pounding. You pressed your fingers against your ribs on the ride home, each exhalation trembling.

Somewhere along the way, the bus came rolling to a stop and the man behind the wheel huffed out at you. “End of the line.”

You were the only one on the bus, and by that time, you were fighting sleep entirely. There was no one else on the bus, and you didn’t see the point in arguing with him. His eyes were tired and dark. Something told you he was having a worse day than you were.

With begrudging compliance, you walked the three blocks to your building. You had forgotten your coat, and by the time you made it to the entrance, there was a numbness to the fingers that you refused to realize until you typed your code in and felt what real warmth was for only a moment.

The lobby smelled damp, as it always did despite the dry winter that the city was experiencing. Sickly yellow lights changed the tile on the floor from beige to green, and you lamented the fact that the elevator that had been busted since your move-in date was still in the same condition.

Any other day, it wouldn’t’ bother you. But you let out an involuntary groan at the sight before making your way up the first flight of stairs, your fingers still pushed against the aching of your mid-section. You were certain that they were broken, or at the very least, bruised. It pained you to take a deep breath.

Two more flights of stairs and the excitement of the night had worn away entirely. Your whole body pulsed with pain, with fatigue and regret for not listening to your mother the million times she told you to be careful on your way home, to keep an eye on your surroundings.

It’s not you that I don’t trust, it’s other people. Her words echoed listlessly in your mind as you searched your pockets for your keys. The group of men who had jumped you must have snagged them too, or they were lost in the shuffle of things. Either way, you were locked out, and the damn was about to break.

“Come on,” You whispered, pressing your aching head against the cool wood of the door. You suppose you should be thinking whatever higher power was up there for letting you escape with your life, just not your cell phone. But right now, it all felt like a cruel joke.

You weren’t sure how long you lingered there, but it was long enough to slide down to the carpeted hallway and lean your head against the wall. It was much too late to call your landlord, even if you could. You were suddenly content to sleep the night off in the corridor. Concussion or not, unconsciousness called to you.

At some point, you’d drifted off to the buzzing sound of the overhead lights. When your neighbor approached, you didn’t’ make any attempt to unfold yourself at the sound of her soft footsteps. She had always been so courteous when she was home, making as little noise as possible, even when she arrived well into the night. This was no different.

She put her hand on your shoulder softly, it was a stark difference from the cold of the hallway, and you startled all the same, inhaling deeply and with enough haste to make you wince, a soft “ow,” escaping your lips.

Natasha was knelt down in front of you, an undeniable look of worry on her face. The two of you had been neighbors for over a year now, and you would be the last to admit that you wanted to get to know her better. She was quite elusive, and always kind. She was a mystery to you, and that made you all the more curious.

The two of you operated on the same schedule when she was home. You often ended up walking down to the mailboxes together, sharing in small talk. She was guarded at first, but the first time you had gotten her to open up, to laugh at a joke you couldn’t even recall, you knew that you wanted to hear that sound more than once.

Natasha would help you up the stairs with your groceries, despite your protests. You would help her learn how to cook something other than boxed mac and cheese. The two of you had shared a six-pack of beer during the buildings holiday block party on the roof, despite the cold. That night, Natasha had taught you how to peg a stop sign with a snowball, her aim impeccable.

The moments were few and far between, but they meant something to you both. You hadn’t seen her for about a month at this point and figured that she was traveling. There was no mention of what she did for work, and she seemed content not to tell you, just as you were content to let her do so in her own time.

There was a suitcase next to her door, something you had never seen her with before. She was dressed in sweats, looking casual from a long day of travel. Her auburn hair was up in a loose bun, strands falling and framing her face. You couldn’t help but think that she was stunning.

Your face must have looked pretty banged up, because you could audibly hear her breath lodge in her throat. You hadn’t bothered calling the police, nor did you see much benefit in lingering in the spot that you’d been attacked. The only thought on your mind was getting back here, certainly not with the intention of seeing Natasha.

“Y/n,” her voice was gravelly. There was a coolness to her fingers that you wanted to lean into as she lifted your chin to get a better look at the pulsing feeling around your eye. You winced as her thumb moved against your busted lip, smearing away a streak of blood. “Who did this to you?”

Her voice was hard, almost with an edge of a threat on her tongue. You’d never heard her sound this way before. She was always soft, if not quiet in her calculations. Now, you saw worry and anger etched onto her beautiful features.

“Just some guys,” you said in an exhalation. “It’s not a big deal I got locked out.”

The attempt to diffuse her worry was going poorly. Natasha frowned at you and released your chin. You struggled to voice your protests as Natasha eased her arm tightly around your center, pulling you to your feet. You saw stars, not quite sure if it was from her sudden closeness, or the exhaustive injuries.

Natasha was strong. She held you with little effort, even as you threatened to slump back down into your previous position. She unlocked her door, and you were welcomed with a warm darkness until she flicked on the light by the door.

Her home was modest, and understated. It overlooked a beautiful part of the city, the walls lined with novels that you’d otherwise be interested in. There were undertones of vanilla and tobacco, the same scent Natasha carried like a sword, your nose pressed against the small of her neck as she led you to the sofa and deposited you there.

Natasha vanished down the hallway. If her apartment mirrored yours, she would move towards the bathroom at the end of the hall. You nudged yourself up taller on the sofa, trying not to let your blood wick into its fabric. When She returned, she sheepishly shook a first-aide kit.

She set out her supplies and you groaned when you saw the bottle of iodine and cotton pads. She had done this before. Natasha worked with ease, she unscrewed the cap on the bottle before flipping it onto the pad, a sick brown liquid sopped into the surface. You could smell it from here, nose crinkling in response.

“Stop squirming, this will help.”

You highly doubted that, but all the same, let her work at the cut that was slit across your eyebrow. She dabbed the antiseptic and you refused to pull away. You knew that you would never try to get out of Natasha’s grasp. Her hand was warm and guiding. The sting eventually eased.

She asked, “Do you remember where you were when this happened?”

“Whoever they are, they’re long gone.”

You drew in a sharp breath when she nudged your ribs by accident. A discontent frown fell across her features. It wasn’t the same look of heated anger that dawned on her in the hallway. Instead, this was one of pure concern.

“We should really wrap that, you know? There’s no cure for broken ribs, but we can ease your suffering a bit with some plastic wrap.”

Before you could answer she put the iodine on the table and walked towards her kitchen. You watched her carefully. Each movement was calculated. “How do you know so much about this?”

“I’ve been put into some unsavory positions.” Natasha returned with a meager roll of cellophane. She stood, a pink color on her cheeks. “You’re going to have to take off your shirt.”

Now you were sputtering, mumbling a few things under your breath. The thrumming of your mid-section was enough for you to agree, even though your own cheeks heated up at the thought. She had a bit of a quirk to her lip, both eyebrows raised in amusement.

You got stuck halfway through, a twinge of pain shooting through your core. You must have winced, or Natasha could read the pain in your eyes because she mercifully helped you the rest of the way out. When she was done, the two of you were incredibly close, her breath warm on your skin, goosebumps coating every inch of your body.

A budding bruise stretched across your ribs, marring the tender flesh there. Natasha exhaled deeply, you felt the action everywhere. Her fingers moved across the deep smudges of brown and black and purple. Your mouth was suddenly dry as her forehead leaned against yours. She was quieter than usual.

“This shouldn’t have happened.” Natasha was knelt in front of you again, glowering as her soft touch soothed your aching. “I’ve spent my entire life making up for mistakes that I’ve made. Trying to stop the big bads of the world when… when horrible things happen everywhere, and the truth is, I can’t stop everything.”

“You don’t need to shoulder that responsibility, Natasha.” You mindlessly cupped her cheek and she sighed into the touch, her eyes closing for a moment of gratitude. “That’s not your job.”

“It is,” She swallowed hard “it is. And it pains me that you’re hurting like this. That I couldn’t protect you. All I’ve wanted to do since the moment I’ve met you is protect you from me, and seeing you like this, God, it shouldn’t’ have happened.”

She was crying, and you thumbed them away as she had done with your blood a few moments earlier. If there was any hesitancy in her emotion, it washed away with the simple gesture. Her nose brushed against yours, cold from the journey home.

Nat smelled of melted snow and you remembered the night on the rooftop. The way your elbows brushed together as you watched the lights over the city. You almost closed the distance then and there, but she’d pulled away, and you awkwardly downed another frothy beer before she threw a second snowball, nailing the stop sign where you had fallen short.

Now, it was her that leaned in. There was a slight nip of pain where your lip had split, but it eased slowly into pleasure. She tasted like hazelnut coffee from the airport, of an edge of mind. Your fingers traced her jaw. She sighed into the kiss, the most fragile sound in the world.

You broke the embrace regrettably, sucking air through your teeth “oh, ouch.”

“Sorry, I’m sorry” she chuckled softly, nudging her forehead with her own, touch dancing over your midsection. “We really should get you patched up.”

#Natasha Romanoff #Natasha Romanoff x reader #Natasha Romanoff x you #Natasha Romanoff x y/n #Soft Natasha Romanoff #Hurt/comfort #request #Marvel #Marvel Fanfiction

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jolenes-doppelganger · 2 months

Text

Gentle Hands

Ilsa Faust x Fem! Reader (NSFW- RATED EXPLICIT)

Summary: What happens when a dangerous spy gets disavowed? She goes right back to her roots. It’s unfortunate that those roots land her into a months long obsession with the current tenant of her childhood home.

Warnings: Yandere/Stalker Ilsa- Non-consensual watching of intimate activities, clothes stealing (panty stealing), non-con touching of non-sexual areas, masturbation (Reader and Ilsa)

A/N: I do not condone this behavior in real life. This is a character study, get OFF my ass. <3

Word Count: 2.0K

[Told from Ilsa's POV, third person.]

It was normal, to be this involved in someone’s life, certainly. If everyone had the skills that Ilsa did they would do what Ilsa did. This girl, this (Reader), she was interesting. Unusually so. She'd done good things to Ilsa's childhood town home. There were plants everywhere, and the windows no longer fogged over in the winter, which meant she'd probably renovated the old town home herself. Or perhaps the landlords had changed. Ilsa didn't look into those details; those were boring, useless details. What was more interesting than the renovations was the person who continued to spruce up the home. Fresh wallpaper had been put up the day Ilsa had knocked on the door. Ilsa remembered this very clearly, using her proficiency for keen detail retainment to remember the day vividly.

Fall leaves clung to the stone pathway that led up to the town home. Ilsa knocked on the door of her childhood home, fully prepared for any sort of introduction, any sort of grumpy old geezer swinging the door open and letting out a tired 'What are ya ringing the door bell for, love?'. But that wasn't what happened.

'Hiya, how can I help you?' a soft voice asked, opening the door to reveal a kind looking young woman.

'Hi, I'm Ilsa Auster, I used to live here. I wanted to take a look around the old house for a moment, check to see if anyone I knew still lived here.' Ilsa softly explained.

The young woman smiled back.

'Oh, I see. My name is (Reader). I'm afraid I don't recognize you or know too much about the previous tenants.'

'I wouldn't expect you to, this was years ago, you see.' Ilsa smiled thinly.

The young woman seemed to pause for a moment, deciding on something.

'Well if you'd like to come in and have a cup of tea, you're more than welcome to.' she offered, so sweet.

Ilsa had come in for tea. She'd seen the freshly wallpapered living room, smelled the drying paint, and she'd run her fingers along the new countertops the new landlord had installed. You were sweet to Ilsa the entire time, giving her the little information you had about Simon Faust, the elderly gentleman that had passed on from complications related to kidney failure, as well as a few tenants in between. The tea you served was made the proper English way, with loose tea leaves in a metal tea strainer, left to steep in a pot for five minutes while Ilsa had chatted with you. The sugar cubes you offered were sickly sweet, just like you. None of it would have made Ilsa do what she did next, none of it would have been something she'd dwell on at all, had you not touched her.

You'd given a soft squeeze to her shoulder as you bade her farewell at the door. A tender touch, full of trust, goodwill, kindness. Not too many people trusted Ilsa enough to touch her like that. In her line of work people didn't touch. A hand for support, a brief handshake for introduction, but mostly punches, slaps; hands wielded like weapons to leave bruises at the bare minimum, to end her life in the extremes. A kind touch was unheard of in her past life. With one small gesture, you had given Ilsa a taste of the life she'd given up working for MI6. It was this touch that ruined her; that made her ravenous for more.

That's why she was in front of her computer, browsing the cameras she'd placed inside your home. Hundreds of cameras to capture you from every angle as your hands worked. Those hands, petting your cat, watering your plants, cooking dinner (breakfast, lunch), touching anything and everything in that gentle way of yours. Those hands that soaped up your body in the shower, scrubbing yourself clean after a long day, those hands that lingered in the valley of your breasts and over the soft expanse of your stomach and roved over your bare thighs.

Those hands.

Tonight Ilsa was in for her favorite treat. You were tired, shifting uncomfortably, but not quite satisfied with something about yourself. Ilsa opened up a period recording app, tracking your cycle. She'd set this up this early on. It was interesting how predictable your behavior was in relation to your cycle; fascinating, truly. She smirked with glee. You were ovulating tomorrow. No wonder you were so uncomfortable.

'Feeling extra uptight, princess?' Ilsa whispered as she watched you squirm. 'Gonna give me a show?'

You gave in after five minutes. Phone down, reaching into your bedside table, bringing out that tiny little vibrator of yours that you adored. Ilsa had seen you use it a few times, but you used it most frequently during this window of heightened hormonal activity. You browsed on your phone, bringing up a cute little story. One of your 'fanfictions'. Ilsa could open your phone's software and see what you were reading if she really wanted to, but she didn't. Not now, anyways. She watched in excitement as you pulled your pajama pants down your legs, underwear too. Ilsa bit her lip. If you were taking them off all the way, this was going to be a good show.

The vibrator buzzed quietly. She watched in anticipation as you placed it against your clit, the soft gasp when you did.

'Princess, I might need to join in on this.' Ilsa smirked, crossing and uncrossing her legs.

You swiped through your phone reading avidly as the buzz continued. Your hips would wriggle a little, and you'd let out a soft 'hmm' or a breathy 'hihch' every once in a while, but that was it. Ilsa knew you weren't vocal. No, you were quiet. Ilsa shifted in her seat as you increased the vibrator's speed. She watched breathlessly as you seemed to be getting more into whatever you were reading.

'Oh, princess, now I know you're the quiet type, but you're putting on a show.' Ilsa whispered to the screen, eyes dilated.

She watched as your eyes rolled back and you panted quickly, going rigid for a few moments and then relaxing. The vibrator was back in the drawer before Ilsa had taken her jeans all the way off.

"No, damn it!' Ilsa slammed her fist on her desk. 'You're not playing fair, we're supposed to do it together!'

She watched as you walked into the bathroom, sitting on the toilet and peeing. Ilsa groaned, slapping her mouse on the pad, browsing through her stored videos. She found her favorite of you, the shower video. It was sixteen minutes long, eye candy for the intense voyeur that Ilsa had become. The setting of the video was sensual. You were in your shower, and you'd set up candles, a singular soft light illuminating the otherwise candlelit bathroom. Your hair was tied up to prevent it getting wet, and all your movements were slow. You started out carefully, using that expensive bar soap you'd bought, lathering up your arms and legs, moving slowly. Ilsa groaned at the sight, pulling her panties down her legs, running her thumbs up and down her inner thighs.

You reached for that special scrub you bought, the expensive shit. She watched as you exfoliated, paying special attention to your breasts and your ass. Ilsa moaned at the sight, starting to rub slow circles around her clit. You rinsed the scrub off, shaving your legs and your armpits. Ilsa moved her fingers slightly faster as she watched, you were propping your legs up one at a time, and that angle was spectacular. Ilsa felt herself moving too close to orgasm too quickly, so she moved her fingers down, circling her entrance, dipping her fingers in carefully. She didn't want to orgasm yet, not when the main act was just starting.

Ilsa watched in silent awe as you reached for the shower head. It was new, another addition you'd added sometime ago, before Ilsa. You carefully adjusted the setting until the pulse of water was thin and violent. Your water pressure was too high, so you unscrewed the shower head just a titch. One leg on the shower ledge, the other straight, albeit barely bent, and when the water hit your clit just right, you allowed yourself to moan. Ilsa let out her own breathy moan in response, her fingers rubbing that spongey spot inside her while she used her other hand to rub her clit. She bit her lip as she watched your thighs shake, one of your hands slamming against the shower wall, keeping yourself up. Finally, it happened. You let out a soft series of gasps and whines, your leg shaking as you came.

The sight of that, the sound, the angles of the cameras, it was enough to get Ilsa orgasming. She let out her own quick pants and soft moans as she rubbed her clit furiously, working herself through that high. The video ended with you gently running a softer stream of water between your labia, rinsing everything clean.

'Divine.' Ilsa let out a breathy chuckle.

Flipping tabs, Ilsa returned to checking up on you, skimming the video feed. You hadn't done anything interesting in the sixteen minutes she'd been replaying your best performance yet. You'd done a few housekeeping things such as returning to clean your vibrator, remake the bed, change your panties.

Your panties.

Ilsa switched cameras, zooming on them. They were soaked, caused by ovulation no doubt. Ilsa bit her lip, envisioning just how wet they would feel in between her fingertips. You looked tired, throwing the panties into your laundry basket. Your exhaustion was to be expected. Ilsa had ensured that you would always be ready to sleep at a set time; she'd switched your vitamins you'd take at night with sleep aids. You wouldn't know the difference, they looked the same as your iron pill, and you weren't tasting them to know the difference.

Ilsa smiled, pulling up her pants, grabbing the key she'd had made for your home. You were a silly girl, leaving that spare key in the flowerpot for when your Mom came over. It was a three hour errand to go to the locksmith, and no one ever asked a polite English lady about why the key was a spare instead of the original.

She slipped into your house through the back door, walking nonchalantly. Your neighbors didn't pay attention to who you had over anyways. Ilsa had talked to them a few times. They smoked too much weed to remember her, asking for her name everytime. Upon slipping in, she fed your cat a small treat. The 'Temptations' kind.

'Gonna stay quiet for me pretty girl? Yes you are.' Ilsa whispered, petting the cat until she purred, leaving a few treats to keep her occupied.

Slipping up the stairs, Ilsa quietly walked into your room, smiling at your slumbering face. Opening your closet, she grabbed those still wet panties, rubbing her fingers over the slick. Ilsa pocketed them. Ditsy girl you were, always forgetting which pairs of underwear you'd worn and which ones you hadn't. Ilsa creeped up to your bed, touching your sleeping form. You were too sleepy to notice, with your special pill and all.

'Hi princess. Don't you know better than to tease me like that? Your performance today wasn't all that stimulating.' Ilsa quietly cooed.

Taking your limp body in her arms, Ilsa was tempted to touch your new pair of panties, to see if they were wet, but she felt like that wasn't necessary. Besides, she wanted you to be awake the first time you two were together. She wasn't into fucking people when they were asleep; Ilsa didn't like how quiet they were. Besides, she'd already gotten off today. Ilsa decided on pulling you into her lap, cradling you quietly. She took one of your hands in hers, squeezing gently.

'Love these hands. Such gentle hands you've got.'

Ilsa kissed your face softly, but not your lips. No, she wanted you to be awake for that. She wanted you to remember Ilsa when she finally decided to make her move. But it wasn't time for that yet. Ilsa simply wasn't finished making the perfect person for you to love.

<----------------------------->

#ilsa faust #ilsa faust x reader #ilsa faust x you #ilsa faust x reader smut #rebecca ferguson #rebecca ferguson x reader #rebecca ferguson x you #mission impossible #lesbian #wlw #sapphic #dark writing

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imaginedreamwrite · 2 years

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3 reasons why Bambi always steals her paramedic SilverFox's hoodies

“Three reasons why it is always okay for you to steal my hoodies,” Bucky whispers softly in the dark, comforting you after he found you curled in his bed wearing one of his.

“One…It brings you comfort.” His fingers brushed your hair out of your face, and leaned in to kiss you softly.

“They have to take your appendix out, B.” Bucky’s crossed arms fall to his sides and he sighs lightly before approaching you, studying you and your worries.

“I don’t want this, Bucky.” You’re scared, and you whimper quietly.

“Bambi,” Bucky croons softly and slowly sits on the edge of the bed, his hand resting against your stomach, “you have to, sweetheart. It could kill you.”

He was still in his uniform, still had his radio clipped to his shoulder. He didn’t take anything off before he came to see you in your hospital room, waiting for surgery staff to come help you prepare.

“I’m scared.” You turned your head and looked at him, biting down on your bottom lip.

“I know, baby. I know.” Bucky cupped your cheek, he wiped your tears and kissed your forehead. “But its necessary.”

“I’m so scared.” You whimpered again, only ceasing when Bucky hand reached down toward the bag on the floor and dug out his favourite hoodie.

“Here, you take it and when you’re done surgery you can wear it.” He had set the hoodie on your lap and smiled small when you lift it to your nose and inhaled slowly.

His scent and his presence, his hands upon your cheeks then waist as he settles you still while stealing your heart and breathe in one kiss…its all comforting.

“I’ll come see you after my shift,” Bucky’s whispered kisses and promises melt into your flesh, and you’re left near the point of tears when he finally leaves you alone.

“Two…its warm.” He adds, speaking lightly as he peppers kisses along your neck and jaw, scooping you up from the bed so he can lay beneath you.

Bucky’s concerns about the storm are valid, and there’s a real urgency that bubbles under his flesh, an urgency to leave his shift and make sure you’re okay. The storm had come with a real vengeance. It arrives with blistering wind and snow, the kind of chill that can make a cold winter day into a cold winter nightmare.

“Bambi’s gonna be fine, Bucky.” His partner reassured him with all the muster he can, but Bucky knows you.

He knows you’re a little clumsy, that’s why he called you Bambi. You’re like a newborn deer on four legs that can’t stand right, and he thinks that’s absolutely adorable. But with that clumsiness comes the potential for worry and disaster.

“If you’re that worried, call her.” His partner watches Bucky step into the office adjacent to the bay to call you. He holds the phone between his ear and shoulder, listening to the dial tone reverberating as he waits.

“Bucky,” you finally answer and he feels a moment of relief, “is everything okay?”

“Are you okay, Bambi? What are you doing?” Bucky feels foolish for worrying, but you’re his girl. You’re his Bambi, and he’d get on his knees right now and ask you to marry him if he could.

“I’m fine,” you sound comfortable if your sigh is anything to go by, “I found a stray kitten on the fire escape. I saved it from the storm.”

“Bambi, baby…” Bucky wants to see you, he needs to see you. “Can you…please send me a picture? I’m just-“

“Are you worried, Bucky? About me?”

“Of course I’m worried, B.” He croons and supports the phone against his ear. While digging his phone out of his pocket, a text comes through and the picture of you wearing his paramedic hoodie that conveniently went misplaced makes him feel another douse of instant relief.

“You look gorgeous, baby.” He gazed at the picture in awe, lips twitching when he noticed the white puffball kitten resting on your chest.

“Three…everything of mine, is yours.” Bucky slips a hand up your back, rubbing gently.

“My landlord asked me about another lease agreement.” You let it slip one night while you were over at his place, wearing another stolen hoodie that was way too big on you.

