#right side of my face is twice the size and cut to shit

[outahell]

well ....... writing might be a little delayed ,    i need to go to hospital :)

[waitimcomingtoo]

Two Normal Arms

Pairing: Peter Parker x Stark!reader

Synopsis: when Peter breaks his arm, he notices he gets a lot of attention from you. So much attention that he prolongs the broken arm as long as he can

Masterlist

Peter had a strict no texting while swinging rule.

That rule was broken one night on patrol during a particularly heated back and forth text conversation with Ned over whether chili was a soup or an entirely different category of food. Peter didn’t feel like waiting until he got home to respond, so he texted with one hand while he shot webs with the other. His eyes were glued to his phone as he went to grab a web that wasn’t anywhere close to where he thought it was. He went crashing to the ground, landing right on his right arm. He heard the crunch loud and clear and let out a little whimper. Peter peeled himself off the pavement and pulled his mask off to look at his arm.

“Well that’s not good.” He mumbled when he saw the curve in a place his arm didn’t typically curve.

He knew there was no way he could swing home with the arm but he was too far to walk. He looked around and realized he was in your neighborhood. He’d been to your place once before when Tony first bought you an apartment and wondered if he could find it again by memory. He ran up and down the block until he spotted a window with a light on near the top floor of a building twice the size of Peters. He could see a little Iron Man flag in the window and took a leap of faith that that was your apartment. He cradled his arm to his chest and gingerly climbed the side of the building until he reached the window. He used his head to knock on the window and sighed in relief when he saw you running to open it.

“Peter? What are you doing up here?” You whispered.

“I’m sorry. I would never bother you at home but I got hurt really badly and I can’t swing.” Peter winced and held up his arm. You could see exactly where the break was and put a hand over your mouth.

“Oh my God. Come in.” You said as you wrapped an arm around him and helped him inside. You helped Peter sit down on your couch before sitting on the coffee table in front of him.

“Let me see this.” You said and gently moved his hand away from his arm. It was bent in an awkward way and resembled an “s”, something you didn’t know arms could do.

“Is it bad?” Peter asked you.

“One second.” You smiled sweetly and calmly walked into the next room. When you returned, you had a forced smile on your face.

“It’s not bad.” You answered him.

“You went over there to gag gagged, didn’t you?”

“I did. I’m sorry.” You cringed. “Broken bones gross me out.”

“Oh shit. You think it’s broken?” Peter asked and held the arm up. It limply hung in the air and you gagged again.

“Peter, honey, it looks like a fish hook.”

“Yeah. That’s probably not good, right?” He asked as he looked at it.

“I need to get you to a hospital.” You decided and grabbed your car keys.

“A hospital? That won’t be necessary. There’s no need for all that fuss. Can’t we just wrap it up and call it a day?” Peter laughed nervously.

“I don’t think so. I can put bandaids on your other cuts but this needs to be looked at by a real doctor.”

“You said you’ve seen every season of Greys Anatomy right? Can’t you just put on an episode and do what they do?”

“All they do is have sex during work hours. We can’t do that right now.” You shook your head as you threw your coat on. Peter stopped panicking for a second and felt his face heat up.

“But later?” He asked. You playfully rolled your eyes at him and set your keys down.

“Hang on. We gotta get you out of those clothes.”

“Really? Now?” Peter gulped and grabbed his shirt with his free hand.

“Well we can’t get checked out as Spiderman without the doctors seeing this pretty face.” You teased and cupped his chin before walking towards your room.

“Oh. Right.” He blushed and touched his chin.

“I’ll grab some of my stuff.” You called from your room. You returned shortly with a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. Peter pressed the button on the center of his suit and shimmied out of it before making eye contact with you. You gulped and quickly turned around to give him some privacy. Peter blushed and stood up to shake the suit onto the floor. He gingerly stepped into the pants and pulled them up with one hand. When it came to the hoodie, he knew there was no way he could put it on with one arm.

“Um….” He said as he struggled to get his head in the hoodie.

“You need help?” You asked over your shoulder.

“Yes please.”

You laughed and turned around to help Peter get dressed. You pulled his head through the opening and laughed when his messy hair stuck straight up.

“Thank you.” Peter smiled shyly as you fixed his hair.

“Anytime.” You smiled back.

“I kinda hate that your pants fit me.” He said sheepishly and looked down at the pants you had given him.

“Why? I think you look great in my clothes.”