“Yeah? And what did you say, Bambi?” Bucky had cleared plates from dinner, he topped up your favourite wine and then turned to face you while a question lingered in his mind, one he was almost too afraid to ask.

“Well…rents gone up.” You led with the con and reached for your wine glass. “It’s pretty far from the hospital.”

“My place is closer.” Bucky hummed and took a step toward you. “Wouldn’t be such a commute.”

“There’s no fire escape.” You added, slowly sipping from your wine glass.

“Its kind of small.” Bucky stepped around the side of the table, continuing to come closer.

“The A/C and heat can be shotty.” You craned your neck to look up at him when he hovered beside you.

“My A/C and heat never fails.” Bucky leaned in to brush his lips against yours in a barely-there kiss that had you grasping for more.

“What are you trying to say, Mr. Barnes?”

“Move in with me.” He states boldly, knowing full well where your desires and his have laid. “Share my bed.”

“Hmm….” You grabbed hold of his shirt and yanked him forward, deepening the intense kiss. “Try and keep me away.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” He mumbles into your ear then turns his head and looks out his bedroom window, admiring the view that seems brighter and crisper tonight.

#paramedic!silverfox!bucky barnes #paramedic #Silverfox!paramedic!Bucky Barnes #Silverfox!Bucky Barnes #three reasons why thursday #three reasons why #three reasons why drabble

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mochegato · 2 years

Text

Marked Man

Inspired by this: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/yourmomxx/692655977966747648?source=share

Red Hood screamed through the neighborhood, grumbling to himself the entire way. This should be his favorite part of the day, dusk was falling casting a warm glow over the city and it was late enough in the year that they were past the oppressive heat but not far enough into it to be freezing, and he had just secured the Outlaws’ next, very lucrative mission. Perfect riding conditions. Normally. But not today.

Granted, it wasn’t winter, but it was fucking close and speeding through the streets of Brooklyn with no shirt in the crisp autumn chill was far from refreshing right now. He really really wished his potential clients would stop keeping his shirts after they searched him. Searching him he understood but keeping his shirt and jacket after was just petty and definitely getting added to their fucking fee. As well as a pain in the ass fee, or rather pain in the chest, because his nipples were so cold in the biting wind, they were pretty damn close to falling off.

Now he just needed to get back to their temporary base and take a long, burning hot shower, possibly followed by wrapping himself up in an extra fluffy blanket and reading for the rest of the night. He parked his bike in a safe spot he’d scouted earlier and made his way to the roof of a building a few buildings away from the base. He was just about to jump to the next building’s roof when a sound caused him to pause and spin toward it, gun drawn.

Marinette barely had time to fully turn toward the sound that had disrupted her well-deserved moment of solitude before a man had a gun pointed at her face. She blinked at it a few times before craning her head slightly to give the man behind it a flat look. It had already been a long day. Dealing with real estate agents was somehow more draining than dealing with fabric vendors and she just found out the apartment she thought she had secured in Metropolis was somehow sold out from under her. Which meant she had less than two weeks to find a new apartment before her current lease was up and her landlord threw her stuff on the curb. And now, she had to deal with this.

This was supposed to be her moment to recover, her moment to calm down and think through her options before looking for new housing. And yet somehow here she was, looking down the barrel of a gun. Red Hood’s gun, or at least she was pretty sure it was Red Hood. She was not amused.

Seeing Red Hood on her roof, pointing a gun at her, was not how she expected her already terrible day to end. Let alone for him to do it shirtless. Well, she did think there was a likelihood it would end that way, but she didn’t expect to be awake when she saw it or for him to have pants on. But unfortunately, this wasn’t a dream. It was reality and Red Hood, former crime boss, definition of danger, and legendary bad boy… IDEA! Legendary bad idea! Was standing on her roof in his helmet and pants on but no shirt.

Her eyes quickly glided over his wide, well-defined chest, making a conscious effort not to leer like she wanted to at the staggeringly impressive muscles that were somehow even more impressive than her dreams had anticipated. But her eyes traced over the tattoos covering his shoulder with more care, trying to decipher their meaning and memorize the pattern.

And all of it openly available for viewing, but still with his helmet on, you know, for privacy’s sake. It was one of the most ridiculous things she had seen. The laughter bubbled out before she could stop it and once it started, she couldn’t stop. She was wrong before, she was amused. Very. “Wha… what happened to you?”

“I fought Firefly,” he lied quickly and lowered his gun, securing it back in his thigh holster, a motion Marinette followed with rapt attention. It was almost enough to divert her attention. Almost.

“Awfully… precise destruction,” she choked out, motioning toward his chest.

“Yes, it was,” he growled, accompanying it with a glare and waiting for her to cower. She might not be able to see the glare under his helmet, but his body language should have made his threat clear. He stared at her waiting for her to show the appropriate amount of fear, the amount he had come to expect, the amount befitting his reputation. When she didn’t, he continued to stare but this time, trying to figure out why she wasn’t cowering. He was scary. People were scared of him. What happened to her that she wasn’t?

Instead of cowering, her laughter increased. She doubled over from the force of the laughter. “You know,” she finally eked out as she wiped a tear from her eye, “I was having a bad day until now. This made my day a lot better.”

“Glad I could help,” he snapped bitterly. She grinned at him amusement dancing in her eyes in a way that had Jason staring at her for an entirely different reason than he had been earlier. He huffed and shook his head, but quickly returned his eyes to her, waiting for her next move.

He didn’t have to wait long. She smiled even wider, nodded to him, and made her way toward the rooftop door. She turned around, still walking but now backwards so she could keep looking at him. “I mean it,” she pointed at him dramatically, “you made my week. You're my favorite Avenger now.” She winked at him and disappeared through the door.

“I'm not… Avengers aren't rea… I'm not an Avenger!” he finally managed to sputter out.

“Favorite,” she called back, her voice carrying through the open door, “even more than Captain America.”

Jason grumbled but finished closing the rooftop door for her. He continued to stare at it for a few more moments, his hand still resting on it, before shaking himself out of it. “Captain America,” he scoffed. He looked down at his chest and flexed, the movement making his pectorals and shoulder tattoos dance as the solid, bulky muscle moved smoothly beneath them. “A lot fucking better than Captain fucking America, thank you very much. And cooler too.” He looked back at the door for a few seconds, his eyes narrowing in annoyance. “Fucking smarter while we’re at it,” he added louder as if she could hear it.

He dropped his hand and made his way to the edge of the building. “Captain America,” he scoffed again.

He gave her a few minutes to make sure she wasn’t going to come back out before jumping to the next building and making his way to his base, suddenly much less cold than he had been a few minutes before.

The mission quickly became his favorite. Not because it was a particularly good mission. In fact, it was a clusterfuck of a mission in which the client taking his shirt and favorite jacket was the best part. No, what made it his favorite was that Marinette was on her roof almost every time he returned from a stakeout or questioning or even when he went out for dinner and just happened to come home via her roof.

And each time, they talked longer into the night to the point that Artemis had threatened if he didn’t focus on their mission, she would kick his ass so hard, he wouldn’t be able to walk, let alone climb up to the rooftop to see her in the first place. And he had to admit that perhaps they had a point because he knew he’d said more than he intended to during those conversations. Personal things. Identifying things. Potentially dangerous things, not only for them but for Marinette as well.

But each time he saw Marinette, the threat completely flew out of his head and the only thing he could focus on was her. Her and her uniquely brilliant eyes and her never-ending myriad of smiles, each one more beautiful than the last, especially when she congratulated him each day on making it home with all his clothes or teased him about which Avenger he worked with that day, which he found annoying, absolutely not cute.

He had never cursed his helmet as much as he did during those talks. He seriously considered going back to wearing a domino mask under his helmet despite how much shit he knew he’d get from his brothers about being dramatic for doing it and despite it making stakeouts incredibly difficult because of the multiple layers of lenses. Not to mention, it was just uncomfortable.

But it might be worth it to be able to take off his helmet while talking to Marinette. And not because she teased him about how his helmet looked, which she did… frequently. Rather because it hid his face while he was talking to her, hiding his emotions and responses, another fact she pointed out from time to time, with her eyes wide and earnest and he was sure sparkling even brighter than he could see through his helmet, not that the domino mask would help with that issue. And maybe a little bit because it covered his lips, making using them with Marinette for anything other than talking impossible.

The worst part of the mission though, even more so than his motorcycle getting destroyed and his shirt actually catching fire in some kind of karmic joke, was that the last bit of the mission required him to unexpectedly be gone for the last three nights of it, meaning he couldn’t see Marinette or let her know he would be gone. And when he got back, she wasn’t there anymore, either waiting on the roof or even in the building.

He knew she was leaving. He may or may not have helped make sure she found a good apartment in a safe neighborhood at a significantly reduced price than the landlord had been asking for before, but he thought they had more time. The only redeeming factor was that at least he knew where she was and could find her after he wrapped everything up and maybe try to explain himself to her. He just had to figure out how to do it without seeming like a stalker.

The first step in his plan was to find out a bit more about her from her new employer, again not in a stalker way, just friends talking. And it just so happened that Jason was more than well-acquainted with him and in need of a gym to work out in after Bizarro accidentally destroyed the gym in their permanent base.

He timed his workout so he would be getting done about the time Tim usually arrived for their family dinner and set up a trigger at the door to notify him when he came in. He had barely pulled his tank on and grab a towel before it went off, significantly earlier than Tim usually was. Jason furrowed his brow but decided to investigate. The sound of familiar laughter echoed down the hallway, causing his brow to furrow even deeper.

“I know.” He heard Tim tell the other person. “It’s depressing as Hell, but the finest depressing money can buy.”

He rounded the corner just in time to see Marinette roll her eyes but huff out a laugh. He froze for a moment, caught utterly off guard. He wasn’t expecting to see her yet, but the sight of her had the same effect it always did. All other thoughts flew out of his head and the only thing he could see were her smile and her eyes, which he was right, did sparkle more brilliantly than his helmet let him see.

“This idiot is my brother Jason Todd,” Tim announced loudly. He ripped the towel out of Jason’s hand and snapped it at him. “Jason, this is Marinette.”

Jason yanked his towel back and hastily tried to cover his shoulder with it as quickly and inconspicuously as possible, angling the right side of his body away from her so she wouldn’t see the tattoos. If he covered them quickly enough, perhaps she wouldn’t recognize his tattoos. Maybe it was dark enough on that roof that she didn’t see? It had been a few weeks, maybe she’d forgotten what they looked like. That was an option, right? He cringed internally. It was dark that night, but not that night.

Marinette quirked her head to the side as her mind raced trying to remember why his tattoos seemed so familiar. Her eyes widened in sudden realization and snapped to Jason. “Oh my God,” she gasped. Breath was suddenly harder. She gaped for air, causing her to start coughing. She turned to Tim. “Water?”

“Water! Right! I’ll just…” he motioned toward the hallway. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

She waited until Tim was out of the room and they could no longer hear his footprints before turned on Jason. She stalked up to him and shoved his shoulder. “What is wrong with you?” she demanded just above a whisper.

“Look, I don’t even know you, Ma… Ma’am,” Jason scoffed in what he hoped was a convincing voice, his face set in a facsimile of an appropriately affronted expression for someone accosted by a stranger. He held up his hands placatingly as he backed up slightly to give himself some space as if the distance might make the tattoos she couldn’t see anyway under his towel, more difficult to make out.

Marinette gave him a flat look. “Don’t you?” She lunged to rip the towel off, but he moved just out of her reach with an indignant grunt. He did it a few more times as she lunged at him, or rather his towel, over and over again until finally she reached out to shove him in the stomach instead. He whipped his hand down to block her, concentrating on exerting enough force to stop her but not hurt her. She was a civilian after all. But the movement and change in focus caused him to let go of his towel, allowing it to fall lightly to the floor, leaving his shoulder uncovered.

“Really?” She let out a grunt of aggravation and hit him again. “We’re not even in New York anymore and you’re still somehow spilling secrets. Big ones. Ones I don’t need to know.”

“Hey, it's not my fault!” Jason huffed in annoyance. She had clearly figured out who he was but wasn’t as happy as he would have hoped she would be. He had hoped when she found out who he was that she would be happy about it, perhaps want to continue their conversations, but this time with a bit more physical contact mixed in, perhaps involving lips. But that did not appear to be her view on the matter.

“Not your fault!” she groaned and swiped to hit him again, only missing him by a few centimeters. She glowered at him for denying her the satisfaction. “What kind of an idiot gets such distinctive and large tattoos as a hero? A non-magical hero who can't glamor the appearance away?”

“I believe you meant impressive,” he crowed with more confidence than he felt. Confidence that quickly petered out when Marinette scoffed. He looked down at his arms and moved them around self-consciously. “I wasn’t expecting anybody other than family to be here,” he groused back defensively. “And usually my suit covers it.”

“Well, you were wrong, weren’t you,” she hissed back. “And what happens when someone damages your suit, and the tattoos get exposed? Or you go out without the part of your suit that covers the tattoo?”

“It wasn’t my choice,” he glowered coldly.

“Accidents usually aren’t.” She crossed her arms and looked away, a movement Jason unintentionally mimicked until he looked at her out of the corner of his eye and noted the similarity. He immediately dropped his arms, twitching slightly as he tried to figure out where to place them to look the most appealing… intimidating! He meant intimidating.

“What happens if someone else sees it? Someone who would use the information to hurt you. It’s like you want to get attacked,” she huffed, still not making eye contact.

He blinked and slowly looked back at her, a sly grin pulling at the corners of his lips. “It almost sounds like you’re worried about me, Pixie.”

Marinette huffed again and looked further away pointedly. “I’m just worried about the Avengers. Compromising you compromises them.”

Jason snorted but didn’t challenge her. “Uh huh,” he scoffed, smirk widening.

She pouted and rose her chin even further away pointedly until her face was almost past her shoulder. After a few moments, she let out a light scoff and shook her head. “I cannot believe you’re Tim’s brother.”

“I cannot believe you’re here,” he mused.

Marinette turned to face him and quirked her head to the side. “Why? Hoping to be rid of me?” She opened her eyes wide but her voice had a teasing lilt.

Jason whipped his head to Marinette so quickly she was surprised none of his joints cracked. “What? No!” His voice boomed out, echoing down the hall. He snapped his mouth shut quickly and looked down for a moment before continuing. “I just meant I wasn’t expecting to see you hanging out with my family.”

“And that’s… all?” She took a step closer to him, craning her neck to meet his eyes.

He returned her gaze, his eyes softening. “Maybe not all, no,” he admitted. “I may have been planning on asking Tim about WE’s latest hire before I happened to pass by your new place’s roof every night until you showed up on it.”

“Hmmm.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Creepy.”

“It's not like I was going to ask him to do a background check" which he knew Tim had done, but he was going to try to avoid that and focus on what he'd discovered personally about her instead. “And I was only going to stop by if you came to the roof and I was going to stop coming if you seemed like you weren’t interested.”

“Uh huh,” she scoffed. A sly look suddenly creeped onto her face, a mischievous smile appearing on her lips. “So… I’m assuming your family hasn’t heard about how we met…”

Jason’s head jerked toward her. He had hoped she hadn’t figured out anyone else but judging by that comment, he was pretty sure that hope was out the window, and he did not need his family knowing he’d accidentally exposed all of them. “No…” he started cautiously, but when he saw the smirk on her lips his eyes widened realizing she meant something far worse than that. He pointed his finger at her warningly. “No, no, no…”

Marinette’s smirk widened and she inched closer to him. “Why so shy? It’s what made you my favorite Avenger.”

Jason groaned. “I told you Avengers aren’t real. Here in the real world, we have the Justice League, which I’m not a member of either. I’m a mercenary. I handle things before the Justice League needs to get involved.”

“So… you’re more of a Prevenger then?” she asked innocently. Her eyes widened in innocence, but her lips were still quirked into a smirk.

Jason stared at her for a few moments, just blinking in uncertainty on how to respond to that. “What the fuc…”

“Yeah,” she looked away toward the hallway, “you’re more of a Revenger,” she nodded solemnly as if coming to a conclusion. She flicked her eyes to him from the corner of her eyes, pursing her lips in order to keep her smirk from widening.

“Reveng…” he stared at her aghast. He scoffed and pursed his lips, narrowing his eyes at her and pointing a finger at her. “That was terrible. Absolutely terrible. You don’t get to talk anymore.”

Marinette grinned and turned fully toward him. “How are you going to stop me?”

Jason raised an eyebrow before wrapping a hand around her neck and pulling her toward him as he leaned toward her. He stopped just before crashing their lips together and flicked his eyes up to meet hers in silent question. She nodded almost imperceptibly. Jason felt it more than saw it.

His lips were on hers instantly, hungrily indulging the way he’d wanted to for weeks now that he was finally free of the helmet with her. His hand squeezed her hip, pulling it flush against his, his other hand finding it’s way into her hair. Marinette wrapped her hands around his shoulders, using them as leverage to raise herself up to deepen the kiss.

“I got the water,” Tim announced loudly as he rushed into the room. “Sorry it took so long. The kitchen is like a mile aw…” He stopped short, gaping at Jason manhandling his new employee. Marinette tried to jump away but Jason held her close. “Oh God, she's not going to end up being a…” he trailed off unsure how to finish that in front of Marinette.

“She knows I'm Red Hood,” Jason said, not taking his eyes or hands off Marinette.

“…a villain,” Tim finished without missing a beat.

Marinette blinked at him and returned her attention to Jason. “How many villains have you dated?”

“Not many,” Jason assured her at the same time Tim answered,”Too many,”

Tim narrowed his eyes as Jason’s words registered with him. “Is this why you were asking me about Red Hood?”

Jason raised an eyebrow at her, lips set in a smug smirk. “Asking Tim about me? Kind of creepy, don’t you think?”

“Shut up,” Marinette huffed and buried her face in his chest.

“Make me,” Jason challenged, tightening his arms around her.

Marinette grinned and wound her arms around his neck. “Gladly,” she whispered before pressing her lips to his in a much sweeter and slower kiss than the first one.

“Ew,” Tim groaned. “Jason, please stop groping my friend. Marinette, stop pawing my broth… You know what? I don’t have to witness this,” he objected. He waited for some kind of reaction from either Marinette or Jason but seeing none he huffed loudly and looked down at the glass in his hand. “I’m going to need something stronger than this. Don’t mind me,” he called over his shoulder as he left the room.

“Did you hear anything?” Marinette asked, pulling just far enough away from Jason’s lips to speak.

“Nope,” Jason smirked against her lips before capturing her lips again.

#maribat #jasonette #guess who got her laptop back extra early

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ticiie · 2 years

Text

week 17: winter sport summer camp - everyone's bunking together

prompt from the off-season winter sports challange

pairings: Marco Odermatt/Gino Caviezel, Loïc Meillard/Zoé Chastan, (implied) Mauro Caviezel/Justin Murisier

length: 1605 words

author's note: not perfectly happy with this one either tbh, hope y'all still like it. also might gonna continue this into something longer since it does hold the potential imo...also sorry for having to twist and bend the prompt again but honestly this was a hard one 🙈

Marco was the last one to arrive in Zermatt, along with Zoé, who had been kind enough to give him a ride. The rest of the team had already spent the past 2 days in the camp, where they were improving their form for the upcoming season. Traffic had been terrible and when they finally parked in front of the lodge, the sun had long set. The house was located away from the main roads, giving the athletes who were staying there a bit of privacy from the tourists that frequented the village at any time of the year. Zoé hesitated to get out of the car. Marco looked at her from the side. He could tell that there was something bothering her but he also didn’t want to push her.

“Promise me you won’t freak out after what I'm about to tell you?”

She was still staring out of the windshield, her eyes focused on a point that remained in the darkness. Marco nodded.

“The HQ offered me a job. One with an actual desk with a real computer screen on top of it. A job that wouldn’t have me jetting around the globe with you guys.”

It was impossible to hide the perplexity of this news. A few moments passed and Marco opened and closed his mouth several times before eventually deciding on the most burning question:

“Does Loïc know?”

“He does. I told him before he left. Figured it would be good for him to have some time alone to adjust to the thought.”

Her words held a bigger meaning and Marco understood immediately. Having Zoé to their sides had been a privilege in the past, she was a kind-hearted, well organised and calm person, someone none of the racers or the rest of the staff wanted to miss. She balanced the ever so prominent stress with ease and barely ever dropped a bad word doing so. Admitting she was one of the most important staff members was no challenge to Marco, especially not after a season like the past one.

“If it’s what you want, you should do it. I certainly won’t be the one stopping you. Neither will any of the others.”

“No, I know.” She laughed but it was a sad one. They got out of the van and Zoé busied herself opening the doors in the cellar that led to the upper levels of the house while Marco unloaded their luggage.

“Took you long enough!”

A giant grin appeared on Marco’s face. He turned around and was welcomed by an equally happy Gino who was quick to wrap Marco in a hug. Feeling Ginos arms around him again made Marco’s heart stumble in his chest. He made a silent promise to himself to never let it happen ever again that they wouldn’t see each other for so long.

“Come on, you need to see the new kitchen, they really didn’t hold back with the renovations, Loïc is already considering moving in just because of the spacious cabinets!” Gino grabbed the handle of Marco’s weekender bag and rushed back inside, past Zoé who he greeted with a chaste kiss to the cheek. The mentioning of her boyfriend’s name had made her go pale.

“He’s not gonna love you any less just because you’re taking on a new job.”, Marco said before following Gino upstairs.

During the season, the landlord and his family had invested in the necessary renewals all over the house, including the kitchen which now indeed was looking for its own kind and a bathroom that made every spa-institution down the road jealous. And even before those changes, Marco had always enjoyed the stays in Zermatt and this house, he had spent a great number of summer-nights and early morning trainings here, on and off the slope, that had shaped him for what turned out to become the greatest achievements of his still rather young career. The lodge had become a second or third home not just to Marco but to the entire team.

There was a big hello when Zoé and Marco joined the rest of the team in the dining room. Loïc had crossed the room in the blink of a second, embracing his girlfriend in an obviously very emotional kiss.

“Why don’t you ever greet my like that?” Justin asked Mauro, nudging his shoulder and Mauro showed him the middle finger. He couldn’t quite hide the smile that was creeping on his face though and they exchanged a look that for some reason, made Marco a bit jealous. He dared to look over to where Gino had gotten comfortable and their eyes met, although only for a short moment before Gino focused on his phone again. The dim light in the room made it hard to tell but Marco could’ve sworn that Gino blushed.

---

With the first streams of sunlight bursting through the man-sized window in the bedroom, Marco rolled himself out of bed, reluctantly but Justin’s snoring had woken him up more than once during the night and Marco figured he could use the early hours for a bit of quiescence. The limited number of bedrooms was probably the only downside this house held. In the past years, the team had grown which resulted in having to share. The bedrooms were functionally equipped, with either one or two bunk beds that reminded Marco of the annual camps he had gone through with his old school class. And of course, every one had agreed on giving Zoé and Loïc the privacy their current relationship-status required, so Loïc had gladly moved his luggage to the only room in the house that contained not just a king-sized double bed, but also an en suite bathroom, leaving Marco moving in Justin’s room because even though their flirting was painfully obvious, neither Mauro nor Justin had brought up the courage to commit to it.

Marco had not expected to meet someone this early already in the kitchen. Gino was sitting at the table, with a cup of coffee next to him that was big enough to drown in.

“Couldn’t sleep?”, he asked while Marco poured one himself. He sat down across from Gino who looked up from the paper he was reading.

“Justin is a great guy but if he wants to stay on the team, he needs to do something against that snoring.”

“Perhaps you can use the trick that works on Thomas on Justin too?”

“Tried that already. His snoring is either too loud for him to even hear or he doesn’t listen to it deliberately.”

Gino laughed at Marcos words and the well-known warmth started to grow in Marco’s chest. Moments passed in which the sunlight started to fill the kitchen with golden light, illuminating Gino and everything else and Marco just wanted to round the table, pull Gino up into his arms and kiss him, finally kiss him, those years of longing and waiting being forgotten by the feeling on their lips connected at last, giving Marco a release, he was in such dying need of, a kiss would be enough, he just-

“Are you listening to me?”

Reality snapped back on him hard. Marco blinked and realised he was still glued to his chair. Gino gave him a concerned look. “You okay?”

“Uh, yeah, sure. Sorry, I was just…thinking. You were saying?”

“I asked if you want to help figure out a plan so my dorky brother finally admits his feelings to your dorky roommate. It can’t go on like this all season or we’ll be the one’s suffering most.”

Marco nodded. “Absolutely. What do you have in mind?”

They went back and forth over ideas about how to get Mauro and Justin together, so long until the rest of the people occupying the house started to join them in the kitchen for breakfast. Since locking the suspects in the ski-cellar after training had worked out amazingly well once before, Marco was on board of that plan without hesitation. Gino offered to consult with Loïc during training so that he could help them, his expertise in being one half of the one time that this plan had worked on before would be useful for sure.

---

Training on the slope was cut short due to the weather shifting so they all were back in the lodge sooner than expected. The ski cellar was empty again by the time Marco and Gino returned. Marco placed his ski boots and the gloves on the heating wires that were drilled to the walls when he heard Gino cursing from the other side of the room.

“What the actual fuck?”

“What’s wrong?”

He made his way over to the door that led upstairs. Gino rattled the doorknob. “It’s locked.”

“What? Let me try”, Marco said and Gino gladly stepped away so Marco could convince himself.

“I bet it’s just stuck.” The younger one was about to push himself against the door with force when the laughter of two people was audible behind it. Gino got up next to Marco and slammed his hand against the wood.

“Mauro, is that you? Open up or I swear I’ll strangle you.”

“You’re not tall enough for that. Also, we’ve got an ally on our side.” Gino and Marco exchanged a confused look when a third voice added: “Mauro and Justin have their shit figured out a lot better than you guys do. Hannes and Krugi know you’ll be late for dinner, so take your time.”

Marco had always gotten along with Loïc quite well. But in this very second, he would’ve very happily slapped him across the face left and right.

#osws fandom challenge #OSWS #rpf #fanfic #ski alpin #marco odermatt #gino caviezel #mauro caviezel #justin murisier #loïc meillard #zoé chastan #shoutout to wunderlichkind

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lovenona · 3 years

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ON THE SACRED BONDS OF BROTHERHOOD.

synopsis; choso may be their beloved frat brother, but he’ll always be your brother first. (for the frat au collab.)

pairing; frat boy! choso x f! reader

contains; stepcest, dubcon (reader is under the influence but having a good time), extensive descriptions of knife play and blood play, marking (choso carves his name into you), oral (f! receiving), borderline yandere/possessive choso (he loves you A Lot), choso goes from mean to Soft, consumption and romanticization of drugs and alcohol, (1) use of ‘angel’, reader is afab and uses she/her pronouns, this is essentially all foreplay and ends before the fucking because i got tired, minors do not interact or perish

word count; 6.5k

the yard outside is clean, well-kept. there’s talk that the house’s landlord is a retired gardener who receives great joy from keeping up the hydrangeas and peonies along the sidewalk. it’s certainly award-winning, that front yard, with its colorful blossoms and plush bees circling the mailbox.

they’re so lucky, students bemoan on their way to and from class. i can’t believe the frat boys get to live there. i bet they don’t even know how lucky they are.

it’s a seemingly kind house from the outside – recently renovated with navy blue paint and white trimming, a large front porch and a few inviting windows. the place that omega lambda now calls home is, simply put, a dream. it sits just a few minutes from campus and it tells the street proudly, fondly, that there is no better place to be than here.

it’s true, in some respects, that omega lambda likes to see themselves as above the sweat and grime of their fellow frat brothers. they don’t spend their weekends “fucking and drinking” and tracking dirt across the carpet like animals. their fun is calm, refined: to be invited to a night with omega lambda means a night of smoke curling into the air, of gossip over olive-colored couches, of pills under tongues, of ease and relaxation.

it’s slower than the others, they say in the back of monday morning lectures, but no less extreme, no matter what those boys try and tell you.

i think i was tripping for days, the girl from psychology 101 boasted. whatever the fuck yuuji gets is strong.

such stories amaze you: and even as you stand on the sidewalk outside the perfect blue house, petunias curling inward with the evening breeze, you cannot believe they are real. it’s hard to imagine the face of your beloved stepbrother tied to these antics. it’s hard to imagine that the boy who used to come home every winter and summer with bloodshot eyes and a beat-up skateboard also swore a loyal, unbreakable oath of brotherhood to a band of boys you’ve never met.

it’s hard to imagine that your own stepbrother, choso, the one who taught you how to ride a bike and how to apply eyeliner and how to kiss without teeth, quite literally runs what has been dubbed the chillest fraternity on campus.

but yet, here you are, new to university, fresh-faced and eager, cowering outside the door of the omega lambda residence. your favorite skirt hovers around your thighs and you tug at the collar of your shirt, fiddle with the charm of the necklace choso gave you for your birthday a few years ago.

he’d invited you here almost immediately after learning that you and your roommate had tried your hand at partying with beta pi epsilon. naoya is trash, choso’s fervent texts read the next morning. absolute dick – don’t trust him. come hang out with us instead. he’d attached the address of the blue house along with a reminder to have a snack and take some medicine for your godforsaken hangover.

the message had taken you a little by surprise. choso’s always been sweet to you – doting, even, if you wanted a better word for it – but you hadn’t been sure how he’d handle attending the same university. your other friends all complain that they’d rather die than see their families; twins separate after orientation, brothers and sisters look the other way if they pass each other in the quad. you feared choso would be the same, that the omnipotent attention he gave you at home would completely dissipate the moment you moved into your dorm.

but his text reaffirms you, if anything. and although your roommate had opted to be wined and dined by the boy from calculus this evening, you don’t mind attending alone. her absence from your side only means you will be able to see your stepbrother without a distraction.

the music buzzes through the door as you knock and wring your fingers on the doorstep. should you just walk in? should you text choso and wait for him to fetch you? the ins-and-outs of frat etiquette cloud your mind until the door swings open and you’re met, face-to-face, with a young pink-haired man dangling a blunt from one hand and his phone, opened to his spotify playlist, from the other.

“hi,” you say, words foreign in your throat. “choso invited me?”

“oh, cool,” itadori yuuji says, shrugging his shoulders like he never would have questioned it. “come on in. you can put your shoes over there.”

while omega lambda is not packed from wall to wall as your night at beta pi epsilon had been, the various couches propped against the walls and surrounding the living room coffee table are nearly packed to the brim with the frat brothers and their guests. the air, hazy with smoke and desire and drinking, shifts and swirls as it curls around purple LED lights before fogging up the windows and disappearing up the stairs. it is warm here, easy, like dropping into the depths of a pleasurable dream.

“there’s drinks in the kitchen,” yuuji is saying, voice thick with his high, “and we’ve got some other stuff on the table, although you’ll have to pay yuuta for those–”

yuuji’s narration is cut off as a familiar figure crashes into yours, sweeping you into a hug so tight you fear your bones will snap from the pressure. choso smells like the cologne you bought him for his birthday, like fresh laundry and comfort; you breathe him in, deeply, and let yourself relax into the soft cotton of his black t-shirt.

“glad you could make it,” choso mumbles into your skin. he draws back slightly, drinks you in, your little skirt and your dainty socks that he’s always been partial to. he looks from you to yuuji, still vibing to the side with his playlist, and his eyes crinkle in what must be mirth.

“it’s good to see you,” you say.

“you saw me at lunch with mom last week.” choso smiles, the black line across his nose crinkling when his eyes light up.

“you get what i mean.” you tap his shoulder, lightly, as emphasis. the anxiety dissolves; it’s you, and him, like it’s always been. it’s your stepbrother choso who watches your shadow and wraps you up to keep the rest of the world at bay.

but the tender moment is broken when someone, a tall blonde girl with the aura of a lioness, calls out to choso to ask him for assistance. he looks at you, a bit forlorn, before telling yuuji to help you get settled in and making his way to the other end of the living room.

“yes, this way!” yuuji grabs your arm and drags you across the floor like you’ve known each other forever. “i make some fucking good drinks if i do say so myself.”

which, consequently enough, is how you find yourself losing your mind within the walls of omega lambda.

it’s not that you’re a virgin to the world of cocktails and lime and pills: it’s that you’re too sweet to know when to stop. it’s hard to tell yuuji no more, thanks when his face is so bright, when he and the strange, blue-haired frat brother mahito are asking you to try this and try that and to let us know what you think.

so you let yourself sway through the house, from couch to couch, listening to this mahito boy tell you about his latest philosophy courses as he dances cold fingers across your shoulders, listening to yuuji explain the very serious business of pulling an all-nighter without coffee, watching the LED lights shift from purple to blue and back again.

(you’re not sure where choso is. perhaps, in your altered state, he’s sitting just across from you and you don’t even know it. but you don’t mind, because his brothers get along with you just as well. you don’t mind, because you’re too drunk or too high to know any better.)

“and how are you doing?” a dark-haired man slides into the empty couch space next to you. arms littered with various tattoos and dark hair pulled back into a casual half-bun, he could have been your beloved choso had he not exuded such finesse, such arrogance, which choso could never be capable of doing.

“i’m alright,” you say, but you’re more than alright. the room is so warm and your brain is so fuzzy that you might melt into the couch if someone looked away for even a minute. “i don’t think we’ve met before? i’m choso’s stepsister.”

he simpers, a humid thing, one that coils around your eyelids and sets your insides alight. “ah! i’ve heard a lot about you. it’s nice to meet you.” he holds out a manicured hand; black nail polish glimmers in the dim light. “geto. i’m one of choso’s frat brothers.”

his handshake might take your soul with it. his hands are smooth, refined. you swear he can feel your quickening pulse as you introduce yourself. he watches you like you might be the only person in the room, like you might be the sweetest thing to have ever crossed the threshold. and filled with rum and liqueur and confidence you take it, gladly, because you’re young and the thought of university still puts stars in your eyes.

“so what are you studying?” geto is saying, prying you apart, picking through your history. he’s in his final year and you’re in your first and he knows all there is to know while you still have nothing. you latch onto him because he gets it, because he’s handsome, because you’re silly and desperate and drunk. somewhere along the way your thighs touch and his hand greets your shoulder and you think that you finally made it into his lap because mahito complained that the couch was too full.

geto smells like expensive cologne. you smell vaguely of lemons and shampoo. yuuji jokes with you from across the table and you like it, the way these brothers’ eyes fall on you.

so you spiral, further and further, into a daze you cannot escape from. you barely react to geto’s firm hand snaking up your bare thigh because you are too busy trying yuuji’s latest creation and asking mahito for more of whatever he gave you. it’s fun, it’s weightless; you feel beautiful, supreme, like the kind of college girl you’re supposed to be. you’re desirable, cute. you’re the girl to be in love with, the one who sets the scene.

those rumors were right. the party is certainly slower than the other frats you’ve visited, with more emphasis on sitting and vibing than on dancing and drinking games, but no less extreme. you’re so far out of your brain that you wonder briefly if it will ever be possible to come back down. maybe you’ll be her, on monday morning, the girl who’s still tripping.

“you know,” geto is saying, his breath eerily close to your pulse, a moment away from pressing a kiss to your cheek, your neck, “you should stop by more often.”

“yeah?” you hope you sound sexier than you are. “i’d love to–”

“excuse me,” choso’s voice cuts through your lazy fantasy like the sharp fall of a guillotine. “i’d prefer if you didn’t hit on my sister, geto.”

geto’s laugh reverberates against your back, your ears. his grip on you lightens immediately, and whatever words he’d saved for you die away. “i’m not,” he says, but his voice is too easy to be honest. “just keeping her company. right, sweetheart?”

you’re finding it hard to see straight. caught in this game of cat and mouse you find you can do nothing but sit lamely in geto’s lap and watch choso’s favorite necklace reflect the purple light. it’s only after a revolution around the sun you realize you haven’t spoken, that you’ve done nothing but hover, a lot of drunk and a little high and a little nervous, between one man and the other. you mumble a yes in affirmation but it’s clear from the tension that choso doesn’t believe it.

“oh, for fuck’s sake,” choso sighs. “come on, then. you’ve had enough for one night.” familiar arms lift you off the couch and you stumble, much like a baby gazelle, into the safety of choso’s chest. the room spins with the sudden change; you cling to him like a lifeline as you abandon the party to head upstairs.

of course, bedazzled out of your mind, you do not question when choso leads you to the end of the hallway and over the threshold of his bedroom. it feels expected in a way, safe, as if the party had always been meaning to end here. as if there was no other place you should be.

“so?” choso asks, casually, shutting the door behind him with a damning click. “did you enjoy being a little whore with my brothers?”

his words take a long moment to settle in your ears. you’re caught in the swirl of euphoria in your brain, the black t-shirts scattered across the floor, the small houseplant you once bought him seated on the windowsill. it warms your heart to see it there, after all this time.

“well?” choso demands your attention. he takes your jaw in his hand and lifts your eyes to meet his gaze. his silver rings, imposing and cool on slender fingers, burn into your heated flesh like embers. his eyes swim with distaste and you know it’s your fault, somehow, but when the walls tilt and your rationality fogs over, you can’t quite pinpoint why.

“i–” your words catch in your throat. it’s clear, from the darkness in his eyes, from the way his nails dig into the soft flesh of your jawline, that anything you say to defend yourself will be futile. it’s choso’s world, you’ve always known, and even now, you’re merely living in it.

“i invite my sister to see me, because i miss her,” choso’s words nestle themselves deep into your bloodstream, settling amongst the brandy and wine, “and she chooses to spend the night bending over for my brothers. how do you think that makes me feel?”

it’s a look you know: a look that has haunted you for hours and days, a look that you know better than any other. it’s the look that guides the hand between your legs at night and the look you recreate in your mind’s eye when your vibrator just isn’t enough. you’re crumbling already, like sand beneath his touch.

“i’m sorry,” you say to him, but the words are soft and whispered things, shy beneath the weight of your own guilt and disappointment. “i didn’t mean to–”

“no,” choso admonishes. he steps closer, guiding you backwards until his bedsheets brush the backs of your knees. “of course you didn’t. you’re still too dumb to know what you’re doing.” his voice, evenly condescending, hardly matches the gentle brush of his fingers as he moves to cup your cheeks. you close your eyes against it, savoring the shivers he sends across you body with every heartbeat, every movement. “still need your big brother to keep you in check.”

you do not respond: he does not intend for you too. instead choso presses you back until you fall onto his bed, crawling over you to cage your body beneath him like a predator and its prey. your brain falters with the sudden movement, with the lateness of the hour and the depravity of your position, but you can do nothing but look at him with your helpless doe-eyes while something saccharine pools in your belly.

“look at you,” choso says. “high out of your damn mind. good thing i caught you when i did. who knows what would have happened.”

you believe him, you do, especially when choso dips his head to kiss you and demands your subservience. his tongue licks the aftermath of your cocktails from your lips and claims the expanse of your mouth, your teeth, your sanity. you let him take you, body and soul, even when you’re clamoring for air and freedom. there is no safety but choso’s lips, flavored with his cinnamon chapstick, no sacred home but the warmth of his mouth.

“there’s my girl,” choso breathes, nose brushing against yours as he pulls back for air. “going to be good for me now? going to make it up to your big brother?”

he doesn’t wait for a response; fingers dance along the silk of your blouse as he undoes each button, one by one, letting his fingers dip slyly against the newly exposed expanse of your collarbone and your chest and your stomach. you make no move to stop him, caught somewhere between choso’s aura and reality and time.

(and maybe in another life you would have stopped him. maybe in another life you would have been ashamed. but it’s choso, your sworn protector and god among men, and you would be a fool to try and stop the one who knows best. he is safety, protection. who knows what would have happened if he hadn’t taken you away when he did.)

“is this new?” choso asks, studying the curve of your bra as he rests against your hips. “who are you trying to impress?”

it’s thin lavender lace, choso’s favorite. your face warms at the observation and you turn your head away, nestling among the sheets, as if you could escape choso’s eyes: but his fingers still trace the material and you can still hear him breathing and you know he will never look away.

“i just got it,” you answer, humbled and mildly humiliated and certainly a little fucked up. the words are slow and imprecise as you stumble over your own tongue. “i wanted to…treat myself.”

choso’s exploratory hands move from your bra to the waistband of your skirt. “could’ve just asked me,” he says earnestly, intently. “i would’ve gotten it for you.”

your affirmative hum is lost when choso mindfully pulls your skirt down your legs and discards it somewhere in the shadows of the room. he says nothing of it, of the thin fabric or the way it flattered you just right. perhaps he is jealous of it. perhaps he does not want to remember the way his brothers looked at you when you wore it, the way geto’s hands caressed the places no other man should go.

“they match, i see,” choso gestures towards your underwear. terrified and knowing and aware that you’re growing damper with each passing minute, you press your thighs together. “they’re cute.”

“t-thank you,” you whisper. “i… i got them for you. your favorite color.”

he smiles, a precious and glorious thing, a smile that causes flowers to grow and birds to sing. you electrify at the sight of it, blissful only when he is.

“i’d hope so,” choso says, “because i don’t think i could take it if this was meant for someone else.”

he reaches over to the nightstand while his words claw through you. choso smells like cinnamon and safety and pleasure; your heartbeat quickens as his t-shirt brushes against you, as your world collapses into nothing but choso’s profile, his butterfly hair-clips and his glowing skin and his power.

when choso settles back over you, resting against your thighs until you think you might die of it, something silver and shiny rests in his palm. you’d recognize it even if your eyes were closed, if the room were so dark that you couldn’t see if you tried. a searing and insatiable sensation lodges itself in your veins; it is fear personified, it is anticipation of a behavior you cannot even name.

choso twirls his beloved switchblade deftly between his well-manicured fingertips. it reflects the low-light of the room. it calls out to you, the beautiful and dangerous thing, a siren’s song that promises both your misery and your fortune. choso’s face is relaxed, serene, as the envy and the fury seemingly melts away from him and leaves only a disinterested vessel behind.

he lets you study it, lets you study him, and you know he’s pleased when he can feel your thighs tense, when you try so damn hard not to let choso know just how affected you really are. he shifts, grinding gently against your pelvis as he moves, causing you to bite your lip in a desperate attempt to surpress the gentlest of moans.

“well,” choso says, disregarding the state he’s slowly working you into. he shifts down your body and runs a lackluster hand across the lacy expanse of your underwear. shivers pierce your navel, silver rings poison your skin. it’s all you can do to watch him, his heartless eyes and his casual form, as his thumb prods at the place where you underwear crosses your hip. “let’s get these off. i’d hate to have anyone else see you in them.”

you feel the blade before you see it. cold, unfriendly, it rests against the gentle skin of your hip, a killer ready to take a life. a humiliatingly choked whine is out of your mouth before you can swallow it; your gasp reverberates throughout the room, the sound of one who knows they’ve lost a fight.

“choso–” you breathe, but you don’t know quite what it is you’re asking him for.

he doesn’t answer immediately, opting instead to tease you further with the blade as he presses it against you until goosebumps rise in chorus. your fingers curl in on themselves, desperate for purchase, while fear and longing hum everywhere in your being.

“don’t worry,” choso says. “i’ll buy you more. now be good and stay still.”

you want to writhe, to lash out and squirm beneath the intensity of the moment, but you fear choso’s disappointment more than you crave such release. your big brother choso has never been afraid to hurt you: to pierce the skin where it hurts, to draw blood where he means it. if you move, the blade will move with you. you know this as you know every scar choso has left behind.

it’s agonizing, this pace. choso’s tongue peeks out from between his teeth as he works with the ease of a great master. it’s like watching paint dry, like waiting for grass to grow or continents to shift. he cuts away at the expensive lingerie you bought just last weekend like he has all the time in the world, like he does not care if the sun rises and you are still crying beneath him.

(and he does it, you know, because you’ve never been one to be patient.)

“choso,” you whine, drawing his name out, long and frustrated, as if in song. “go faster.” your legs twitch in protest and the blade comes ever closer.

“no.” choso does not even spare the kindness to look at you, his beloved little sister. “stop whining.”

the rest of your complaints lodge in your throat. you fear disobeying him, so you grip the comforter like a lifeline, exasperated tears pooling in the corners of your eyes as the blade cuts through your clothes and ghosts across the bare skin beneath. it’s embarrassing, really, the way you can feel yourself becoming more and more desperate the further choso drifts away from you, the more he refuses to indulge.

you wonder if he can sense the arousal on you, feel it, smell it, even, like you’re nothing but his own little plaything in heat.

after an eternity, the blade finally cuts through your panties with a satisfying rip. the torn fabric sits pitifully against your hips, a reminder of your own subservience, until choso peels it away from you with enough condescension to move you to tears. the cool air of the room hits your thighs, your cunt, like a ghost who’s taken up residence beside you.

blissfully unaware of your feelings, choso studies the remains of your ruined underwear, the thin fabric and the obvious stain of your arousal. locking eyes with you, he bring it to his nose for a brief and pleasurable inhale before he discards it somewhere on the other side of the room.

“there we are,” he says, as if he hadn’t just smelled yourself in front of you. “now no one will ever know about it but me.”

“choso,” you whimper, hot. it’s a gift and a humiliation to be beneath him like this, to shake with need and yet to be denied it, to ask for something, for anything, in a voice so unabashedly loud that anyone who passes by the door might hear it.

he ignores you, again, and turns his attention to your bra as it flutters against your fervent chest. you watch with wide eyes as the blade comes closer, closer, dancing against your ribcage and sending ice into your lungs until it slices through the front of your bra, down the center of your chest, like the thin fabric was made of nothing but water.

“get rid of this,” he says; you listen. with quick and quivering fingertips you shimmy your way out of the delicate material and toss it over the side of the bed faster than the speed of sound. choso, pleased with your obedience, intently traces the curve of your breasts, thumbing your nipples until you find yourself arching into his touch.

(choso, you mumble, eyes falling shut at the feeling. still, as always, he does not listen. he draws his hands away.)

it kills you, the way choso’s eyes possess you, own you, dictate the movement in your bloodstream. it’s akin to being pulled along on marionette strings, a puppet of choso’s own design, made to dance for him and him alone.

it’s the prize he deserves, your big brother, to own you and protect you, body and soul.

it’s that very intensity which moves you to misty tears, which causes your hands to fly out to meet him against your better judgement. choso lets you pleasure yourself for a moment with the texture of his t-shirt and the outline of his shoulders before brushing your hands away like unnecessary flies.