“Oh. Well thank you.” He blushed. “You’d probably look great in mine.”

“I don’t know if I have the muscles to fill out your suit.” You sighed and nodded towards his discarded suit.

“It doesn’t have to be the suit. You’d look good in just my T shirt.”

“Just your T shirt?” You asked coyly, making Peter go bright red.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He quickly explained.

“We can put your theory to the test later. Let’s get your arm looked at first.” You said and pulled him towards the door. Peter gulped and made it all the way to the car before stopping in his tracks.

“I can’t go to the hospital.” He blurted. You stopped and looked at him and we’re supposed to see the embarrassed look on his face as he cradled his arm.

“Why not?” You asked him as you put your hand on his shoulder. Peter looked at your hand before looking into your eyes and sighing.

“My aunt would never be able to afford it with her new job.” He admitted. “We’re barely making rent as it is. I can’t put this on her.”

“So don’t.” You shrugged. “Put it on my dads card.”

“I can’t just charge my medical bills to your dad.” Peter laughed uncomfortably.

“Sure you can. He won’t even notice. And if he asks about the card, I’ll just tell him I was shopping.” You insisted and pulled Peter towards your car.

“I can’t ask you to do that.” He shook his head and stayed where he was.

“You’re not asking. I’m offering. Actually, I’m forcing. Get in the car.” You insisted as you opened the passenger door. You playfully pushed him into the car and buckled his seatbelt for him. You then climbed into the drivers seat and started the car.

“Thank you.” He smiled shyly when you looked over at him.

“Of course. You can trust me, Peter. I’m your friend.” You smiled back and started to drive.

“Right.” His nodded as his smile faltered a little at the word “friend” but he didn’t say anything. By the time you pulled up to the hospital, Peter was in bad shape. His arm was swelling and causing him more pain than he had ever felt. You opened his door and helped him out of the car, feeling the way he was barely able to hold himself up.

“Hey, Y/n?” Peter winced and held on tight to you.

“Yeah, Peter?”

“Do you think you could lift someone my size?”

“Maybe. Why?”

“Because I’m about to pass out.” He said right before collapsing onto the ground.

When Peter woke up later in his hospital bed, he felt a whole lot better. So much better, in fact, that he didn’t even notice the giant blue cast on his arm. He didn’t know if it was the morphine he had been given or fact that you were sitting at his bedside with your hand that was keeping him pain free.

“Hey, Peter.” You smiled softly at him and brushed the hair off his forehead. Peter sat up a little in his bed and smiled back.

“So pretty. You look nothing like your dad.” He said sleepily.

“What was that?” You laughed even though you had definitely heard him.

“Want jello.” Peter said and licked his dry lips. You held his cup of water to his lips and helped him drink as the doctor came in.

“Oh, good. He’s awake.” The doctor said.

“Woah. What happened?” Peter asked ad he noticed his cast.

“We had to do surgery on your arm to set the bone back into place. You’ll be in a cast for the next six to eight weeks.”

“I didn’t know your favorite color so I picked blue. I hope that’s okay.” You explained sheepishly.

“Blue is great. Thank you.” Peter smiled at you as he slowly felt more with it.

“It’s a good thing your girlfriend brought you in when she did. You had free fluid in your arm. It could’ve been much worse if you hadn’t come in right away.” The doctor told him.

“Oh. She’s not my-“

“Thank, doctor. Is there anything we should do now?” You cut him off as you turned to the doctor.

“He’s safe to bring home. Just keep the arm elevated and don’t get it wet. I can prescribe some pain meds as well.”

“Thank you. And could we get some jello too please?” You requested.

“No problem. I’ll be right back with that.” The doctor smiled and left the room.

“You broke your wrist, elbow and radius bone. Which I just found out is the bone in between your wrist and elbow. Who knew it had a name? But that’s why the cast goes so high.” You explained to Peter once you were alone.

“Damn. That’s a lot of bones. No wonder it hurts.” He said and shifted uncomfortably in the bed. It didn’t actually hurt that bad, but he liked it when you were worried about him.

“Oh no. It does? Can I do anything?” You asked and brushed his hair back again. Peter blushed and smiled softly as he looked into your concerned eyes.

“Just keep holding my hand, please. It helps with the pain.” He said and faked a cough for added measure. You fell right for it and squeezed his hand.

“It’s gonna be okay, Peter. I won’t leave your side. But do you want me to call your aunt?”