“did you whore yourself out like this when you went to naoya’s?” choso prods. the patronization lies beneath feigned and genuine curiosity. there are no inflections, no signs of anger. this is how your big brother gets you, every time: it’s the neglect, the disinterest, that breeds your guilt. “are you really so easy for every boy that comes your way?”

you shake your head and wish you could bury yourself further into the bedsheets. no, never. try as you might the first-year college boys here just haven’t been enough, the older ones too preoccupied with better cunts to look your way.

“just because those guys are my brothers,” choso continues, shifting further and further down your body, spreading your legs until he can fit himself comfortably between them, “doesn’t mean i have to share everything with them.”

“i’m sorry, choso,” you try again, “i’m sorry. i don’t want anyone else–”

“that’s right,” choso interrupts. “you don’t need anyone else. no one is ever going to love you the way i do.”

the way your big brother does, his eyes say, but he doesn’t have to voice it. you already know. it’s true that no one knows you better than choso does. no one understands your limits and your desires the way your brother has for as long as you’ve known him. no one knows how to caress you when you cry, how to run their tongue across your lips to silence you when you’re too eager. it’s always choso. it’s always been choso; but sometimes you’re just too much of a fool to see it.

the blade, cool and demanding, presses against the soft flesh of your thigh, just below the hip. you twitch in surprise at the sensation and curl your toes to quell the ache in your cunt. it’s slick, weeping; you can feel it, the arousal, as it pools and pools and drips quietly onto the comforter.

“choso, what are you–” you ask, breathily, pitifully, but choso’s quick glare reduces you into obedient silence.

he licks the cinnamon chapstick on his lips. a stray hair falls across his eyes and kisses the dark line across his nose. he is love and danger, a cocktail of possession and surrender. “i think,” choso says, the words slow and thoughtful, “you need a reminder of who loves you the most.”

a strangled cry escapes your lips when the blade pierces your skin just enough to draw blood. the sting travels up through your spine and fogs up your senses, causes your cunt to weep in horrible anticipation. it hurts, it does, the first cut, but still you find yourself waiting for more of it, more, in terror and lust and love.

“choso–” you cry, a misty tear escaping out of the corner of your eye, but the call is met by another stroke, longer this time, drawn out, until your knuckles clutch the bedsheets so tensely they might as well turn to stone.

“stay still,” choso admonishes amidst the burn of it. “you’ll hurt yourself.”

as if you were the one in control. but you listen, obediently as always, and the alcohol from earlier combined with the need in your chest mixes together until your body is as taut as a desperate wire, until you no longer have control of yourself or your limbs. the knife cuts easily, choso’s hands as steady and precise as ever. you can feel the blood dripping onto his sheets like a series of hot tears.

it’s too much, all at once. it is a fire which destroys you, which renders every coherent thought into ash and causes you to sob nothing but drawn-out cries and pleads of choso’s name into the dark bedroom. he has you just where he wants you: pliant, dumb, obedient. if he asked you to fetch him a star, you would have asked him which one he needed.

choso’s tongue darts between his teeth as a steady hand continues its masterpiece. you sob unabashedly in reply with every stroke, with every flex of his fingers as he works his blade against your tender skin. and yet, as the pain grows, so does your need for something, for anything, for release; with every aching minute your cunt grows hotter and lonelier and emptier between your thighs.

you crave something, anything, choso, perhaps even more than you wish for air.

“there you go,” choso says, just as you release another cry so piercing there’s no way even yuuji wouldn’t have heard it. “all done.”

you sit up on your elbows to peer down at the masterpiece below your hip. smeared with blood, aching and raw from the blade, the word CHOSO spreads across your upper thigh in an uneven but heartfelt script. it makes you dizzy, this marking, this sign that no one owns you better than your sacred brother does. you wonder if it will leave a scar, if it will heal; and even more so, you wonder if choso will merely rewrite it, again and again, until every cell in your body knows that you are nothing without him.

you say nothing; a whine escapes your lips as your eyes flit from the mark to choso’s eyes, dark and possessive, as he looks back at you.

“you like it?” he asks, once again the sweet thing, the doting one.

“yes,” you whisper back, never one to lie to your perfect big brother.

but you cannot hide the insatiability. choso notices the way your thighs twitch from the intensity, the way your cunt drools and your eyebrows furrow because you cannot relieve this ache on your own. you’re helpless, entirely at his mercy. choso tilts his head with a soft and unreadable simper at the sight.

“you’re really worked up, huh?” he pretends your distress is not blatantly obvious. he twirls the bloodstained knife between his fingertips for a moment before bringing the flat edge of the blade against his lips in a somber kiss. “this little thing’s got you down bad, i see.” he flashes the switchblade at you like a diamond. you watch, entranced, as choso slides his tongue across the metal until any traces of your blood disappear into his mouth.

your belly’s on fire. the switchblade shines with choso’s spit and he smiles, your blood on his tongue, while he prods your legs apart, further, until you’re entirely open for him with nothing to hide. you whine lowly as choso’s eyes flicker between your eyes, dazed and helpless, and the slick on the bedsheets.

“choso,” you repeat. “please, help me.” your eyes are wide and your voice is small and you crumble beneath the weight of your own needing, of your own body working of its own volition, of the high that collapses all over you.

perhaps it’s the way you call for him, your big brother, in your time of need. perhaps it’s the way choso can never really deny you, even when he feigns disappointment or rage or neglect. he’s bound to you, your protector, and you can see in the way his eyes soften ever so slightly that choso will not deny you this request.

“sure thing, angel. let me clean this up for you.” choso’s voice is generous as he bows his face towards your hips with the reverence of one before the altar. he leaves no room for your answer. an eager tongue swipes across your thigh and laps at the blood which pools there. his movements are indulgent, refined, as he holds your legs open with intimidating palms and drinks you in like medicine.

“choso–” you gasp, unable to look away. his eyes flit back to meet yours in reply but he continues his ministrations, slow, teasing, as he ignores your cunt entirely and licks at the fresh wound until it’s finally, sacredly, clean. your newly beloved CHOSO glimmers with his spit when he pulls away. he smiles at you then, praying over your hips, lips stained red with your blood, with your being.

“i may be their brother,” choso gestures towards the door, to the party which must still rage below, “but i’m your brother first, and now you’ll never forget it.”

the words are followed by his tongue on your inner thigh, fervent this time, as he travels downwards, downwards from his name on your leg until his nose is a breath away from your clit. you thrust your hips towards him impatiently and he accepts it, gratefully, burying his face deep into your cunt like he’s searching for gold. choso lavishes your clit with plump lips and an eager tongue, drawing the bud into his mouth and kissing it until you cry, until your legs tremble as they ensnare him in your garden.

“choso–” you’re crying, voice transcendent throughout the frat house, his favorite song. there’s a tongue prodding against your hole and a silver ring on your clit and you lose yourself within it, within choso’s breath on your folds and the fire which erupts into chaos.

when it comes to pleasing you, choso does not require air. he refuses to resurface as his tongue explores every inch, as he laps away at you with the passionate abandon only an older brother can provide. what you need, he needs, and what you desire most, choso is always willing to provide. he holds you steady as he works so you cannot escape him. he forces you into stillness as he abuses every sacred inch of your cunt, as he works you into a frenzy with his fingers and his tongue until you can think of nothing but wanting to cum.

and then, then, at the precipice of pleasure, choso pulls away. you pause as you catch your breath, heartbeat like an earthquake, and recollect your shock. why has he stopped? where has he gone? you’re about to sit up, to feign sobriety, to demand what the matter is, when something cool and smooth presses against your clit.

choso’s cheek rests against your inner thigh as he presses the flat edge of the switchblade against your cunt. it’s cold and dangerous and sublime and you cannot help but think of the way it could ruin you, that if you shifted or choso wanted it everything could end here, now, forever. and it is this fear, coupled with the coolness of the blade suffocating your clit, with the alcohol in your bloodstream, that sends you into a place from which you may never return.

the orgasm is as violent as a hurricane. the moment you tense and begin to quake with a strangled sob choso replaces the blade with his tongue and rides you through it, coating his lips with your cum and swallowing the vibrations and heightening the sensation until you are tortured by it, by the sting of pleasure and overstimulation and want.

(“that’s it,” you think he says into your skin, but your ears ring too loudly to know. “cum for me, just like that.”)

it takes some time for the waves to recede and for your body to become still again. with a head comprised of of jelly and limbs made of water you lie still, panting, as choso nonchalantly licks your slick from the switchblade with a hum and gingerly sets it back down on his dresser. you watch as he slides the belt out of his jeans and tosses it into the dark room, as he hovers above you like an angel and its lover.

“better now?” he asks against your parted lips. you nod. he kisses you, deeply, a kiss made of iron and cum and blood, tongue swiping across your teeth before he draws the air from your lungs. your vision swims when he plants a kiss on the tip of your nose, your cheeks, your forehead, between your eyebrows. he plants his love until there is nowhere left untouched, until you are buzzing with the security only your brother choso can give you.

“yeah,” you mumble back to him, content, satisfied. even the sting of his name on your body is a pleasantry now.

“good.” choso wipes the perspiration from your brow. his jeans scratch against your pelvis, and it is only then that you finally register his cock, hard and eager, waiting patiently for its turn. it is only then that you realize choso’s lesson is not yet over, that your brother’s desperate need has only begun.

“now,” he purrs, gently, lovingly, “can you show me how much you love me?”

(as always, forever, you do. you show him your love, endlessly, even when the party ends and the house falls eerily silent. you show choso everything, all of it, loyally, just as he asks, with an only you, choso, and a no one else loves me like you.

because although choso offers his love to the brothers downstairs, he will always, forever, be your brother first, til death do you part.)

#tw incest #tw dubcon #tw knife play #tw blood play #tw marking #tw yandere #choso smut #choso.#it's dark in here #it's hot in here

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afeb · 3 years

Text

Bucky Barnes - Salvation

long and kinda slow-burn :)

“Stay safe you,” Matt said as I walked out of the small bookshop.

“Always try.” I smiled back as I skipped down the steps.

I scanned over the books I’d bought on my short walk home, turning the first few pages and already sinking into the stories within. The streets were quiet, sun setting as I hurried home to avoid dark.

I finally stepped foot inside my apartment and immediately went around and turned on all the lamps. I detested the dark, an old habit I found hard to break, as I swiftly checked from room to room. I did this to make sure no one was inside, but in the back of my mind I only looked for one man. Books placed on the side, I was about to sit down when a heavy knock sounded from the door.

“Bloody hell,” I muttered as I walked over. I swung open the door.

Fuck.

Slamming it shut quickly my heart raced and face paled. I could throw up, or faint, and I considered doing both. How did he know where I lived? What was he planning on doing? I bargained that I’d never go to police, and I didn’t for that matter, so why is he here?

“Y/N?” The Winter Solider said through the door.

“I-I haven’t told anyone.” I said.

“That isn’t why I’m here.” His voice was softer than I remembered, he sounded...normal.

“P-Please just go.” I begged, hand still tightly holding the doorknob.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he promised. “I won’t even come into the apartment, I just need to say something.”

I peeped through the spy hole, making sure he was alone. He usually was, however, on one occasion he brought back up. That was the worst of times.

“Step away from the door.” I ordered, to which he readily complied and took two large steps back. I opened the door a crack, waiting for him to pounce. But he remained firmly planted in his spot.

Warily, I creaked the door open. He was dressed in black jeans, a navy top and a black leather jacket. His hair was cut short, his beard was growing out and he no longer donned the muzzle he used to in public. Gloves covered his hand. He looked completely normal.

“My name is James Buchanan Barnes, and I am no longer the Winter Solider,” he said. “Apologising to you is my way of making amends with my past.”

I furrowed my brows. “What?”

He gulped. “I...I did awful things to you, and I’m sorry.”

“Is this...is this a joke?” I asked, peeping my head out a little and looking down the hallway.

He shook his head. “I’m trying to be a better person, and apologising to you is part of that. I could also, do things for you?”

My eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

“No!” He said. “No, I meant like...jobs or, I dunno...anything.”

“I’m so confused.” I whined as I rubbed my eyes. “Are you going to kill me?”

He shook his head. “No.”

His eyes looked pleadingly at me. He was alone, he looked normal and I could feel the truth drip off his words. After a long pause, I sighed deeply.

“Do you want to come in?” I stepped aside.

“If that’s okay.” He stiffly smiled and walked past me.

I shut the door and watched him. He looked around the small space, standing in the hallway. I had photos lining the walls, all of friends and family, and he took care to look at some of them.

“You can take off your coat and gloves.” He nodded and shrugged of his jacket, however, chose to leave the gloves on.

“Nice place.” He complimented.

“Thanks,” I had no clue how to act around him. He followed behind me as I led him into the kitchen, turning to face him as he lingered in the doorway. “I was going to cook some dinner.”

He nodded. “Anything special?”

I shook my head. “You could...join, we could talk.”

“That would be...nice.” He smiled.

I cooked in near silence. James took a seat at the small table by the window and watched me as I mulled around the kitchen. Chicken in, salad made, I turned to face him.

“It’ll be about half an hour.” I said as I sat opposite him.

“You’re being very kind.” He said.

“So, what is this?” I gestured between us.

He leant back. “The US Government has pardoned me, and part of that agreement is that I have to go to therapy. My Doc came up with a plan to help me...move on from my past. I have to go around and make amends with the people I hurt, or helped, and that means you.”

I nodded. “How many have you done?” I asked.

“A few,” he said. “I was...I was putting off doing you.”

I frowned. “Why?”

His eyes cast over to me as he took a shaky breath. “I...hurt you. In life changing ways, even if you forgave me, I could never forgive myself.”

I pursed my lips for a moment and didn’t speak. His eyes looked down at his lap, a sad expression coming over his face.

“I hated you,” I whispered. “I always thought in my head that if I ever got the chance, I’d kill you. But then I spent a while researching you, your past. What they did to you, how they treated you, what they made you do. And I realised, it wasn’t really you who hurt me, it was them.”

He gazed at me through his lashes. “Y/N...”

“You have nothing to apologise for,” I smiled, reaching over and taking his hand. “Water under the bridge.”

His hands flexed, squeezing mine. “Water under the bridge.” He repeated.

The gloves were soft against my hands as I peered down at them. “Can I see?”

His face grew uneasy as he shifted in his seat. “Um...yeah, sure.”

He peeled the gloves of slowly, almost waiting to me to stop him. The metal had changed. Instead of the bright silver I was used to, it instead was sleek black with gold details. He rolled his sleeve up as high as it would go, the infamous star now gone. It suited him better, I thought, complimented him more.

“It looks nice,” I smiled. “Better than the old one.”

“Thank you.”

“Could I?” He gave me a nod as I ran my ran over the cool metal.

It was really a work of art. Oddly, this one didn’t scare me. The other had felt my skin, brought me to the edge of death so many times, but this one? This one had only gently squeezed me hands.

We both jumped as the oven beeped, giggling a little as I stood and plated up our meal. We ate quietly, James complimenting my cooking one too many times. The evening drew on and soon James was shrugging on his jacket and lingering by the door.

“Thank you,” he smiled. “Dinner was amazing.”

I laughed. “I’ll have to cook it again.”

His eyes glistened with happiness at the chance of us seeing each other again. “I’d like that.”

I opened the door for him. “It was nice seeing you, the real you.”

He nodded. “I meant it you know, need a boiler fixing, walls painted, I’ll do it.”

He quickly scribbled his number in a small notebook and ripped out the page and handed it to me. “I’ll keep that in mind,”

“Bye.”

“Bye.” He danced around me for a moment before enveloping me in a short, tight hug.

Weeks passed and I didn’t contact him. I thought I’d be a painful reminder of his past and thus didn’t want to keep contact with him. That was, until my sink burst and my landlord claimed it wasn’t his responsibility. I’d tried hard to fix it myself, and the local plumbers charged ridiculous rates, so I found myself texting James.

To James B -

Hi! Sorry I haven’t contacted you before, been very busy! Could I pick up the favour you owe me? My sink has burst and I’m in desperate need of a plumber. - Y/N

I didn’t expect a reply, but he text back before I’d even put my phone back on the table.

From James B -

Hey! No worries. Heading over now.

I scrambled to tidy the apartment, dreading to confess I in fact lived like a pig most days. After a frantic half an hour, a knock sounded from the door.

“You’re a life saver,” I sighed as I opened the door.

James offered a lopsided smile, shrugging his shoulders. “No worries,”

“It burst two days ago, I had a go myself but I think I made it worse.” James set his bag of tools on the counter and opened the cupboard under the sink.

“Oh yeah, I see what’s wrong,” he silently set to work, laying on his back and doing god-knows-what.

After a while I went into the living room and read my book, curling my legs underneath me and settling down. James banged about the kitchen and a swear word or two later, he popped his head around the door.

“Done.”

“So soon?” I quickly stood and bounced into the kitchen. I turned the tap and stepped back, expecting water to drown my feet, but instead it simply swirled down the drain. “It lives!”

James chuckled at my remark. “A few bolts came loose and disconnected, easy stuff really,”

“Thank you James.”

“Bucky,” he quickly said. “Call me Bucky.”

“Thank you, Bucky.” I smiled. “Want to stay for lunch?”

“Yeah,”

We chatted mindlessly as we made sandwiches, Bucky telling me about his childhood. When he was the Winter Soldier I only heard gruff orders, but he had a voice that sounded smooth and sweet. His eyes lit up when he spoke of his siblings and parents, of a life that felt like thousands of years ago.

“You got a boyfriend?” Bucky asked, fiddling with the label on his beer.

I cocked a brow. “No, you?”

“No.” Bucky said. “I’ve tried these dating websites but...feel out of my depth.”

I nodded in understanding. “I abandoned those long ago,”

“I’m glad you text me.” He said. “I’ve spent the last few weeks wondering if you would.”

“Truthfully, I thought you wouldn’t want to speak to me.” I confessed.

“Why would you think that?” He frowned.

“I’m a reminder of your past,” I explained. “I can understand that even looking at me must be hard for you.”

Bucky paused for a moment and scanned over my face. “I see you as my salvation, not my damnation.”

I smiled. “I don’t think I said it before,” I shuffled a little closer. “But I forgive you, Bucky.”

His breath hitched, arm dropping to rest behind my head. “Say it again.” He whispered.

“I forgive you.”

Our bodies were close, Bucky resting his forehead against mine. I closed my eyes and waited for him to make a move, but they fluttered back open when I felt the moment slipping.

“I don’t want to push it,” he confessed.

“You aren’t.” I promised.

“I did bad things to you,” his hand stroked over my cheek.

“Then do something good.”

His lips pressed to mine. They were soft, softer than I’d thought, and he went slow and easy. I sighed into the kiss and pressed my body flush against his, my hands planting on his chest. His hand on the back of the couch slid off and looped behind me back, pressing me further into his as the other hand slid into my hair and held me close.

“Please,” he mumbled against me.

“Yes.”

Bucky eased me back into the sofa, lips still pressed tightly to mine as he eased between my splayed thighs. My hands moved up to fist his short hair, causing a quiet groan to escape his lips. Bucky’s hands held onto my hips as he gently, almost teasingly, ground his crotch to mine.

“Lemme make it better,” he whispered, trailing kisses down my cheek and neck.

“You can do anything,” I breathlessly promised, rolling my body up.

His hand slid down my stomach and into the back of my loose trousers, cupping my clothed pussy and flexing his fingers. I gasped and threw my head back, Bucky surfacing to peer down at me with hooded eyes.

“There?” I nodded at his question.

His fingers eased my underwear to the side and felt over the slickness he’d created. The cool metal of his hand ran over my burning cheeks and I thanked god for the relief of coldness in this moment. My eyes widened as his finger tips circled my swollen bud.

“So wet,” he murmured, gazing into my eyes.

“For you.” I whimpered back, cupping his cheeks.

“Me?” I nodded. “Good girl,”

I moaned again at his words, his fingers picking up their pace. My back arched as he eased two fingers into me, stretching me out. He groaned a little, muttering something about my tightness, before pressing his lips to mine.

“O-Other hand,” I said against his lips.

“What?” He pulled back, stopping his movements.

“Can you u-use your other hand?” I pouted my lips.

“Are you sure?” He furrowed his brows.

I nodded. Bucky removed his hand from my underwear, offering his glistening fingers to my lips. I hastily took them in my mouth, small hand wrapping around his wrist as I sucked. He momentarily closed his eyes, losing himself for a second before easing his metal hand between our bodies.

“Really?” He questioned again, playing with the waistband of my trousers.

I bucked my hips. “Please,”

I couldn’t help the loud moan that left my mouth as his metal fingers resumed his flesh fingers task. They rubbed tightly into my clit, causing my eyes to pinch shut and my jaw to slacken and drop.

“Such a good girl for me,” he cooed against my cheek.

I whimpered again. “I-I’m-“

“Gonna cum baby?” He asked, fingers increasing their speed.

I nodded and cried. “Yes!”

“Like feeling my metal hand, huh?” He teased with a smirk.

“I do! Yes!” My nails bit into the skin of his forearm, the other hand running over the smooth metal of his shoulder. “Oh Bucky!”

“Cum,” he shortly ordered. “Please baby, please cum.”

My head threw back and I saw stars. My back arched as Bucky wrapped and arm under me and held me close. He moaned softly into my neck, grounding his crotch against my thigh. My arms loops around his neck as I shuddered against him.

“S-Stop,” I begged, gently coaxing his hand from my underwear.

“Sorry baby.” He sighed into my neck.

We stayed tangled in each other for a moment before I reached a teasing hand down between us. Bucky quickly stopped me, sheepishly grinning down at me.

“I already...just then...” he blushed.

“Really?” I giggled.

“You have no idea how good you looked.” He whispered, pecking my lips.

I smiled warmly, stroking over his cheek. “Would you like to grab a coffee with me?”

He laughed loudly. “I’ll do more than that.”

#bucky #barnes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes smut #james buchanan bucky barnes #bucky x reader #sebastian #stan #sebastian stan #sebastian stan fluff #sebastian stan angst #sebastian stan smut #marvel #marvel smut

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garbagevanfleet · 3 years

Text

Brightest Blue (series)

PART EIGHT

Pairing: Josh x reader Warnings: snuggling, tiny amount of bodily injury Summary: Things are changing. New state. New school. New roommate. You just pray things are going to click into place. Notes: I’ve been on a tiny bit on a hiatus, but here you go! Thanks for all of your support! I love you

taglist: @valleyd0ll @satingrass-maidensfair @guitarfingers @thebohemianpenguin @peaceisouranthem @oblvions @hansonobsessed @myownparadise96 @lara-gvf @anditsmywholeheart @kill-fear-the-power-of-lies @bigblack-catattack @myownparadise96

MASTERPOST

Kate was missing from class on Friday, to your deep dismay. You had been hoping to tell her about how shitty Trevor had been, but instead, you received a text that she had overslept her alarm and decided to just stay home.

That left you and Josh alone at lunch, just like you had been at the beginning of the year. He was excitedly explaining that there were a few kids in his production that you would “absolutely love”, and you had to agree.

“They’re catching on so fast. Rachel gave them some not-so-easy routines to the choreography, and they’ve almost got it down. I feel like that’s tough for kids so young, you know?”

You couldn’t help but grin as he spoke with such candor.

“I was doubtful that they would be able to get it, but she insisted that they could,” he finished, grabbing his bottle of water and lifting it to his mouth.