“No, this will just freak her out. I’ll tell her tomorrow.”

“Okay. You could crash at my place tonight if you want. I’ll drive you home tomorrow so we can tell her together. I wrote down everything the doctor said since you were still knocked out.”

“Wow. Thank you.” Peter smiled in appreciation when you showed him the list you had made. You smiled back and put the list down on his bedside table before looking at him. Peter was gazing at you intently because he could tell you had something on your mind.

“I like the color you picked.” Peter said to cut the silence.

“Oh, thanks. I was gonna go with red but I always thought you looked best in blue.” You said without looking at him. Peter blushed at the casual compliment and tilted his head to get you to look at him. You finally did look into his eyes and smiled softly.

“Peter, could I….”

“Yes?” Peter sat up eagerly at your question.

“Sign your cast?” You finished your sentence and he sat back in his bed.

“Oh, sure.” He agreed. You pulled a sharpie out of your bag and wrote your name on the front of Peters cast. Peters face reddened when he saw how big you had written it and he looked at his cast proudly.

“First one.” You smiled and put the sharpie down.

“Probably one of the only ones that will be on here.” Peter chuckled.

“Oh, really? Maybe I should add something else then.” You said and picked the sharpie back up. Peter couldn’t see what you were drawing until you gently turned his cast towards him.

“Do you like it?” You asked timidly. Peter looked at his cast and saw that you had drawn a big heart around your name.

“I love it.” Peter blushed. “Thank you.”

“Of course. It’s an honor to be the first.” You told him. “Oh, and I went by the tower while you were sleeping and grabbed some of your clothes. The doctor said I can take you home once you can stand on your own.”

“I feel great, actually. Thanks for getting the clothes.” Peter thanked you as he got out of his bed. He got changed in the bathroom and met you in the room once he was done. You helped Peter get signed out before taking him back to your apartment.

“Stay here. I’ll make up the bed for you. Can I get you anything?” You asked as you helped Peter sit on your couch.

“Could I have some water please?”

“Of course.” You cupped his chin before going to get him a glass of water. Peter would be lying if he said he didn’t love the way you were babying him because of his injury. You returned with his water and sat beside him on the couch.

“Is there anything else I could get you?”

“I would love to shower. But I can’t get my cast wet.” Peter frowned and looked at his cast.

“You don’t have to.” You said and got back up. You returned shortly with a black garbage bag and held it up to show Peter.

“You’re a genius.” He smiled and got up from the couch.

“I aim to please.” You shrugged and opened the bag up. Peter went to put his arm inside but you stopped him.

“Um, you should probably take off your shirt before I put this on.” You said sheepishly.

“Oh. Right.” Peter replied and tried to take his shirt off, which proved to be difficult with only one hand. After watching him struggle for a bit, you grabbed the hem and helped him take it off. Peters face reddened as you pulled the shirt over his head and he smiled softly. You did your best to keep your eyes on his as you tied the bag around his arm and tried not to look at his body.

“There. That should protect it from any water.” You said as you never broke eye contact.

“Thanks. That was really smart.” Peter said quietly. You stayed staring at each other for a little too long before you snapped out of it.

“The bathroom is the first door on the left. Shampoo and conditioner is all in there. And I have extra towels under the sink.“ You said as you stepped away from him.

“Cool. Thank you.” He smiled once again before walking to the bathroom. Your garbage bag idea worked perfectly and he was able to clean himself without getting any water on the cast. He dried himself off to the best of his ability with one hand and stepped back into his boxers and sweatpants from before. That’s when he realized he had left his shirt out in the living room with you. Peter gulped and fixed his hair in the mirror before going to find you again.

“Hey. All clean?” You asked when he came back into the living room.

“Yep. Could you take this thing off of me?” Peter asked and held up his arm.

“Sure.” You gulped and went over to him. You put on your best performance of pretending he wasn’t shirtless and glistening from the shower as you untied the bag and pulled it off. You made eye contact once again and quickly looked anywhere but his naked torso.

“Do you need help getting your shirt back on?” You asked and hoped the answer was yes.

“It’s okay. I think I can do it. You’ve already done so much.” Peter said as he grabbed the shirt. He managed to get one arm and both shoulders in before realizing he had no way of getting his cast through the shirt.

“I’m stuck.” He whined, making you laugh a little. He had his good arm sticking out over his head and his shirt riding up like a crop top .