You had your lips open to reply until you caught sight of his hand; the knuckles were bruised just lightly enough that you couldn’t tell if it was just the lighting or not. As soon as he caught you eyeing it, he went to set the bottle back down.

“What happened?” You laid your hand down on the table, palm up as a gesture for him to take it. Reluctantly, he did, and you took a moment to inspect.

“It’s nothing, I’m just clumsy,” he said, pairing his assurance with a sweet smile.

You frowned at him in disbelief. “No, you’re not; I saw you make that shot across the room with your sucker stick the other night. You’re very well coordinated.”

He stared into your eyes for a moment as he gauged your reaction, and then hummed amusedly. “It’s really not that bad, it just looks gross. Just a musical mishap.” You shot him a look, to which he quickly replied, “Don’t worry about me, ‘kay?”

Not sure what else to say, you pushed forward the ziplock baggie of apple slices you had been munching on. He reached in and plucked one out for himself.

“Do you want to have a movie night with me tonight? You could invite Kate if you want.”

The offer made you genuinely smile, though you hadn’t quelled the long list of questions you still had.

“That sounds lovely. I think we have string cheese, so we could make homemade mozzarella sticks or something.”

He was looking at you in an oddly serious fashion, and you weren’t sure what he was going to say until he opened his mouth. “Hell yeah.”

+++

You hadn’t considered that you’d have to see Trevor again so soon, or rather - you did, but you had been pushing it to the farthest corner of your brain, not at all ready to think about it. So that’s why when you were sitting in class and he walked in, your stomach lurched.

You tried to keep looking straight ahead, but it only lasted so long before you couldn’t help yourself. He was sitting as far away from you as he could get, but it still wasn’t terribly far.

He had his eyes firmly on his desk, head tipped down. His posture was crumpled in on itself, and you could only imagine how embarrassed he was - or at least you hoped he was. At the very least, you knew he should be.

Until the end of class, you kept yourself busy - even tried to actually pay attention, but when you were dismissed, you let out a relieved breath.

You stood and collected your things, then promptly headed for the door.

On the way out, he looked up and met your gaze, and the sight of his face made the air catch in your lungs.

The skin around his left eye was stained a purplish-grey, his brows tipped down into a scowl.

You hadn’t hit him that hard, had you? A whole cocktail of emotions flooded your brain, and you bit your bottom lip, ripping your eyes away from him as you exited the room.

Your pace was a bit faster than usual, which is why you beat Josh to the B doors by a couple of minutes.

Could slapping someone give them a black eye? You thought yes, but there would have to be some real force behind it. You were pretty sure that you’d have to wind up to get him that good.

“What’s wrong?”

You hadn’t even heard Josh approaching you, so it made you startle just enough for him to notice. He put his hand on your back in a comforting gesture.

“Ah, sorry. I was just thinking,” you replied, giving him a weak smile.

“About what?” he chanced softly.

“Nothing - not a big deal.” You started off walking, him right by your side, matching your pace.

“How are things going with the play? You haven’t even told me what it’s about yet.”

His face lit up. “You haven’t asked. We’re doing Alice In Wonderland. Some of the songs are original.”

“What, like you wrote them?” you asked, looking over at him with a shocked expression.

He nodded, laughing under his breath. “Rachel is working on the wardrobe; costume design and all of that. I have the sculpture class working on the props and set, but they can only come like once a week.”

“Do you need any help?”

He looked over at you, surprised. “Do you want to? Can you paint?”

You shrugged. “Kinda. I mean, I can make it work. I’m not perfect, but it’s manpower, at least,” you admitted.

“No, no - any help would be amazing but don’t overexert yourself. You need to still work on your stuff.”

“I won’t,” you promised. “I’m happy to help.”

+++

You had texted Kate at lunch asking if she wanted to come for a movie night, as Josh had suggested, and she had eagerly agreed. You were still surprised, however, when she showed up with a handbag full to the brim.

You watched her pull out a bag of kettle corn, a few little glass bottles of nail polish, some packets of face masks, a stack of DVDs, and a bottle of white wine - all while chatting you up about her morning.

“This looks like just a girl thing, so I’ll leave you guys to it,” Josh said, not a shred of animosity in his tone, but you frowned up at him from the couch as he stood.

You went to open your mouth to protest, but Kate beat you to it. “Oh, no, you should stay. I brought three masks.” She fanned them out like a deck of cards in her hand.

He raised his eyebrows at her, looking rather impressed. “Oh.”

“You do want nice skin, right?” she prompted.

“He has very nice skin,” you replied in his defense, making her shoot you a look.

“Everyone has room for improvement,” she quipped back, as Josh just shrugged at you.

“I’m down,” he agreed, taking his seat again on the couch. “Are we watching a chick flick?”

“Well, I brought some choices. Otherwise, I’m open to suggestions if you guys have any good ones.”

“Maybe we should let Josh pick,” you suggested. “Since he’s going to be the one really watching it while we do nails.”

She smiled at you and then him. “You heard her - gentleman’s choice.”

“So, if I pick Human Centipede,” he started through a shit-eating grin.

You lovingly rolled your eyes at him. “If you own Human Centipede, I’m going to be moving out.”

He tipped his head back and laughed unabashedly.

In the end, he picked a rom-com, which you knew he would, and took a seat next to you on the couch. About a quarter of the way through, you realized that Kate didn’t have a lot of intention of actually watching a movie, per se. It seemed that she was more interested in using it for background noise.

The night was therapeutic. Everything felt easy. You found yourself laughing genuinely, leaned in to watch as Kate dabbed a wet washcloth over Josh’s nose, causing him to scrunch it up in distaste. She immediately scolded him, explaining that it had to be wet for the mask to work right, and he needed to sit still.

Once it was on, you couldn’t help but snap a picture of him as he play-pouted at you, his bottom lip jutted out.

It wasn’t until your nails were finished that you started to feel a chill. “Does it feel cold in here to you?” you asked.

Both of them looked at you questioningly.

“Maybe just a little bit,” Kate agreed.

Wordlessly, Josh stood and grabbed a thick blanket from the basket by his side of the couch and then spread it out of your laps. You had thanked him, and that had fixed the problem for then, but by the time Kate was packing her stuff up and ready to leave, you had a chill you just couldn’t shake.

As soon as she was gone, you turned to him and frowned. “You really aren’t cold? Like at all?”

“It’s a little cold, yeah,” he agreed, but you sensed it was mostly to make you feel better. “Do you want a sweatshirt?”

You nodded, giving him a grateful look.

“I hope I’m not getting sick,” you mumbled.

He frowned at you, rubbing at your shoulder. “Hang on, I’ll check the thermostat.”

His feet made a patting sound as he crossed the hardwood; a sound that had become a comfort to you.

“Hmm, it is colder than usual in here. I’ll turn the heat up,” he replied, and then a moment later, he finished. “The heat isn’t kicking on for some reason.”

You shot him a concerned look, suddenly terrified you were going to freeze.

“Hang on, I’ll be right back.”

“Wait, where are you going?” you asked as you watched him make his way to the front door.

“Just into the hall, sit tight.” With that, he disappeared.

You pulled his sweatshirt on and sat back onto the couch, your knees tucked up to your chest and the blanket up to your neck.

When he got back in, he gave you a sympathetic look. “Apartment 4 said that theirs is working just fine, so I think I’m going to call the landlord.”

“It’s 9:30 at night,” you reminded him, brows tipped up in concern.

“Yeah, but heat is kind of an emergency here in the winter.” The phone was already up to his ear as he spoke. You could hear the line ring and then someone pick up on the other end. He explained the situation to her with ease at first, but he seemed to quickly lose his patience with her.

“That’s absolutely ridiculous,” he snapped, filling a tea kettle with water. “It’s going to get freezing in here tonight.”

Then a pause, and you could hear her responding pointedly.

He let out a huff. “We don’t have the money for that. What are we supposed to do?”

You could hear him relent, just by the tone of his voice. He thanked her and then promptly hung up. You waited for him to come over, two cups of tea in hand, before you threw any questions at him.

“Well?” you asked, knowing full well that nothing had been accomplished.

He exhaled a long breath. “She said she’ll get someone on it later tomorrow, and if we wanted it fixed tonight, we’d have to pay for it upfront and she’d pay us back minus the emergency fee.”

You frowned but still reached your hand out of the blanket to set comfortingly on his knee. “It’s okay. Thank you for trying.”

“We’ll pile the blankets on you tonight,” he promised.

But even with - what you were sure was - twenty pounds of blankets, you were cold in your bed. You laid, staring at the ceiling for nearly an hour, trying to will yourself warm. You even tried moving around a bunch under the blankets, hoping to produce enough heat from friction, but it was no use.

You had known what you were going to have to do just moments after settling under the covers, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it until you started to shiver involuntarily.

You let out an annoyed huff and pushed the covers off. It wasn’t until you were out in the open air that you realized how much warmer it actually was under the covers.

You crossed the hall, poking your head into Josh’s doorway.

“Josh,” you whispered into the dim room, and he stirred instantly.

“Yeah,” he responded, a rasp in his throat.

It took you a second to work up the courage to ask, “Can I sleep in here tonight? I cannot get warm for the life of me.”

“Yeah, of course.” His reply came after a moment of him shifting over for you.

You rushed back to your bedroom, snatching the blankets off of the bed. They were too thick to really bunch them up in your arms to carry, so you ended up half-dragging them over. When you returned, he held the comforter open for you.

“I hope I’m not intruding.” You climbed in, quickly pulling all of the blankets over you as he helped you situate them comfortably.

He shushed you assuringly.

“Why is your bed so warm?” you complained, shuffling down until the blankets were up to your chin.

The smile on his lips could be heard through the hum he let out. “I’m used to the cold. I’m sorry to tell you that this isn’t even close to the coldest it’ll get here. You probably haven’t had to make your own body heat much back home.”

“This is literally like body heat donation for the needy,” you teased, turning in bed until you were facing him. “Can I lay where you were laying?”

“What, no,” he said through an incredulous laugh.

“I bet it’s so warm though,” you whined. “Feel how cold my feet are.”

You shifted until you could press your toes against his bare ankle, making him jolt.

“Jesus,” he hissed. “If you want the heat you’re just going to have to come over by me.”

You took a second to gauge that response, trying to find any evidence of teasing in his tone. “Really? You wouldn’t mind?”

“How do you wanna do this?” His tone sounded like it was inching toward disbelief.

Through a frown, you asked, “What do you mean?”

The sound of him quietly clearing the sleep from his throat filled the otherwise quiet room. “Just. I don’t know, do you wanna put a blanket between us?”

You giggled breathily at him. “No, I’m too cold to be worried about modesty, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Okay, I’m just going to lay here and you just situate yourself however feels comfortable for you.”

Without any hesitation, you scooted toward him until your chest was flush to his side, your chin rested against his shoulder.

“Is this okay?” you inquired, snuggling deeper under the sheets.

The warmth was heavenly.

“Your skin is fucking freezing,” he mumbled, clearly close to sleep again already.

“Good, so you see that the situation is dire,” you quipped, wriggling your fingers until he let you slip them between his chest and his bicep. His muscles jumped, and you could tell just how cold your skin was just from the way he felt hot to the touch.

He breathed a laugh, and in a teasing tone, agreed, “Life-threatening, I’d go so far as to say. Wake me up if you need anything, okay?”

You agreed, pressing your nose against the sleeve of his shirt, and drifted off.

+++

When you woke, it was to the sound of his alarm. You felt him reach a hand out of the covers and flick his phone off, putting a stop to the shrill ringing instantly.

It took you a second to realize you were borderline hot. You couldn’t figure out why it was so dark until you realized that one of the sheets was almost completely over your head, blocking out the sun that shone through the slats in his blinds. You wiggled until your head was out from under the blanket, but quickly pulled it back up to your chin when you felt how the cold room made your skin prickle.

Once you got your wits about you, you wiped the sleep from your eyes, popping them open in shock when you realized the position you were in. You weren’t sure if it was him, or you, but somehow he had shifted in the night so that your chests were pressed flush together.

In his sleepy state, he placed his hand on the back of your head, pressing your face back into his neck where it was positioned - unbeknownst to you.

With your nose touching his skin, you could feel his pulse on the tip of it, slow and steady - like he wasn’t really awake. The smell of his cologne was familiar to you now.

“Josh,” you whispered, tipping your head up until you realized the limited mobility you actually had.

He hummed, and you knew the second he was conscious because his muscles tensed all at once before loosening enough to release you.

“Sorry,” he mumbled as you untangled your legs from his. “I must have really been out.”

“It’s okay, I was too.” You looked up at him with a smile. “We survived the night.”

He hummed through tilted up lips. “That’s good; I would have been really upset if you died in my bed.”

After a moment, you groaned a complaint. “I do not want to get out of bed. I know it’s going to be fucking freezing. If we move out of here, can we go somewhere warm?”

He tilted his head over to meet your eyes with a subtle smirk.

“What?” you asked.

“Nothing,” he replied. You were contemplating pressing further, but he spoke again. “I’m staying home today from school so I can be here when the repairmen come.”

You frowned. “Do you want me to stay instead? Or with you to keep you company?”

“No, I’ll be good. You need to go to school and stay warm.”

You grimaced at him, secretly wishing he had asked you to stay so you didn’t have to get out of bed.

“Okay, you’re sure?”

He laughed at you. “Yes, you should get moving. Feel free to wear any of my warmer clothing.”

You shot him a grateful look before closing your eyes and throwing the blankets off of yourself.

#brightest blue fic #josh x reader #josh kiszka #josh kiszka fic #Greta Van Fleet #greta van fleet fan fiction #greta van fleet fic #writing

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crystalirises · 2 years

Text

The Job (Chapter I of Curse of Blood)

Jonah only cared about his plants and his work.

When his boss sends him to a remote village to investigate a string of disappearances, he finds himself within the castle that looms over the village and with hosts that seem too odd to be of this world.

The closer he gets to discovering the truth, the more he wishes he'd never left home in the first place.

He might not get out of this alive.

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34783219/chapters/86608984

TW: This fic will contain future violence, blood, vampires, and is generally darker and more horror-eque.

=============================================================

Just an explanation beforehand:

Yes, I am starting a Vampire AU story because I cannot control myself. Also, a reminder that this about the characters and not real life people.

Also

Jonah = Fundy

You'll understand soon

“Goodbye, Yogurt!”

Of course, with Yogurt being a Snowdrop, there was no reply to his farewell.

Jonah sighed, pretending that there was a small ‘goodbye’ after he had closed the door to his shabby apartment. For the record, he wasn’t crazy. He wasn’t lonely either. He found that he usually preferred the company of plants compared to people. He walked down the steps. His apartment building did have an elevator, but it had broken down a few years ago and no one had bothered to fix it. That was okay, he needed the exercise anyway. Although, he wished the carpet that covered the stairs wasn’t so… sticky. After seven flights of stairs, he finally reached the empty and smoke-scented lobby. The landlord, Schlatt - the ram-horned devil, as most of the tenants would call him - was sitting by the front desk, a bottle of whiskey already in his hand.

“A bit early to get drunk.” He stopped by the desk, tapping the chipped wood with the tip of his finger. His landlord glared at him, continuing to take a long swig from the bottle. Most of the tenants chose to ignore the drunkard, but he preferred to stay on his landlord’s good side. Schlatt was unpredictable. One moment the rent would be great, the next it would be taking your entire month’s income. He waited patiently in front of the man, wincing once Schlatt finally stopped drinking and let out a loud burp. He needed a better apartment. “Must be good whiskey, huh?”

“Get the fuck outta here, kid. I have a splitting headache, and I don’t need to deal with you right now. Ehhhh, wait. Before you go, did you pop some pills?” He breathed through clenched teeth. Even drunk, Schlatt still remembered to remind him about his medication. The landlord glared at him, knowing full well that he hadn’t taken a single pill that morning. Maybe he could see it from the way Jonah was shaking, or the way he looked paler than usual. He gave Schlatt an awkward wave before rushing out the grime-covered glass doors. Schlatt screamed at him to take his medicine just as he closed the door behind him. Maybe he shouldn’t have indulged Schlatt that one night. Schlatt had invited him to get drunk at a nearby bar, and Jonah had accidentally told Schlatt about his whole life story. Ever since, the landlord had made sure that Fundy took his medicine everyday. It was a nice gesture, but did it really matter? The medicine didn’t help him.

Jonah fastened his scarf around his neck, the cold air of coming winter piercing through his skin. He took one glance at the apartment building behind him before heading towards his workplace. He’d been lucky. His boss had recommended the apartment building to him so he could easily get to work whenever he was called in. Quackity, his boss, and Schlatt had a history. A history that Jonah would rather not know, honestly. He hummed as he walked along the busy streets, careful to avoid anyone’s gaze or shoulder. Anyone could bump into him and his knees might buckle under the shock. He kept to the side, careful to stay clear of those he called “rushers.”

After a ten minute walk, he finally reached the safety of his workplace, rushing immediately into the tinted glass doors of the building. A rush of cold air - colder than even outside - stung his face. He raised the scarf closer to his mouth, concealing the bottom half of his face. The lobby was abuzz with reporters and journalists rushing to get their newest assignments or running to get their reports to their boss’ desks. He kept his eyes low, shoving his hands into his pocket. There were guards stationed in some places of the building, but most of them knew who he was anyway despite his rugged appearance, like he’d clawed his way out of the sewer. ‘It’s just the way he looks.’ Quackity had joked with the guards as he introduced them to Jonah. He made his way through the lobby, climbing up the steps towards the fifth floor where his office cubicle was. The elevator worked fine here, but that would mean getting stuck with a huge crowd of people.

A huge crowd of stinky and loud people. He shuddered at the thought. He continued on until he reached the third floor. He took a break there at the small platform, breathing for a few seconds.

He used to be able to climb the stairs without stopping.

After a while, he climbed up the rest of the way. Once he was past the glass doors that led to the crime-focused section, he was finally able to breath, the strong stench of coffee wafting through the room as he headed towards his cubicle. He wasn’t surprised to find Guy already waiting there for him. Guy was his coworker, and he had the habit of greeting everyone in the morning. He refused to go to work unless everyone was at the office and accounted for, even their boss.

“Hello Jonah from Schlattcoin Apartment!” He chuckled. Guy always brightened up his morning. He’d tried to tell him that he could just call him Jonah, but Guy had the tendency to call everyone that way, so it just became a norm for all of them. He sat down at his desk, reaching to click open his computer. “I got back from a murder scene. The victim lost his eyes.”

“Good morning to you too, Guy.” He nodded awkwardly, the suddenness of the news hitting him like a train. He doesn’t read the newspapers, either online or on print. He wrote articles, but he never really checked to see if they ever got into the day’s important events. He didn’t see a point in reading the news, really. He leaned against his chair, swiveling around for a moment, in which Guy clapped as though it was a very talented act to do. He liked to swivel in his seat before starting work, the rush made him feel more energetic than he really was. “Did you have fun?”

“Jonah from Schlattcoin Apartment, murder is never fun.” Guy gave him a levelled look, a small frown on his face as though he was disappointed by the question. He gave Guy a sheepish grin. He had meant if Guy had fun on his trip to the City of Rain, but… “Murder kills people, Jonah.”

“That it does.” He watched as Guy slid away from his cubicle. And by slid, he meant slid. He always found it odd how Guy had the capability of sliding across the floor, especially since the floor wasn’t even polished. He shook his head, turning back to his eagerly awaiting computer. From the corner of his eye, he could see a medium-sized coffee cup next to his keyboard, a gift from Guy who also had the habit of buying everyone coffee in the morning. As sweet as it was, Guy always brought in the worst tasting coffee. Plus, nobody knows where Guy even gets the coffee. He looked behind him, looking past the cubicles before throwing the coffee into the trash bin underneath his desk. He wrote down a note on his sticky posts, reminding himself to throw away the trash in the afternoon before going home. He hated the coffee (he’d tasted it once and it felt more solid than liquid, really) but that didn’t mean he was going to upset Guy over it.

He turned his attention back to the computer screen, staring at the sharp green background of plants that he had chosen. All of his assignments were done, and there were no high-ranking assignments that he needed to accomplish for the week. Jonah sighed, leaning back into his chair and doing a half-hearted swivel. His mind was itching to leave the city. He wanted to go out into the vast world, hear stories of people from far away. He wanted to see everything before he—

“Heard there’s a new assignment.” A voice spoke out from behind him. He turned to meet Foolish’s eyes, his co-worker’s iconic shark sweater slung over the back of his seat. Jonah turned to fully look at him. He was never really close to Foolish, both of them never really interacted outside of work. He nervously picked at the chair arm, hoping that Quackity assigned it to him.

“About what?” He nonchalantly spoke, gaze turning back to his empty computer screen. Quackity had lessened his assignments in the past few months, stating something about him needing rest and whatever. He needed this case, and he needed to look extremely uninterested.

“He wouldn’t say.” Wow, that helped, thank you Foolish! Jonah sighed, turning back to his computer. There was a moment of silence before, “Why are you so eager to get out anyway?”

“None of your business.” He snapped back, loud enough for everyone else to hear. Sam looked up from his cubicle, arms tensed as though he expected a fight to break out. Even the new intern, a kid named Purpled looked up from the stack of papers he was balancing in his arms. Jonah felt his face heat up with embarrassment. He muttered a quick apology to Foolish before burying his head within his cubicle, feeling their heated stares against his back. He never snapped at anyone.

The past few months have been hard. Jonah shook his head, opening old articles that were still saved on his computer. There was nothing to do but organize those that were probably still important, and delete those that weren’t. He set about doing this, getting into a practiced rhythm that he barely even noticed the time going by. At some point, he felt a hand tap his shoulder, to which he simply grunted. The person immediately withdrew, and nobody tried to bother him after that. He continued on with his work until he was pleased with his new organization system.

Jonah yawned, stretching his arms above his head, shoulders popping and back creasing with an ache he hadn’t realized was there. He rubbed his eyes, surprised that he was sleepy all of a sudden. He shook his head, shaking himself awake. He’d just started the day, he couldn’t afford to fall asleep on the job. He stood up from his seat, deciding to walk around the office for a bit—

He stared at the empty office. The light of the… sunset was beginning to shine through the glass windows, flashing against the turned off monitors. Did… Did the time fly by too fast again?

He thought back to when someone had tried to tap him on the shoulder. Were they telling him that it was time to go home, or were they telling him it was lunchtime? Not that it mattered. Sometimes, he would skip meals. It didn’t matter that much anyway. He shook his head, staring at the empty office with a heavy feeling in his chest. He didn’t know why he felt so… lonely.

Everyone had left. Not that it was the first time this had happened. Jonah closed his eyes, taking a sharp inhale of air. He reached down to close his monitor, waiting for the hum of the computer to disappear, leaving him in relative silence. Sure, they didn’t really have fixed working hours. They were journalists, their job was whenever they needed to write an article. Still, it stung to see that everyone had left. Jonah pushed his chair back into the cubicle, tightening his scarf around his neck. He needed to get home. His plants were waiting. He would water the plants. Debate whether he should make dinner or get take-out, or not eat at all. Then, he would go to sleep.

Jonah slowly moved away from his cubicle, heading towards the glass doors. His hands were on the metal handle when he heard the soft creak of a door opening behind him. He threw a surprised glance behind his shoulder, surprised to find that Quackity was still in his office.