“Aw. Look at you.” You chuckled and carefully pulled his broken arm through the shirt.

“Thanks. Again.” Peter laughed as well now that he was dressed.

“You’re very welcome. Now follow me. I’ll show you your bed.” You said and brought Peter to your guest bedroom. You had set it up for him while he was in the shower and put lots of extra pillows so he would be comfortable.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” You turned to him to ask. Peter looked down at your lips for a moment before going back to your eyes.

“Um….” He trailed off and looked over at the bed.

“How about some sleep?”

“Yeah.” He laughs through a yawn. “That sounds really good. Thanks for taking care of me.”

“Anytime, Peter. Goodnight.” You squeezed his arm before leaving the room. Peter stayed frozen in place for a minute and tried to touch his arm where you hand had just been, then remembered it was broken.

Peter woke up the next morning to the sweet smell of pancakes. He got out of bed and noticed that the pain in his arm had almost completely gone away. He flexed his fingers, something the doctor mentioned that he probably wouldn’t be able to do for a while, and realized his arm was probably mostly healed. He decided not to mention that discovery to you as he went to go find you.

“Good morning.” You smiled at Peter when he walked into your kitchen.

“It’s a very good morning. Hi.” He smiled back as you handed him a cup of orange juice.

“Sit. Eat. I can cut it for you if you need.” You offered as you put a plate of pancakes in front of Peter.

“That’s okay. You don’t have to.” Peter smiled gratefully and picked up his fork. He went to pick up his knife and remembered his arm was in a cast.

“Hm.” He hummed when he realized his dilemma.

“Here. I got it.” You chuckled and took his fork. You cut Peters food up for him as he watched you with a dreamy smile. He’d never gotten this much attention from you before, or any girl for that matter. He was starting to think this broken arm was a gift from God.

“After breakfast, I can take you home and we can tell May together.” You offered as you got up and grabbed a spray bottle and a comb from the bathroom.

“Thank you. For everything. You’ve done so much already.”

“Please. I’ve barely done anything.” You scoffed and proceeded to wet his hair and then comb out his bed head. Peter turned to look at you with his newly styled hair and you sheepishly put the comb down.

“Okay. I see your point. I just like to take care of people. And I feel bad that you broke your arm. I’m sorry if I’m doing too much.” You explained as you sat back down.

“That’s okay. I’m not used to be taken care of like this. It’s kinda nice.” Peter admitted without looking at you.

“I think it’s nice too. To look after you.” You replied. You looked into each others eyes for a moment and exchanged a smile. Peter finished up his breakfast and got back into your car to go tell May what happened. As you explained to her everything the doctor had told you, all May could focus on was the pretty girl Peter had brought home.

“Wait, sorry, who are you?” May interrupted with an excited smile.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m Y/n Stark. Peter works with my dad. He got hurt on patrol and my apartment was as close by.” You explained.

“It’s so nice to meet you. I’m so glad Peter had such a lovely girl to take care of him. And that he knew where your apartment was. Because he’s been there before?” May asked and clasped her hands under her chin.

“Oh my God.” Peter groaned and hung his head. “It’s not like that, May.”

“Peter’s a friend.” You chuckled. “But I was happy to look after him.”

“Well I appreciate that. And I know he does too. He talks about you all the time, you know. I just didn’t realize it was you. He didn’t tell me how pretty you were.” May added.

“May.” Peter said warningly.

“Oh, thank you.” You laughed awkwardly. “Well, I should probably get going. See you later, Peter.”

“She’s cute.” May said once you were gone.

“She is. But you’ll probably never see her again because you just scared her off.” Peter groaned.

“I don’t know. Don’t think I don’t see that signature on your cast. It’s gonna take a lot more than an overbearing aunt to scare that girl off.” May said coyly.

“Wait, you really think so?” Peter asked.

“I’m just saying. I wouldn’t go to that length for just a friend.” May shrugged. A smile crossed Peters face as it occurred to him this broken arm might have been exactly what he needed to get you to like him back.

Peter walked into campus next day with his cast in a sling. He went to the table he usually sat at between classes and saw Ned already sitting there.

“Hey dude. You never texted me back last- OH MY GOD.” Ned screamed and pointed when he saw the cast.

“Calm down. I’m okay. I just broke my arm.” Peter said with a huge smile.

“Uh, why do you seem so happy about it?”

“Because Y/n Stark took care of me.” Peter whispered excitedly as he sat down.