“Jonah, I have an assignment for you.”

---

Quackity was staring at a picture when Jonah came in.

His boss quickly hid it underneath a stack of papers, not that Jonah really cared what the picture was about. He sat down on the chair across Quackity’s desk, feet tapping against the wooden floor in excitement. Jonah hadn’t had a decent assignment in weeks. Sure, this could be another, ‘oh, interview a traffic enforcer’ kind of job, but he had hopes for this one. He kept his face neutral, staring at Quackity with an impassive look. His boss looked through his cluttered desk before finding the file that he needed. He handed it over to Jonah, letting him reach out for it.

The folder was heavy, a bunch of papers sticking out of it. He opened it up, scouring through the first and second page within five minutes. Ten accounts of disappearances from a remote village somewhere up north. He wondered how Quackity even got news of this, or why it mattered.

“Quackity, the file says nobody’s gone to investigate these disappearances! Why would you send me over to make an article about this?” He knew why, but he pushed down the thought. Quackity leaned against his office chair, a larger office chair since he was the big boss and all that. He cradled the folder to his chest, keeping a tight grip on it. Sure, he didn’t like the implications. But… he’ll get to go up north! Nobody really goes up north. The terrain was mountainous and it wasn’t a beautiful snowy landscape that people usually dreamed of going to. The cold up there was harsh, only the toughest of people could live or go there. “How do I even get there? We don’t have a helicopter… Are you asking me to hike up the mountain? That would take days!”

“Transportation has been provided.” He furrowed his eyebrows at this, urging Quackity to continue, “A friend of mine gave me this report. He’s from the village. You’ll stay with him.”

Jonah wondered how Quackity had a friend from a remote village, but that wasn’t his business. Instead, he nodded, like a good little employee. Not that he was annoyed by the assignment. He was happy to get out of the village. He turned his attention back to the folder, opening it up to look at the accounts that a few of the villagers had written down. All of them were handwritten.

‘My son has been missing for a few weeks now. I’d sent him off to gather firewood for the coming storm, but he has not returned since. I have had to resort to asking the Emersons for their firewood! I thought nothing of my son’s disappearance. He was always such a naughty boy, racing off into the woods when I told him to stop. It’s those damned - apologies to the gods for the language - Johnson children I tell you, nothing but trouble those children. But my son hasn’t come home and the Johnson children have not spoken or seen of him ever since I sent him off to gather firewood. I am beginning to fear the worst. My husband has gone out to the woods to check, but has discovered no sign of our son’s whereabouts. We’re beginning to lose hope of him ever returning to us, his loving family. He was always a naughty boy… but we want him home.’

‘He was in his room. He had been in his room, we swear it! We were at the front of the house, discussing the coming harvest and whether the crops would survive through the harsh winter when he heard his scream. We rushed into his room, but Micahel was nowhere to be found. The window had been torn off, like a beast had reached through with its sharp claws! We fear that it is a beast more fearsome than a bear. No man could have taken our child in such a manner!’

‘We heard that the Lawsons had lost one of their children. They had even gone so far as to blame our children for their child’s disappearance. I’ll have them know that our children are absolute angels! Of course, Vincent could be so rambunctious, but what child wasn’t? After we heard of the Lawsons’ misfortune, we warned our children to stay inside the house. No one shall be wandering off into the woods until that Lawson boy was found. Of course, Vincent, ever the adventurous child, had snuck off at some point during the night. We waited ten days before we began to realize that he was not returning home. He has done this before you see. Left the house for an undisputed amount of time and would eventually return after some days. We have tried to discipline him when it comes to the matter, but he is too much of a petty child to listen to his parents. Still, we love him to death. We want him home now. We cannot bear his absence.’

‘Our daughter is missing. We have searched the woods and every nook and cranny within the house. She has the unfortunate habit of disappearing into the woods for hours on end. We did not… We did not wish to correct this as she always seemed to rejoice when she came home, covered in mud and bringing gifts from the forest. We found it to be adorable, and she always came home with the sweetest of berries and the most useful of herbs. She had gone to the forest the same time she always did that morning. She had not said goodbye to me, stating that she was too old to be kissing her father on the cheek. I had waited for her return, but she never emerged from the woods. My wife had nearly gone into a panic when she realized our daughter hadn’t come home yet. I want my little Georgina to come home. Please, gods, let her come home safe.’

‘James is a smart boy, a good boy. He isn’t like the Lawson’s boy who was spoiled rotten and hung about with the Johnson children, Vincent being the leader of those ill-mannered children. He isn’t like the Emerson’s boy who hung about sulking inside the house all day, without friends to his name. Nor is he like the Morgan’s girl who did nothing but dig around in the woods and get mud all over her shoes. James is a good boy. He helps around the house, helps me hunt even when he does not have a hunter’s heart. He had requested to visit the village library, and had begged to let him go. I am an old man. I could not bear to see my son locked away inside the house because some children decided to run away. Despite my better judgment, I had told him to be quick and come home before supper was done as his mother was quick to worry, especially with the recent disappearances. The supper was cold that night. James never got home.’

‘We had exercised caution with Susie. With the disappearances, we worried that perhaps the beast - and yes, the beast, the Emerson’s boy had been taken by a monster with claws! - might take her from us in the middle of the night. We kept her inside the house, away from any window where the monster might reach for her. Her mother was always with her, a hand clenched around her hand as though she planned to hold onto Susie even as the monster tried to take her. We looked away for one second. It was one second. But when we looked for her, Susie was gone.’

Jonah rubbed at his eyes, checking the time through the glass windows of the office. The sun had sunk down in the distance, and night had begun to seep into the office. Quackity had only opened the desk lamp, but other than that, they were both bathed in darkness. He had looked through the accounts, and at the profiles of the children. Well, they weren’t children. Maybe it was different up there, but he was sure that 20+ year olds were not children. Or maybe these parents were reminiscing, accidentally calling these missing people as children. Maybe it was because they were too young, too full of life to be… dead. He frowned at the idea, a bitter feeling rising in his chest. He closed the file, leaning against his seat. “Why are you giving me this assignment?”

For a moment, he saw a flicker of guilt within Quackity’s eyes. His boss’ hand twitched, gaze darting to the file that was on Jonah's lap, like he wanted to take it back. He clenched a hand around it, daring Quackity to take it from him. After a moment, his boss sighed, backing down.

“You like to travel.”

“I think everyone here likes to travel.” He said, too harsh and too quick than he would have wanted. They were in the crime department. Of course nobody here likes to travel. Quackity meant something else, and they both knew that. Jonah ran a finger through the edge of the file, catching his finger on a stray paper. A pool of blood began to form from the small paper cut.

“Here.” Quackity pushed a box of tissues close to him. Not exactly bandages but it would stop the bleed. He didn’t reach out for it. His boss coughed underneath his breath, leaning into the desk so that the elbows of his hands were resting against the top of the desk. “This assignment is a difficult one, well, all of them are difficult. With this one, however, we are dealing with a remote village that does not have a proper jailing system or any law enforcement nearby it.”

“So, you’re sending me to make an article about it?” They all went on dangerous assignments before. All journalists do. He looked back on the file, remembering the accounts of the villagers and their missing children. That must sting, to lose a child that is. He wouldn’t know what to do if he lost Yogurt… or any of his other plant children. He sighed, making up his mind. Not that he was going to decline the assignment anyway. He wanted to get out of the city, and needed to get some fresh air into his lungs. He knew that. Quackity knew that. He kept the file close to him, hoping that he didn’t drop an important file on his way back to his apartment. This would be a fun assignment… as fun as this sort of assignment went, anyway. He hadn’t been to the mountains before, much less a remote area that most people probably didn’t even know existed.

“You’ll leave in a few days' time. Take the old train towards the mountains, it won’t take you far but it will take you to the base of the mountain. There you’ll find the arranged transportation that will take you to the village.” Jonah nodded, half-listening to what his boss was saying. In his head, he was already packing up, wondering what he needed to bring with him. Yogurt was coming with him, that he knew for sure. He’d have to beg Schlatt to water the rest of his plants though… “Once you reach the village, my friend will be there to meet you at the entrance.”

“How did you even plan this out?”

Quackity froze, before a sad smile appeared on his face. Was Quackity pitying him? What? Did he think Jonah was losing his mind too? “I have… my ways.”

“Reassuring.”

His boss rolled his eyes, but only half heartedly. Jonah didn’t like the way Quackity was acting, like he was already dead… or halfway dead, that is. He clenched his hands at his sides. He didn’t need pity. “So, you’ll take the assignment then?”

“I’ll do it.”

What choice did he have anyway?

=============================================================

Some notes in case people need clarification

The villagers' accounts is just an easter egg about Fundy's many names.

Also, just a note. Jonah does suffer from a medical condition here (and this is actually important to the plot) but I will not state what medical condition it is. While there is a medical condition in mind, I will not state it here because I am not a medical expert and I do not want to create medical inaccuracies, even if it is within a fanfic. However, note that some of the conditions that Jonah will experience here draws inspiration from my own experiences as someone who does have a medical condition (of the heart). So, do not expect for the medical condition to be named here and do not expect medical accuracy either.

Also Jonah is his name because one of Fundy's many names is Jonatahan. I am drawing inspiration from one of my favorite horror stories, which is Dracula, and the protagonist's name there is Jonathan. So I think it fits here (plus, I did talk with a friend about this AU a long time ago, and we settled on Jonah as the name).

Also, don't be scared to ask me questions about this fic! I won't answer questions that would end up revealing plot-relevant info though.

#fundy #quackity #jschlatt #slimecicle #foolish gamers #dream smp fanfiction #dsmp #georgebur #because they will appear in future chapters #I apologize that they're not in this chapter #but they are major characters here #sorry

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 years

Text

aquarium ii | kth

pairing(s): taehyung x reader; ex-jungkook x reader

summary: Life after Jeon Jungkook was grey. You had to find your own color, grow your own rainbow. But what would surprise you the most is the appearance of white cosmos, seven of them clutched tightly in Kim Taehyung’s hand.

warnings: reader discretion is advised: a (half-hearted) suicide attempt; mentions of cheating in previous relationship; language; heavy angst; fluffiest fluff; non-idol!AU; kind garden-loving landlord!Taehyung x reader; ft. sadboi!Jungkook

–

part i

now playing – without me by halsey ft. JUICE WRLD

tell me, how's it feel sittin' up there? feelin’ so high, but too far away to hold me

You couldn’t remember that night very well, because you didn’t come up.

The worst part about being cheated on was not the actual cheating. It was the moment where you thought you had done something wrong, like somehow it was your fault it happened, like if you hadn’t done this or that, maybe things would have been different. Maybe if you hadn’t chosen that night to snoop into Jeon Jungkook’s phone, he would have had second thoughts, deleted it all, and loved you again. Maybe if you were a little kinder, a little more attentive, he wouldn’t have fallen out of love with you. Maybe... Maybe.

Maybe.

You knew that was just your brain trying to rationalize his irrationality. You had done wrong by invading his privacy by acting on sheer gut feeling. And you had run away, without confronting it, without giving him a chance, because you knew, you knew that if you gave him a chance, you would believe all his words, get dragged back into his sea, back into those dangerous waters.

All these thoughts coursed through you as the water closed in.

The milky bathwater was slowly replacing your depleting air, leaking into your lungs and you didn’t fight it, turning the darkness of the underside of your eyelids into light, because deep down you still loved him, no matter how stupid or foolish it was. Your heart still clung to his soft, I’m sorry, and you didn’t want to hear it anymore.

You didn’t want to know what loving Jeon Jungkook was like anymore. It was too painful.

you know i'm the one who put you up there name in the sky, does it ever get lonely?

You gave everything so he could be what he wanted to be, not knowing that you were the one slowly being eroded. No one could tell you. You were the one who had to find the signs. You were the one who found yourself trapped in glass walls, stuck in an aquarium, surrounded on all sides by Jeon Jungkook as he made a mockery of your feelings.

You screamed into the water and no one heard you.

The next memory you had was hazy, barely there.

You felt a tightness in your chest, harsh, solid pressure. A frustrated, agonized voice above you, desperately calling your name in deep baritone, desperately asking you to come back, praying in every language he knew for you to come back, come back, please, please, please.

“Please…”

In the whiteness, you wandered. Were you meant to be here? It was a loose fog. You looked around, seeing traces of memory like torn book pages, slipping through the haze. You reached out to touch them and they disappeared, only mirages.

And then you fell, dragged into dark blue, torn, battered, lungs burning as you struggled to stay afloat, coughing hard, your muscles screaming with asphyxiation, sudden oxygen flooding your brain. You whipped your head to the side, hacking up water, spilling it all over the green tiles of the bathroom floor, head pounding. Thoughts swimming, barely computing the shouting above you.

“I can’t fucking believe you,” one voice growled above your jerking body, so venomous that it made your blood run cold. “You absolute disaster of a man, thinking for one fucking second she would even consider taking you back. Look at her! She’d rather drown herself in my damn bathtub than hold a conversation with you!”

“What the fuck do you know?” The familiar voice, the voice that haunted you in your nightmares, the voice that fed you sweet poison. “She would do anything for me! She worships the fucking ground I walk on!”

You curled up into a ball, head pounding by the sudden explosion of light and sound. There was a towel over you, covering your wet naked body, and yet you shivered. You barely registered Kim Taehyung snarling, rising to his feet.

“You narcissistic bastard,” Taehyung spat out. “Get the fuck out of my house. Get the fuck out and don’t ever come near her again or I’ll break your fucking neck.”

“You can’t do anything to me. You’re a nobody,” Jeon Jungkook taunted. “Unlike you, I actually have money to sue you for assault.”

Apparently, Taehyung did not give a single shit, because he immediately roared and launched himself past you, the brown ball slamming into the black wall. You blinked, trying to register what was happening, but it was too much for you and your brain that was slowly trying to restore function due to lack of oxygen. They tumbled down the stairs and you laid your head against the floor, hearing the grunts and shouting, wondering why Taehyung had come back.

Wondering how he knew.

You closed your eyes.

In your dreams, you saw the soft sunlight glowing against Taehyung’s tan skin as he reached down to retrieve a dark green cucumber to show you. It was a bit wonky and hadn’t grown quite right, but you watched Taehyung tap it and smile to himself.

“Doesn’t matter what it looks like on the outside,” he said cheerfully. “I know it will still taste delicious because I gave it love.”

You tried to go back to work, but it was awful.

You loved your work. Perhaps it was boring to others, accounting all day, but it was mundane and peaceful, always knowing what you had to do. You never had to question the numbers. The numbers were what they were and that was that.

But now when you stared out into the grey urban jungle, it pained you.

What once was your safe haven turned into your cage, chaining you to clock in, clock out. You would go home to a motel nearby, crying into unfamiliar, starched sheets, pitying housekeepers preparing your meals, asking you what was wrong and you couldn’t tell them.

Because you didn’t know.

i'm sad inside, but i know it's for the best, right? you had to realize where you drew the line

You didn’t check his social media. You didn’t check his Twitch, his Instagram, his Twitter. You got a new phone, only giving your new number to your work and your parents. With a start, you realized you hadn’t contacted your old high school friends in years. You had lost them all, committing social suicide for Jeon Jungkook. In fact, you had no social media presence, so there was no need to download those apps.

There was nothing on your old phone that you wanted. It sat in the storage unit, forgotten. You didn’t want to turn on your old phone to see the photos, the lock screen of his arms around you, smile on his face from two years ago.

A smile you didn’t even know was real or fake.

i still hate it when you’re not there

You tried to tell yourself you were fine, because moping over Jeon Jungkook was stupid. But you had invested so much. You had given him everything. It was hard to regrow. You were stuffed in this tiny motel room, staring out to the hazy, polluted city, yellow sunlight fighting to be seen.

You sat by the window, clutching your pink flats, remembering Taehyung’s last words to you before you left.

“I looked up the brand and bought you some new ones,” he had said sheepishly. “I felt bad that they got so ruined, all because I asked you to help me with the garden.” He gave you that big, boxy smile. “Just think of them as a parting gift for being such a great tenant.”

You inhaled a deep breath, placing the pale pink flats next to the exact same style but grass-stained, greyed-out, worn ones. You stared at them both.

And made a choice.

“I thought I would never see you again.”

You lifted your head. The scent of flowers, so familiar and comforting, wafted around you, a reassuring embrace. You were wearing a long-sleeved white dress, a brown ribbon around the collar. The pink flats, the ones the owner of the deep baritone voice had gifted you.

That was nearly six months ago now. You had since thrown away the other ones.

Kim Taehyung walked up to you. He was wearing brown overalls and a cream shirt, elbows smeared with dirt. His skin had lightened due to the passing winter, but it was spring now. The flower shop was very busy, but there were other employees, and Taehyung was fixated on you.

“I didn’t know you worked here,” Taehyung said quietly, his brown eyes shimmering. “I would have come here a lot more often if I knew.”

You bit you lip and bowed your head politely, smiling at him. Taehyung coughed and rubbed the back of his head, messing up his dark brown hair. It was longer and curlier now, desperately needing a trim.

“I… I came to get carnations. The shop I normally go to ran out.”

You nodded, leading him wordlessly to the red and pink carnations. There was still a good number left, but you had to pick through carefully to find the most beautiful ones for him. He watched you work, chewing on his lip. You held up the large bouquet to him.

“What do you think?” you asked softly.

He smiled at you. “Perfect.” He didn’t ask the price. “Could you make two corsages out of a few of them?”

“Of course. Right this way.”

You brought him to one of the counters, selecting a few blooms to make the corsages. You showed him the available ribbons and he picked a thin, sheer white one. He watched you work, quickly, but delicately, careful not to bruise the petals.

“You became an expert about flowers,” he remarked. “I’m still struggling.”

You smiled. “I’m still learning. It’s very different from what I used to do.” You twisted the ribbon into a perfect bow, using floral wire to secure it.

“You don’t talk to him anymore, do you?”

You shook your head. “Haven’t seen him since that day you threw him down your stairs.”

Taehyung laughed a little too loud, making the patrons stare at him. He coughed nervously, cramming the crumpled brown hat under his arm onto his head. You placed your hand over your lips, trying to hide your chuckle. Your fingertips smelled like phloem sap from the cut stems, sweet and grassy.

Taehyung gazed at you, surrounded by flowers, carnations laid out on the counter.

“Will you… let me take a picture of you?”

You blinked at him, lips parting.

Taehyung reached into his pocket, pulling out an old 35mm film camera. He looked sheepish as he held it up, hesitating.

“Sorry, I just… you look so beautiful, and I don’t want to forget that.” He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. “I know it’s a weird habit. But I like to take pictures and I never took one of you.” He looked deep into your eyes.

“I really regret not taking a picture of you.”

Your fingers were still over your mouth. You nodded.

Taehyung held the camera up and snapped a photo.

“He waits for you to get off work every day. It’s been a week now.”

The manager was teasing you, nudging your arm as you tugged on your long camel coat. You smiled at her, an old woman with knowing eyes that had seen and enjoyed a lot of life. Taehyung waved across the street as you made eye contact with him.

“There aren’t men like him anymore, you know,” she said gently. “These kinds of things happened in my generation, but now young people send pictures of flowers instead of the real thing.”

When you thanked the manager and walked out to Taehyung, he held out a small bundle of tiny flowers to you. White cosmos. You stopped, surprised. Breathless as you looked up at him. He was illuminated by a streetlight and the dying sun, the golden hour matching his golden skin. Holding out the white cosmos, shivering in the spring breeze.

“They’re not that pretty,” he said guiltily, stepping up to you. “I’ve been trying to grow flowers for months now and these are the only ones that survived, ahahaha…”

He scratched his head, brushing his hair back.

“I always hoped that if I saw you again, I could show you that I was able to finally grow flowers.” Taehyung laughed, shrugging apologetically. “This is all I got.”

You reached out and took the small bundle from him. They were a bit curled and slightly wilted from being carried around but you smiled at them.

“No one has ever grown flowers for me,” you said quietly.

The tiny yellow centers of each flower were surrounded by white. You counted seven. Taehyung had given you seven flowers. Seven flowers he grew on his own, because he wanted to show you. You placed your fingers on your mouth, the scent of the floral shop returning to you with the action. Your chest felt tight and full, a feeling unlike any other.

“I wanted to grow at least eight,” Taehyung lamented. “Because that would be luckier, but…”

You shook your head quickly, looking up at him. Him and his beautiful brown eyes, a small patch of dirt underneath his cheek. He probably didn’t even know it was there.

“No.”

You removed your hand from your lips and smiled at him.

“Seven is perfect.”

You threw your hands around him and hugged him tightly.

When Jeon Jungkook saw you again, everything was different.

He was distracting himself from school. University was much harder than he thought, especially since he didn’t attend right after high school to pursue his streaming career.

For a long time, he had someone to take care of him, first his mom and then you. Someone to do everything so he could recklessly chase his dreams. But things were different now. He had to suddenly become an adult. It wasn’t because of you. You hadn’t told anyone what happened.

But everyone knew.

One girl had let it slip, and then another and another, and then screenshots were plastered everywhere, all over the internet for anyone to see, not knowing the context, tossing judgements left and right. His parents found out and then his friends, everyone disappointed in him, not surprised that you vanished without a trace. He had to vanish too, every sponsor cutting ties with him immediately, not asking if it was true or not. It was bad for business to be associated with something like that.

Jungkook really regretted it now, but there was nothing he could do to take it back.

That’s why he was sitting in this tiny, one room apartment, using what was leftover from his streaming money to get a degree, saving every penny to his education. At least he hadn’t been so reckless to overspend. You hadn’t let him, always reminding him to save for his future, using your own income to pay for the necessities.

Even now, you were helping him.

Every once in a while, Jungkook would type variations of your old Instagram username into the search bar, wondering if you had ever set it up again. He had asked you to delete it, since you had been getting constant DMs from guys asking you out, sending you unsolicited dick pics. You had agreed, even through you could have fought him or simply privated it.

You had deleted it, Jungkook knew now, because he asked you and you loved him.

It hurt to know that you loved him so dearly and he was too busy feeding his own ego to see it.

When Jungkook saw you again, you were surrounded by flowers.

Your profile picture was a close up shot of your beautiful face, golden sun against your skin, a white cosmos tucked behind your ear. He knew it was you. He could tell by the shape of your lips, the contours of your eyes, even through your eyes were closed. Wearing a white dress, the ruffles fluttering in the wind.

Jungkook was breathless, seeing you again. He scrolled through your pictures. They were mostly of flowers, with captions of how to grow them. Were you a florist now? Some of them were of you in different dresses, surrounded by blue sky and green summer. The smile on your face was so dazzling that he wondered who gave you that smile.

His heart wrenched uncomfortably in his chest.

Or maybe it wasn’t a someone.

There was a time when that smile was his. There was a time when he could make you smile like that, your lips saying his name breathlessly – “Jungkook, Jungkook, look at this!” – showing him something silly or giving him his favorite banana milk with special edition packaging, saying how cute it was, just like him.

He blinked and a droplet fell onto his phone.

Right on your smiling face, hand holding a large straw hat, your pink dress fluttering in the wind.

Jungkook wiped it away, swiping at his tears with the sleeve of his black sweatshirt, wondering why had he taken that smile for granted, why he had drifted away from the safe coast, why he had thought, even for a second, that the days and nights you spent cleaning after him meant that you were keeping yourself busy and away from him, not seeing it for what it was, not seeing that it was your love for him and his own sloppiness that left him here now, staring at your summer as his summer was torn from him by textbooks and lectures.

He shuddered, still looking at the pictures, not wanting to miss a moment, even if they weren’t his moments anymore.

One of your pictures was a bundle of seven white cosmos, a little wilted and sad-looking.

Jungkook read the caption.

It doesn’t matter if you don’t think you’re beautiful. Because there is someone out there who thinks you are. They use every resource they know to give you love, even if it’s clumsy at first. Even if you don’t think you need it or want it.

The tears were really coming now, streaming down his cheeks as Jungkook asked himself why, why did he give this up?

They celebrate you and your love instead of simply tolerating it.

You sat on the edge of the cliff, legs dangling over the side.

Your pink flats were right beside you, and your arms were resting on the wooden fence. The ocean breeze was strong here, salty and cold. But you didn’t feel the cold, because Kim Taehyung had wrapped a thick wool blanket around you two. It was already night, but by the seaside it was still chilly, even in the summer, due to the sea breeze.

He peeled the foil back on a roasted sweet yam, taking off some of the skin so you could bite into it. You tried to take it from him but he shook his head, frowning at you. You laughed and took a bite, scalding your mouth from how hot it was. But it still tasted good.

“I asked my parents if I could have it.”

You looked up at him, trying to blow the steaming air from your mouth in attempt to cool off.

“The cottage?”

Taehyung nodded, taking a bite and wincing. “You’ll never guess what they said.”

You smiled. “What did they say?”

He scowled. “Then pay rent!” He waved a hand to the seaside house behind you two. “They own it! Why do I have to pay rent? I’m their son!”

You giggled, hiding your mouth behind you hand. Taehyung angrily bit into the sweet yam again and choked, forgetting how hot it was. Your giggles turned into full-blown laughter, falling back onto the grass, wool softening your fall. Taehyung narrowed his eyes at you, shaking the yam furiously. The white moonlight glinted off the silver foil. He puffed his cheeks and sighed as your laughter faded out.

You looked up at the stars, realizing how clear the sky was here.

It was nothing like the city.

Even in darkness, the white stars shone against the black, bright and clear. You wouldn’t have seen them if you weren’t here, on your back and looking up at them.

“Anyway, they only said it was a hundred won, so I guess that’s fine,” Taehyung grumbled. “Really made me worried there for a second, sheesh.”

You turned your head to look up at him. “You going to live here?”

Taehyung shook his head.

“No, you are.”

You blinked, taken aback. He rewrapped the yam, determining it was too hot to eat right now. He gazed down at you, smiling a little.

“It’s better than that one room you have in that house. Safer too.”

You chewed on your lip. “But I can’t pay the amount I paid when I rented it…”

Taehyung poked you with the yam. “Weren’t you listening? The rent is a hundred won. No, two hundred for you, since I have to make some profit.”

He laid down next to you, eye to eye now, smile getting bigger.

“Although I hear there’s this annoying gardener that comes around every day caring for the plants.”

You were smiling now too, drawn by his cheeky, boxy grin.

“Really? I think he’s pretty cute. I think that’s how he gets away with it.”

His brown eyes locked with yours.

“Will you let me care for you too?”

The sound of the sea, crashing into the rockface, constructing a new memory for you.

“I know you’ll be much harder than a plant,” Taehyung murmured quietly. “Sorry, that’s a dumb thing to say, I meant–”

You pressed your lips against his, cold air chilling your cheeks, warmth spreading throughout your soul.

When you pulled away, breathless, Taehyung was staring at you, eyes wide. Those three words came to you, words that you thought you were never going to say again, words you had for someone else, but you knew this was the right one, the perfect flower.

The one who struggled to grow seven flowers.

White cosmos.

Just for you.

“I love you, Kim Taehyung.”

The next summer.

Seven flowers. White cosmos, bright, glowing, perfectly shaped. Surrounding your left hand. The ring finger held a princess-cut diamond surrounded by six tiny small ones like petals.

The caption.

He grew them perfectly this time.

Jeon Jungkook sighed heavily, placing his phone back in his pocket. The noise around him was loud, clattering and chattering, now a familiar atmosphere. The black bucket hat was low over his eyes, shrouding them. He pulled his face mask higher, hiding his features, not wanting to be recognized. Internet shame was enough; he didn’t need public shame as well. He already had to switch universities because of it.

Jungkook placed his hand back onto the subway rail, shouldering his backpack, staring out the train window at the black tunnel.

masterpost

#taehyung x reader #taehyung x you #kim taehyung x reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #taehyung scenarios #kim taehyung x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you

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hanoella · 3 years

Text

Affettuoso- With Feeling (Part 2)

Pairing: Bucky x Pianist!Reader

Set after the events of TFATWS: In an effort to start over and make a home in Louisiana, Bucky meets a friend of Sam’s who ends up being his landlord. With only a driveway to separate them, he finds that he’s not the only one looking for a fresh start.

Series tags/warnings: Slow Burn, Eventual Bucky x Reader, Mentions of Domestic Abuse, Canon Level Violence

Part 2 Word Count: 3.5k

Read Part 1; Read Part 3

Autumn

A few days passed and the temperature had started dropping to one appropriate to fall. Each morning, Bucky had gotten up to exercise. And each morning, he opened his curtains to see that the house across from him remained unchanged. Lights that never turned off. No noise whatsoever. If it weren’t for your car in the driveway, he would’ve thought that no one lived there.

On his runs, he was able to see various things that needed fixing, like a fallen tree that was slightly in the way of a path or a pothole in the driveway he could patch. This morning though, instead of his run, he decided he was going to look around the back of the house, which was fenced off into a yard. From the gate, Bucky could see an old in-ground fire pit in the middle of the yard, closer to the screened in patio of the house than the far end of the yard, where the grass was overgrown- he would have to get on that.

The sound of a vehicle crunching on the gravel driveway caught Bucky’s attention. He walked from the side gate to the front porch where a man in a postal worker’s uniform was straining to get a large box out of the truck. Jogging over, he helped the older man set it down on the ground.

“Phew, thank you kindly sir,” the older man huffed as he took his hat off and wiped the sweat off of his forehead.

After taking a few moments to catch his breath, he walked around the side of the mail truck to grab a tablet from the front seat.

“Can you sign for this package?” He asked as he handed the tablet over to Bucky.

“Uh, sure.”

As he was signing, you came out the front door with a bottle of water in your hand. Bounding down the steps, you handed the cold water to the postal worker.

“Sorry, I would’ve been out earlier but I saw that you were working so hard, so I went back to grab a water for you.”

Bucky handed the tablet back as the older man thanked you.

“I appreciate it, ma’am. Do ya'll need help getting this inside?”

You looked at Bucky who shook his head.

“I think we’ve got it from here.” He said.

“Okay folks. Have a nice day.”

The postal worker turned around and got back in his truck. As the car started to roll forward, he lowered the window and waved while saying,

“It’s nice to see a kind young couple move into this area!”

With the truck halfway down the driveway, there was no chance to correct him. You looked at Bucky, mouth slightly ajar before shrugging it off with a small laugh. He chuckled as he awkwardly scratched the back of his head.

“He seems like a sweet guy.” You said as you watched the truck disappear behind the trees.

“Yeah.”

You stood there for a moment in silence before you spoke.

“So…”

“I’ll help you bring this in.”

“Okay, great, because there was no chance I was going to get this in by myself.”

You watched as Bucky lifted the large box with ease. As he went up the porch steps, you quickly passed him to hold the door open for him.

“I’m pretty sure that’s my bed frame, so you can set it in the room at the end of the hall.”

He turned to head down the hall, being careful to not bump into any walls. Entering the open room, he saw a room with plain white walls and a light sand-colored hardwood floor. Delicate sage green curtains moved ever so slightly as the breeze brought fresh air into the room. There was a mirrored closet with clothes that was cracked open, a small white table close to the ground, some boxes stacked in the corner of the room, and in the middle of the floor was a mattress covered in sheets, blankets, pillows and a laptop paired to some over ear headphones. He set the box down leaning against the wall.

“Ah, sorry about the mess, I haven’t had a chance to really get anything set up.” You say as you pass him to open the curtains wider.

“It’s alright, I’m sorry you had to sleep on the floor.”

“Oh, that’s alright. I still had the mattress so it wasn’t bad.”

Another pause. Bucky cleared his throat.

“Do you want help putting it together?” He asked, gesturing towards the box.

You sighed in response.

“Yeah, actually, I could. I’m sorry to trouble you.”

“It’s no trouble.” He replied, seeing you smile tiredly from the corner of his eye.

You grabbed a pair of scissors sitting on the vanity and started opening the box. Once it was open, Bucky pulled out a large fabric cream colored headboard. You tried not to be too impressed at the fact that he pulled it out with one arm, flexing the muscles in ripples. It felt wrong to ogle so you shook your face slightly and dug into the box.

The material of the headboard was similar to canvas, reminiscent of the old cloth bags that flour used to come in when he was a child. As he set it down against the wall, he ran his right hand over the cloth one more time before letting his hand fall off.

The sound of you pulling out the metal parts to the actual bed frame snaps him out of his lull. Setting them down gently on the floor one by one, you attempt to make conversation.

“So, how’s the apartment? Is it okay? Do you need anything?” You asked, trying to hide how slightly out of breath that you were. Bucky walked over to grab the rest of the metal bars out of the box before you could try.

“Yeah, everything’s great. Thanks…”

There’s a lull as you fish the bag of screws and the instructions from the bottom of the box.

“Great. I couldn’t get down here soon enough to check everything myself. The real estate agent took pictures but it’s definitely not the same as laying your eyes on it in person.”

You open up the instructions and Bucky stands awkwardly before deciding to sit on the floor across from you. He leaned back onto his hands and enjoyed the fresh air circulating in the room. The slight chill was nothing compared to all the cold he had faced in his lifetime. That meant he could get by in a short-sleeved shirt and jeans. You, however, were bundled up slightly more. Bucky’s eyes trailed over you slowly as you focused on the instructions. Your hair was tucked back behind your ears in an attempt to keep it out of your eyes as you read, forest green shirt was layered with a cozy open cardigan. The black slim-cut joggers had fuzzy mid-calf socks layered over them to keep any warmth from escaping. Bucky wondered how much more you could possibly layer when the Winter comes and the true cold settles in the area. Before he could think about that, you flip back to the front page of instructions and tentatively spoke.

“Okay, so I think I get it…”

---

The next hour or so consisted of you telling him what parts went together and him screwing them together. It settled into a good flow, with scattered conversation sprinkled in between.

“So, how’re you enjoying Louisiana?” you asked casually as you skimmed over the next set of instructions.

“I haven’t been here long. It’s… different than New York,” he said as he twisted the screw in. At his prompting, you handed him another one. “Everyone’s friendly. It seems like a tight-knit community.”

“They definitely are,” you mused. “Brooklyn, right?”

He looked up at you, causing you to blink and then avert your gaze.

“Sorry,” you started to explain. “I saw the Smithsonian gallery during my last visit to New York… Do you ever have people recognize you?”

“Sometimes,” he said quietly, pausing for a moment before continuing on. “When I do get recognized, it’s not usually the kind of people I’d want to recognize me.”

Bucky thought back to shortly ago in Madripoor. Definitely not the kind of people that he wanted to recognize him. He shook the thought out of his head and continued.

“It’s strange to think that all those people who pass by the exhibit just know me now.”

You reflected on when you saw the exhibit. Right in the middle was a cutout of Bucky Barnes: Captain America’s Right Hand Man. The few paragraphs that were featured at the exhibit did not seem to fully encapsulate the man sitting in front of you, carefully screwing the metal pieces together.

“I think they know about you, but they don’t know you. There has to be more to James Buchanan Barnes than three paragraphs written by someone who’s never actually met you.” You say, meeting his eyes and raising your eyebrows comically.

For some reason, hearing his full name unnerved him. It made him antsy. He didn’t have any experience with being the center of any positive attention, and all of a sudden, your focus on him was scorching. He looked away and cleared his throat.

“Yeah, I suppose so.” He said gruffly.

You smiled gently before looking back down at the instructions to try to put him back at ease. It was funny, watching someone with such a hardened exterior be flustered so easily. There was definitely more to Bucky Barnes than meets the eye.

---

Bucky sat by himself, screwing the last piece in. You had left a few minutes ago to grab refreshments and hadn’t come back yet. He stood, dusting off his hands and pants before stretching his back and looking at the completed project. Picking up the mattress and all the blankets piled on it, he gently set it on the frame. Now it looked like you actually lived here. It was simple, but cozy.

The smell of butter and cheese wafted into the room, grabbing his attention. Looking up at the clock, Bucky realized it was almost noon. He followed the familiar smell to the kitchen where you were cooking, hair tied back and light-yellow apron. The delayed drinks were gathering condensation on the counter behind you. You looked over at him and slipped the apron over your head.

“Ah, sorry. I figured you could handle the last few screws so I started making lunch as well.” You said sheepishly.

“No, it’s fine. Thank you. It’s all done.”

He watched as you took the spatula and lifted a sandwich onto a plate, golden brown from toasting in the butter, matching the plate next to it. You had made the both of you lunch. Taking a knife, you cut the sandwiches in half and hand him the plate with the warm one that had just come out of the pan.

“It’s a grilled ham and cheese. I hope it’s okay.”

“You didn’t have to.” He responded, watching the melted cheese drip down the sides.

You shrugged. “I wanted to. Thanks for the help.”

“Thanks for the food. Do you need help assembling anything else?”

Your gaze flicked to the boxes leaning against the hallway. He looked behind at them and back, raising an eyebrow. Sighing in defeat, you spoke.

“… Yeah. But Sam is actually coming over later to help so you don’t have to do it now. If you do still want to help, you could come over then. I’ll be ordering dinner so you don’t have to worry about cooking. Though, please don’t feel like you have to. You’ve already done so much today.”

Bucky hesitated. He didn’t want to invade your life too much. After all, you were a woman living alone in a new area, the last thing you probably wanted was a strange man turning a contract into a forced friendship because you were polite. But then again, you had just moved down here. Of course, you needed a lot of help in the beginning. Soon, things will settle back to normal and then you’ll be back to just being neighbors who see each other outside occasionally.

“Sure. I’ll be back later when I hear Sam pull up. He doesn’t follow directions anyway so you probably need someone to supervise him.” He joked.

You smiled up at him.

“Great. You must be tired. You can take lunch to go and bring the plate back later.”

You didn’t want to keep him. He wouldn’t have minded staying. But he was still new to being an actual person again. His social battery was a little drained, and he appreciated the easy out.

“Okay, I’ll see you later.” He said, giving his classic low-key three finger salute.

“Bye,” you replied softly as you watched him open the screen door and walk down the porch steps. Lightly padding down the hallway, you peaked into your room, seeing the final product. It was sweet that he put the mattress down and you noticed he had also straightened out the blankets just a little. What a sweet gesture. He was a gentleman. Despite the gruff. You padded back down to the kitchen and sat at the counter to eat. It always felt wrong to make so much noise. You were just one person. One tiny insignificant useless person.

---

Bucky sat at his kitchen table, finishing the sandwich that he had started to eat on the way in. His attempt to eat it while it was still hot was so worth it, the bread still warm and comforting. As he took his last bite, he traced his finger on the little pattern of flowers and leaves on the border of the sage green ceramic plate. All of the little homey, slightly old-fashioned details were very reminiscent of home. Not his previous apartment in Brooklyn. But home back in the 1930’s when he was growing up. It was comforting. He sat back in the chair and closed his eyes, dreaming of a world that no longer existed.

---

Later, Sam knocked on the door way and shouted up the stairs through the screen door.

“Hey, anybody home?”

You bounded down the stairs and unlocked the screen door to let him in, giving him a hug in greeting.

“Woah, woah, don’t make me spill the goods,” he said with a laugh, holding the two cases of beer up.

“Good to see you too,” You joked.

Bucky saw the interaction from the garage window that faced your porch. He wondered if there was something between you two and quickly shook the thought from his head. He wasn’t jealous, just curious. It didn’t matter. After all, you were Sam’s friend first.

People can have friends, idiot. What does it matter to you? He thought to himself as he walked down the stairs to the garage.

Walking across the gravel to your front door, he knocked on the screen door as well.

“Come in!” You yelled from upstairs.

He opened the front door and walked up the stairs into the living room.

“Hey, Buck! How’re you settling in?” Sam said, giving him a hug as well.

“Good, it’s really nice out here.” He replied after they had separated.

“Good. I’m glad. You look like you finally got some rest.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that, he was over early this morning, hauling around a bunch of heavy stuff and putting furniture together.” You interjected, bringing the bottle opener in from the kitchen.

“Let me guess, he completely messed it up? Turned your table into a chair or something like that?” Sam teased. Bucky slapped him upside his arm.

“Despite the picture you painted of him, he was extremely competent.” You said while trying not to laugh at Sam’s face of fake hurt. “Now come on, there’s a beer fee, you get one beer for every piece of furniture you put together.”

“I’m the one who brought the drinks though!” Sam protested, following you down the hall to the room where the boxes were.

Bucky smiled a bit as he listened to you both squabble. Friends or not, it was nice to have someone else to annoy Sam with.

---

“You sure you’re okay to go pick up the food?”

You looked up at Bucky from where you sitting on the floor, reading directions while Sam, who was ever so slightly tipsy, was trying to get a leg of a night stand to fit straight.

“Yeah, I’m good. He looks… busy. And it’s probably better for me to go out this late. You know, ‘cuz you’re a woman... lady.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Not to say that you’re not perfectly capable of handling yourself, I just mean… uh…”

“Pff-”

The laugh that Sam had been trying to hold back escaped from between his lips loudly as he covered his mouth. You rolled your eyes but regardless, a smile crept up on your face.

“Ignore him. I was just giving you a hard time. It’s very chivalrous.”

You paused thoughtfully.

“On a serious note, that’s very sweet of you. I appreciate it. You can just charge it to the card I gave you.”

He nodded and started walking down the stairs to the porch.

“Be safe!” He heard you call softly down the stairs.

“Will do.” Bucky instinctively responded.

The screen door shut behind him as he made his way across the driveway to where his own motorcycle was parked. A sleek modern black sports bike. Something he’d bought when he wasn’t ready to look at Steve’s old cruiser. He’d put the cruiser in the garage to work on and keep safe.

He mounted the bike and started it, the engine coming to life. He went to check what time it was on his phone when he realized he had left it inside. Swinging his leg over, he started to walk back up to the front door when he heard your conversation with Sam from the open living room window.

“Feeling at home?” Sam asked. There was a short silence before you answered hesitantly.

“Something like that.”

“How you holding up?”

“It’s been okay… lonely… I just can’t believe I let it go on for so long.”

Bucky hadn’t realized he had stopped in his tracks, eyebrows furrowed as he listened.

“The people who are trapped in the abusive relationship themselves always have a harder time seeing it than anyone else.”

Bucky blinked in surprise as Sam continued.

“It’s like that thing they say when you’re cooking with frogs. If the water’s boiling when you first put them in, they’ll hop right out the pot. But if you put the frog in cool water and slowly heat it up, they’ll stay, no matter how hot it gets. The more gradual the process is, the less likely they are to realize that they’re in trouble before it’s too late.”

“Yeah…” Your voice sounded heavy. Burdened.

“He was nice at first, wasn’t he?” You asked rhetorically.

“He was.”

“Fooled me…”

“Fooled me too. I never would’ve introduced him to you if I had known that’s what he was like. I should’ve known there was something off about him. I should’ve sensed it during the support group he came to at the VA.” Sam said regretfully.

“Hey, it’s not your fault, Sam.” You said, chastising him. “At some point, I knew that things were heading in the wrong direction. He got so angry. So spiteful. I knew I had stopped loving him and started being afraid of him. But then everyone was dusted, and I didn’t have anywhere else to be, anyone else to be with besides him. Being somewhere new by myself would bring struggles I couldn’t prepare for. At least with him, I knew what to be afraid of. Then everyone came back and he almost killed me. I guess I was just a poor little froggy.”

You tried to ease the heaviness of the conversation by being lighthearted with the last sentence. But there was still a sadness in your voice.

“Still. I wish I could’ve helped you when you broke your shoulder.”

“Don’t feel bad, Sammy. I ended up just fine. I’m here now. The only thing I regret is letting him trash my piano. It was old, but I grew up playing that thing.”

“I know how much it meant to you.”

“It’s okay, it's a new start. Besides, you were off fighting to be Captain America! Rightfully so. If this was the sacrifice I had to make for the right man to be able to take up the shield, I would’ve broken my other shoulder too!”

Sam must have given you a death glare because you laughed suddenly and your tone changed to defensive.

“Kidding! Kidding. Yeesh. But seriously, I’m proud of you. And thank you, for helping me start over.”

Bucky unclenched his hands. He hadn’t realized that he had gotten tense. Turning around, he headed back to the bike. He didn’t need his phone. He didn't want to let on that he overheard. Getting back on the bike, he waited until he heard laughter to sneak down the driveway, masking the fact that he was just now leaving.

Once he got out on the road, he sped up- letting the wind sting against his face and cool it down. The thought of a man using his own strength to hurt what was supposed to be his other half- it made him so mad. No wonder you were scrambling to get out here. He hoped that you never had to go through anything like that again.

Rest assured, if he can do anything to prevent that from happening, he will.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes #bucky imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x y/n

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wlw-lovestruck-fiction · 3 years

Note

Helena x MC, where MC has been growing a garden for Helena, and gives it to her on her Birthday or Anniversary?

"My love? This is not the direction to the restaurant?"

I can't help the mischievous smile the rises to my lips, as I'm very much aware that we aren't headed towards the restaurant that held Helena's Birthday reservations. It was her first Birthday in Chicago, and I intended on making it nothing other than truly magical.

"I told Sophie we'd stop by real quick before heading over. Is that okay?" I ask, watching her long fingers as they trace idle patterns over the deep red fabric of her dress. Her pale skin even more luminescent than usual against the brilliant color.

"Of course, my love."

The rest of the car ride is calm except for the excitement that’s bubbling up throughout me. I had spent months making sure that this night was perfect. To show Helena exactly how much she meant to me. How much she deserved in life - and she deserved everything - the sun, the moon, and every single beautiful thing in between.

The cold night air is welcoming against my flushed skin as we exit the car.

"Sophie asked us to meet her around back, where the old court yard is." I say nonchalantly, only receiving a small hum from Helena as we made our way down the side walk, slowing our pace once we made it to the back of the building. A small string of lights lights a pathway to a small, abandoned green house. Almost looking as if it had been transported form another place and time - randomly left in the center of a bustling city. A large winter moon gleams brilliantly off of the glass roof top.

"And what is this?" Helena asks, pulling her jacket over her shoulders as the chilled January air hit her flawless skin.

"Just a little place I thought you'd like to see. Come with me?" I ask, holding out my arm to her like the knight I always promised I'd be.

"Always, my love."

As we make our way through the fogged glass door, it's immediately apparent, that Sophie had done everything in her power to make this place as magical as possible. Bright lights strung so perfectly along the hand built field of flowers, that it looks like a group of fireflies on a late summer's eve. Splashes of light blue, iridescent whites and fierce oranges, blended together in such a way that could only say 'I love you'.

"This place is beautiful." Helena says, slightly breathless - her fingers dancing slowly over the soft petals of a forget-me-not. "Who does it belong to?"

"You."

I say the word simply and with a sincerity to my voice so strong, that I can see the emotion in Helena's eyes almost immediately. The small blush that rises to her cheeks, the tiny amount of tears that gather in her eyes - totally disarmed by such a genuine act of kindness - of love.

"M-m e? My love?"

"Mhm... I asked Sophie a few months ago to talk to her landlord about using this. We've been working on it for you ever since."

I watch as Helena slowly makes her way through the green house, her delicate nose stopping at each flower that she passes.

"And you have done all of this.. for me?" She asks again, slightly averting her eyes as she does.

"Of course, Helena. You deserve it, and so much more! I even picked out each flower here for a reason."

"Oh?" She asks, her dark blue eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"Yep. These periwinkle ones over here are-"

"Forget-me-nots. I remember." She interrupts, a small smile forming on her lips.

"Correct. The color of their soft blue petals represent calmness and tranquility, and the name can also mean not to forget one's past. To always respect it."

Helena lets out a small hum of pleasure as the tip of her fingers fondly trace over one of the small flowers. A look on her face so soft that my heart can't help but swell.

"And these over here.." I say walking over the next row a flowers - soft white petals with the slightest hint of pink to them, spread out brilliantly before us. "Are called Gladiolus. They're a symbol of strength and integrity. They also represent healing in times of grief."

"That name is similar to the word for 'sword' in Demon language." Her voice was coated something sadder as she spoke, with an almost longing to it.

For a moment, I just drink in her beauty as she leans over to take in the flower's soft scent - The way her hair fell so elegantly around her face like moonlight chasing after the dawn, how her eyes lit up like the tops of an ocean, basking in the warm sunlight - She was wise beyond her years - but also broken - rebuilt from the bottom up - Always with such a deep rooted innocence, that it only stood her apart from the other of the Witch Queen's generals. I take her hand in mine and lead her further back into the green house, where dozens upon dozens of roses filled the space - From a moonlit white, to the fiercest orange I had ever seen. The smell almost overwhelming - floral with a sweet undertone of musk - almost as delicious as the scent that was Helena.

"I chose the orange to represent your new life in Chicago - a rebirth, if you will." I say, plucking a single orange rose from a bush and handing it to her - the petals and leaves instantly flourishing to her touch.

"Ah, like a phoenix." She replies, and I smile, thinking back to the day that I had taught her about the mythological creatures of the my world. How curious she was to know that at one time, almost everyone here had once believed in magic.

"Exactly." I reply fondly.

"And.. the white?" She asks quietly, the orange rose spinning smoothly between her fingers.

"I know it may seem like an.. odd choice.. given the circumstances. But I also thought it would be a nice way to honor Alain, and Helen as well. I even made sure they were closer to a moonlit white, to match your hair."

Helena gives me a small nod, unspent tears causing her eyes to shimmer in the low lighting of the small garden, a smile on her face so fond that I immediately cup her face, pulling her in for a soft kiss - wiping away any falling tears as I do. She lays her forehead against mine when we finally part, and lets out a small hum.

"Your thoughtfulness and kindness will never cease to disarm me, my love. Thank you." Her warm breath skates across my skin as she speaks, etching a promise of everything she felt into my skin.

"Don't thank me, just yet. I still have one more thing to show you."

She gives me a look of surprised curiosity, as I lead her to the far back corner of the room - a small table, set with an elegant ceramic tea set, sits besides the beginning of a small but very suitable herb garden. The delicate inflections of the light blue and gold, that were so meticulously painted on the teapot, almost twinkled under the string lights that hung with care over the table.

"Is this an herb garden, my love?" Helena asks, looking over the variety that already began to sprout.

"Yep! I thought you'd enjoy being surrounded by some familiar smells as you relax with your favorite tea."

I motion for her to sit down, pouring her a hot cup of mint tea that Sophie had brewed for us. Swirls of steam curling elegantly around her face as she takes in a long, deep sip. The smallest of blushes rises to her cheeks and nose, as I lean over and kiss her again. She tasted like midnight and crisp air - mint and honey - love and life. I curl my fingers through her soft hair, pulling her even deeper in, savoring the perfection of the moment.

"Thank you, my love." She whispers against me.

"Always."

I write the word into her lips, kissing her under the clear winter's sky, until our dinner reservations had long past expired.

#answered #anonymous #lovestruck #women of lovestruck #helena klein #helena x mc #lovestruck love and legends #love and legends #fluffy #fluff #miscellaneous monday

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cake-writes · 4 years

Text

Ruse (Part Two)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Story Warnings: Bodyguard!AU (except it’s not actually an AU because Bucky’s still an Avenger), Reader’s a loveable idiot, Fluff, Humour, Slow Burn, Angst, Violence, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (Bucky), Eventual 18+

Word Count: 1749

Summary: Natasha ropes you into her plan to help Bucky's mental state: temporarily relieving him from his avenging duties to be your bodyguard. There’s no threat, of course, and it’s a terrible idea – but it just might work.

Part One / Master List

A little after ten a.m., there’s a knock on the door.

You and Natasha have been on the sofa all morning watching some trashy daytime soap opera. There’s not much else to do, and it’s not like you can go anywhere if you’re a target. That’s why she stayed the night, too – you’re in need of protection, now. A real damsel in distress.

Yeah, right.

Unfortunately, you’re not allowed near the door.

“Gotta check who it is and evaluate the risks,” she cheekily rubs it in as she walks over to find out who’s waiting on the other side.

What a brat.

When you shoot her a look to convey as much, she snorts. “You’d better get used to it, because this is your life now.”

And then you groan, because you know she’s right. What the hell did she talk you into?

Laughing, she pulls open the door, and the decorative pillow you’ve just thrown at her sails right out into the hallway. You’ve got impeccable aim, really, but it’s Natasha so of course she’s moved out of the way. Didn’t even have to look to know you were trying to bean her in the head.

It may not have hit her, but it did hit somebody.

“Oh my god—” You jump up from the sofa and, rushing over, you add, “Shit, I’m so sorry!”

You’ve just decked Bucky Barnes with a throw pillow. What the fuck.

At least it wasn’t in the face, and he caught it easily – leather-gloved fingers dig into plush cotton and velour and you realize, then, that of all the pillows you could have thrown, you picked the stupidest one.

It’s a cupcake. A big pink cupcake.

You’re a baker, but still. You threw a pillow at The Winter Soldier. A cupcake pillow.

What the actual fuck.

Pretty blue eyes meet yours for a moment, briefly, before gives Natasha a look that says in no uncertain terms that he knows it was her fault. “What did you say to her?”

Natasha just deadpans, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You huff a little under your breath, and she uses her elbow to jab you in the ribs.

His brows raise in amusement – or maybe it’s suspicion. Either way it has you sweating bullets.

“Please come in,” you somehow manage, and when you step aside to let him in, you shoot Natasha another dirty look that makes her cough back a laugh. “I’m really sorry, Mr. Barnes. I don’t usually throw things at people.”

“Bucky,” he tells you with a smile, offering you your pillow. “And don’t worry. Something tells me it’s not your fault.”

Only with him standing right in front of you do you realize how tall he is. And how built. He’s thick and muscular and holy hell, he could absolutely break you in the best of ways.

Jesus Christ.

You swallow thickly and take the pillow from him, but it does nothing to distract you from how attractive he is. Those clear blue eyes crinkle so beautifully when he smiles; not to mention the stubble on his chiselled jaw, or the messy bun that has loose strands of brown hair framing his face so perfectly.

“Thanks,” is all you can think to say.

How in the ever-loving fuck were you supposed to keep it together with him around? You can’t even string a sentence together now that you’ve had a good and proper look at him.

And that’s on your six-month dry spell.

“I know I already gave you a run-down on the phone,” Natasha pipes up, startling you out of your thoughts, “but is there anything else you need before I go?”

She’s talking to Bucky, not you, so you flop back down on the sofa and try to focus back on the TV. Unsuccessfully, of course. There’s no way you’ll be able to focus with him here.

“I think I’ve got it,” he responds, eyes sweeping across the apartment. “Entry points?”

“Nine. Three windows in here, two in each bedroom, and one in the bathroom.”

“Fire exit?”

“Off the master bedroom.”

“Thought so.” He doesn’t sound too pleased, and you sneak a glance over at him out of curiosity. When Natasha catches you and slyly arches a brow, you immediately whip your head back to face the TV. Fuck. “I’ll have a look. Thanks, Nat.”

She nods and takes a few steps over to the sofa to catch your attention. Predictably, when you look up at her, she gives you a knowing smirk. “Stay safe, okay? You’re in good hands.”

Another wink, and you know, then, that this was intentional.

God damn it.

“I’ll be fine, Nat,” you play along, but you don’t believe it anymore. There aren’t any risks to your health, of course – it’s all a ruse, but there is a risk that you’re going to make a complete ass of yourself. Bucky Barnes is too damn attractive for his own good, and what’s worse is that Natasha knew this would happen. “Go on, get out of here. Traitor.”

If you’re not mistaken, you might have heard Bucky stifle a laugh.

She just gives you both an innocent little wave, and then she’s off, shutting the door behind her with a near-silent click.

Now you’re stuck with him. All alone. Just the two of you.

Now what?

“Should I, uh,” you stammer awkwardly, peering over to find him standing next to your kitchen table, duffel on the floor, and you rephrase, “I should give you a tour, right? I mean, you are my guest... Right?”

Bucky laughs more audibly this time, and man, if you don’t love the sound. “Do whatever makes you feel comfortable. I’m sure this isn’t how you wanted to spend your weekend.”

Ha. If only he knew otherwise.

So you hop up from the sofa to give him a grand tour of your apartment, heart hammering in your chest. “I should say the same to you! No fun plans?”

“Not unless you think paperwork is fun,” he teases. “You’re actually doing me a favour.”

You like the sound of that.

It’s an exaggerated show of your digs, because you’re nervous and he’s him and you’re two seconds away from shoving your foot in your mouth – but somehow, you manage.

The living room is easy, and the kitchen. It’s got an open floor plan, after all, and he already saw it when he came in. After that, you take him down the hallway, where on the left is the too-small bathroom. It only fits one person at a time, and barely even that.

Across from the bathroom is your spare room, and that’s where you take him next. It’s not like you have guests very often, so you’ve turned it into an office. Running your own bakery requires a fair amount of administrative work, and you need the extra space for that.

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly, and Bucky gives you a confused look.

“Why are you sorry?”

“My spare room doesn’t have a bed.”

It’s evident, now, that he’s going to have to sleep on the sofa, but he just shrugs.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he tells you. “I’m here to keep you safe. Don’t need a bed for that.”

Of course, he’s welcome to share yours, but you don’t mention that.

Then the two of you are off to the final destination: your room, which makes you even more nervous until Bucky pauses for a moment to inspect the window leading out to the fire escape.

“What’s going on here?” he asks, and you stop cold.

“Well, uh…” Shit, you’re gonna look like an idiot. “Someone broke in right before I moved in, and my landlord never had it fixed so I nailed it shut.”

Bucky sighs. “That’s not safe. What’ll you do if there’s a fire?”

“Break the window?” you offer unhelpfully. “That’s why I keep a hammer in here.”

To prove your point, you nod at the dresser, where, sure enough, you’ve got a hammer sitting next to your jewellery. His eyes follow to where you’ve indicated, and when he sees the hammer, you can very clearly spot the growing disapproval on his face.

Yep, Bucky Barnes thinks you’re an idiot. Fantastic.

“Any other surprises I need to know about?”

He’s just going to find out anyway, so you opt for honesty, which may or may not be the best idea.

“The bathroom window doesn’t lock either, but we’re five stories up so that’s not a problem, right?”

Bucky doesn’t answer; instead, he frowns, and you can’t help but laugh nervously.

“Oh, and one of the burners on my stove doesn’t work right. I taped over it so it wouldn’t leak gas, you know, just in case.”

That’s when he lets out a long, slow breath. Oh, yeah, he’s annoyed for sure – even you can tell as much. “If there’s anything else, you need to tell me. I can’t do my job properly if you’ve done other things like this,” he taps on the window pane, “that I don’t know about.”

Other things. He’s too nice to say stupid things.

You nod.

“Alright. I’m going to check the entry points to make sure they work—” cue a pointed look in your direction that makes you look away in embarrassment, “and that they lock.”

“Thank you.” You swallow your pride and say again, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Just be more careful.”

There’s a certain bite to his tone that cuts deep, and you anxiously chew your lip, eyes downcast. He’s right. You really should have pushed harder to get things fixed. Why hadn’t you?

Then he swears low under his breath and gently places his hand on your shoulder, and you force yourself to look back up at him.

When he speaks again, his voice is softer than before. “Sorry. That wasn’t fair. It’s not your fault, I just...” There’s a pause, during which he lets you go and you very much miss the feeling of his large, warm hand against your skin. “I just don’t want to see a pretty girl like you getting hurt because of something like this. Let me take care of it, okay?”

“O–Okay,” you stammer. Did he just—?

And then he’s out of your room and out of your hair, and you can breathe again. Just for a moment. Just long enough to realize that Bucky Barnes told you you’re pretty. Even if it was just in passing.

Part Three

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes

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lyssismagical · 4 years

Note

Hurt/comfort prompt! Harley and Peter get in an argument after Peter comes home late. Harley is so stressed and worried that he doesn't notice Peter is injured until Peter collapses. 💖💖 No pressure to complete though.

As fiancés, compromises were important to keeping them from fighting.

They’d had a few rough patches since changing from boyfriends to fiancés, changing from living separately to cohabitating. It was hard balancing everything and still putting time into their relationship.

The biggest compromise they had to make was because of Spider-Man. The superhero took up the majority of Peter’s free time. Whenever he could, he’d be out swinging through the streets, stopping crime, and looking out for the little guy. And Harley was proud of him, of course he was. His fiancé was out there saving people, being a hero, how could he not be proud?

But when he’s left alone at restaurants when Peter races off to save somebody, when he’s left to an empty apartment most nights, when he’s alone more often than not, it hurts.

Being fiancés meant they were supposed to spend time together. They were supposed to be so wholly in love with each other that they couldn’t do anything but spend every moment attached at the hip.

Harley understands boundaries. He knows that Spider-Man is Peter’s escape from the real world, from the stresses of being Peter Parker, to give himself some time to think, Harley gets it. He does. He prides himself on not being jealous or angry or desperate.

But there’s a breaking point.

“I’m sorry, Harley. I’m so sorry, I just- There was this girl who lost her parents and she needed someone to get her home, and on my way back, I got caught up in a bank robbery and then there was this-”

“I’m done,” Harley says, voice flat and refusing to meet Peter’s eye. “I can’t do this anymore. It was one thing when you missed dates or movie nights or outings or even holidays. I could do it. I understand. But this?”

Peter’s face falls and he reaches out like he wants to comfort his fiancé, but he hesitates, hands hovering between them where Harley’s slumped on the edge of their bed, head in his hands.

Harley runs his hands through his hair again, further messing up his once perfectly styled curls. “I’m done, Peter.”

“I’m sorry, honey, I’m so sorry, really. I thought it would only take a second and then I got caught up and-”

“Our wedding!” Harley says, voice rising before he can stop it. He stands from the bed, arms lifting and shaking, before he lets them fall, defeated. “You missed our wedding.”

“Practice wedding,” the superhero corrects but his eyes are wet and his voice is tremblingly soft.

Harley rolls his eyes and pulls off his engagement ring, tossing it carelessly at Peter’s chest. It bounces off harmlessly and hits the ground. “I can’t do this anymore. You obviously care more about Spider-Man than you do me. I’ve put up with so much bullshit when it comes to this, but I never thought you’d miss something like this. How am I supposed to trust that you’d show up tomorrow? That you’d show up to our anniversaries? That you’d be there for me? I don’t want to spend the rest of my life waiting for you.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Nothing. I don’t want your excuses or your- your apologies. I’m done. I can’t do this anymore.”

Peter’s crying, arms wrapped around his stomach, eyes wide and glassy. “Harley-”

But Harley doesn’t have anything left to give. He loves Peter, more than he’s ever loved anyone, more than he thought possible, but he’s spent the past six years doing everything in his power to hold their relationship together when it feels like Peter’s hardly trying, like Peter just assumes Harley will work it out without his help.

He can’t do it anymore. He can’t spend every night wondering if Peter will come home to him, he can’t spend every waking moment wondering when the next time he’ll get a chance to see his fiancé will be, he can’t spend forever feeling like he’s at the bottom of Peter’s priorities. He’s sick of it.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he repeats. He hates that this is where it ends, that the end comes the day before their wedding. He hates that he’s hurting so badly, that he’s hurting Peter, that despite everything, the only person he wants to turn to is Peter.

Peter opens his mouth, probably to argue, to beg, to ask for another chance, at least an opportunity to explain himself or find a solution, but instead, all that comes out is a choked cough and then his knees are buckling.

Diving forward, Harley barely manages to catch him, body limp in his grip, and lowers them to the floor, cradling Peter close to his chest.

“Fuck, you had to be hiding an injury, didn’t you?” he says, hands fluttering nervously over his body, needing to find the source of the injury. “Now I’m the bad guy, huh?”

He finds the wound, a deep cut in his side, blood soaking through his suit and sweater, and it stains Harley’s hands where he presses his discarded suit jacket against it.

With his free hand, he grabs his phone and calls Tony.

“Was Peter home? Have you two talked?” He sounds sympathetic, upset for Harley’s sake, because he was there at the practice dinner where Harley paced and paced and paced, getting more frustrated the more unanswered texts he sent to his missing fiancé.

“I’ll explain later, but he’s hurt. He passed out. Could you send a car? Meet us at the Compound?”

Tony curses under his breath and then there’s the sound of a car engine. “You need any help?”

“No, I can get him there. Just- Make sure Cho’s ready for us.”

“Be safe, kid… And I’m sorry things are tough for you both. I’m sorry this happened today.”

Harley chokes out a laugh through his tears. “I think the wedding is the least of our worries right now. I’ll see you there.”

He hangs up before Tony can offer anymore comforting words. Harley deserves to be hated, to be yelled at, for fighting with Peter without realizing he was hurt.

“C’mon, darling, we need to get you downstairs without making our landlord explode.”

He’s about to lift Peter up when he sees his silver engagement ring sparkling on the floor a few feet away. It looks so harmless, lying there on the hardwood, but it makes Harley’s chest ache and hands tremble where they hold the jacket to Peter’s side.

He grabs his ring, pressing a kiss to the cold metal, and sliding it back onto his finger, where it rightfully goes.

“I love you,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to Peter’s forehead. “I’m sorry, I love you.”

He stands up, carrying the superhero in his arms, head lolling against his shoulder, and he sets off for the car.

* “It’s not your fault.”

Harley looks up startled from where he’d been busy twisting his ring around his finger like he’s forcing himself to remember their relationship for what it was. Pepper’s standing in the doorway, Tony a few steps behind her.

“I know things get tough, trust me, I know better than most. I’ve been where you are. I married a superhero,” she says, sitting down on the other side of Peter’s bed where he’s still unconscious.

Tony leans against the wall behind her, expression soft. “I don’t know how this will turn out, but Peter’s a really good guy. He’s got a guilt complex the size of New York, and I think sometimes he forgets he isn’t responsible for everything that happens here.”

“I know that.” Harley’s voice comes out angrier than he thought it would and he crosses his arms, leaning back in his chair. “I know him. I knew what I was signing up for. I didn’t care when I was stood up or left halfway through dates, I didn’t care that he disappeared for weeks on missions with barely a goodbye, I didn’t care that I was always going to be second to Spider-Man. But he missed our practice wedding. It felt like he’d left me at the alter.”

“He wouldn’t do that.”

Pepper sighs, glancing down at Peter before focusing on Harley. “I’m not going to tell you what to do, but I think Peter would do anything for you. He’d give up Spider-Man in a heartbeat if that’s what you told him to do-”

“I’m not going to make him give up Spider-Man.”

“Of course not because you love him just as much as he loves you.”

Somehow, the simplicity of the phrase is enough to settle the decision for Harley. Pepper’s right, if he explains just how much he worries, just how much he hates feeling like he’s never going to compare to the luxuries of swinging through the streets, how much he wants to have confidence that Peter will show up whenever he’s needed like for their wedding or for date nights or for whatever promises he makes. If he explains, Peter will change. Peter will compromise. Peter will find a solution to make this better.

Peter stirs, eyes blinking open blearily, hand squeezing Harley’s.

Pepper nods confidently. “We’ll give you two some time.”

“Oh, and leave wedding re-planning to us and May this time, yeah? How do you feel about a Winter Wedding?”

“Wait, no.” Peter’s voice is rough and low, eyes barely able to stay open. His thumb is rubbing over Harley’s ring over and over again. “Wanted to marry you tomorrow.”

Harley tries to smile through the tears that fill his eyes. “I want to marry you too, honey. I just don’t think we’ll be able to get you out of a hospital bed and into a suit in time.”

He doesn’t want to say that he was having doubts just a few hours ago, that he thought he was through with their relationship not long ago.

Pepper smiles fondly at them, takes Tony’s hand, and then they leave the two boys alone.

“I’m sorry,” Peter says, squinting up at Harley with glassy eyes. “I should’ve been there. I was nervous and I thought I could get those nerves out by swinging, and I got caught up. I was never going to be late to the wedding. I wouldn’t have done that.”

“I know. I’m sorry too. I never want you to feel like you can’t be Spider-Man because of me, I never want to hold you back.” Harley sighs running his free hand through his hair. “I do want to marry you, Peter. I’m not done trying.”

Peter squeezes his hand weakly, thumb still twisting Harley’s ring. “I’d do anything for you, Harley. I hope you know that. I’d give it up for you.”

“No,” he says certainly. “We need to work on communicating, on compromising. It’s not all or nothing. I just want Sunday Breakfasts with you or Friday Night Movies or something. I want you to be there when it’s not important so I know you’ll be there when it is, too.”

“I love you.” Peter pulls Harley’s hand up to kiss the ring around his finger. “I wanna marry you. I don’t care if it’s right here in this hospital or if it’s in a park or on the moon, I wanna marry you.”

Harley grins, leaning down to kiss Peter. “I love you too, Parker. If we’re going to get married tomorrow, then we both need our beauty sleep so move over.”

Peter obliges, shifting to the side of the bed to make room for Harley, immediately curling into his warmth when he’s settled. “I love you, I’m sorry about yesterday.”

“We’re getting married, Peter. Things happen, I forgive you, we move on. As long as you’re there on time tomorrow, I think we can do anything.”

Taglist: @littlemissagrafina @spideygirl2003 @romeoandjulietyouwish @c-artara @shadedrose01 @likeaphoenix13 @pj-hermes-tonystark-obsessed @you-get-killed-walk-it-off @kitkatwinchester @emo-girl10 @justme--emily @hold-our-destiny @imalivebecauseirondad @spiderman-peterman @dykeragee @maryserrao @heeeyitskay {Let me know if you wanna be added or removed}

#lyss writes #lyss answers #parkner #harley keener #peter parker #spiderman #pepperony #tony stark #pepper potts

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