“Wait, Tony Starks daughter?” Neds eyes widened. “What?! How?”

“I couldn’t swing so I had to go to the nearest apartment I could find, which was hers. She drove me to the hospital and got me clothes while I was in surgery. Then she brought me home and let me sleep at her place.” Peter explained.

“You slept at a girls place?” Ned’s jaw dropped as he grabbed Peters shoulders.

“I know! I wish you could’ve seen it, Ned. She was so worried about me so she did everything for me. I’m talking combing my hair, cutting my food, she even helped me get dressed. Honestly, I think she might like me.”

“That’s hilarious.” Ned laughed. “Good thing you didn’t break your funny bone. Oh my God, wait, did you?”

“No, dude. I’m serious. You should’ve seen her. She was all over me in a way she never has been before. I think this broken arm is the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“Peter!” Your voice came from behind Peter so he and Ned turned around in confusion.

“Woah. What’s she doing here?” Ned asked and shook Peters arm.

“I have no idea.” Peter replied as a smile broke out on his face.

“Hi. I hope it’s okay I showed up like this.” You said as you sat down beside Peter.

“It’s totally okay. I’m happy to see you.” Peter said and leaned on his good arm to stare at you.

“I know it must be hard to do things for yourself with only one hand, so I thought I would bring you lunch. My dad mentioned that you always eat all the peanut butter when you’re at the tower so I made you a PBJ. Do you like those?” You asked him.

“I love them. Thank you so much. This is so nice of you. You didn’t have to do that.” Peter said and touched your arm.

“It’s okay. I wanted to. I also cut you up some apple slices and packed a juice box.” You said and showed Peter was else was in the lunch bag you had brought.

“No way! I love apple juice.” Peters eyes lit up when he saw the juice. He reached for him but you put your hand on his arm.

“I got it.” You smiled at Peter and put the straw into the juice box. You then held the juice box up so that he could sip it, all while Ned watched in disgust.

“Oh my.” Ned mumbled.

“Are you doing anything tonight?” You asked Peter.

“I don’t think so. Why?”

“I figured since you can’t go on patrol while you’re healing, you could come hang with me at the tower. My dads been working on some new technology and I think you’d be a great help.”

“Yeah, yeah that sounds awesome.” Peter grinned and nodded his head.

“Oh, good. You said yes.” You smiled timidly. “I could pick you up after class?”

“Sure. I get out at 4:25.”

“I’ll be here. See you later, Peter.” You squeezed his arm and got up to leave.

“Did you see that? This arm is a goldmine! She’s never been this interested in me!” Peter exclaimed once you were gone.

“No girl has!” Ned said with equal excitement.

“This is even better than the spider bite. I hope I never heal.” Peter sighed happily and looked at his cast.

“Can I sign it?” Ned asked and fished in his backpack for a pen.

“Of course.” Peter smiled and moved his cast towards Ned. Ned gently held Peters arm in place and tried to write on the top of his cast above his elbow.

“Ugh, it’s too curved. Can you flex so I can get a solid surface?”

“No, I can’t flex my broken arm. And your name is just three letters. Is it really that hard?”

“I wanted to draw the blue amongus guy. Please?” Ned whined.

“Fine.” Peter rolled his eyes and flexed his arm the bets he could to give Ned a flat surface. When he did this, the cast cracked in half and fell in two pieces onto Peters lap. Chalk from the inside filled the air, making Peter and Ned cough as they waved it away.

“Oh shit.” Peter said and flexed his arm back and forth. Sure enough, it was perfectly healed.

“Dude!” Ned coughed. “I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to do that.”

“My arm is healed. Damn it!” Peter groaned and slammed his now healed arm on the table.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Ned asked as he drew an amongus character on one of the halves of Peters cast.

“No. My broken arm was the one thing making Y/n pay attention to me. Without it, she’ll want nothing to do with me.” Peter sighed and rubbed his face.

“Maybe you could break your other arm?” Ned suggested. “Or both arms?

“I’m not gonna break my arm on purpose. That’s too crazy. I just need a new cast.” Peter said as he began to brainstorm.

“Maybe not. Maybe you just need some tape.” Ned said as he held the two halves of the cast together. Peter looked at the two halves and smiled as he formed a plan.

Peter texted you that he’d meet you at the tower instead so that he could rush home to work on his plan. When you opened the tower door to greet him, the first thing you noticed was that his cast had been wrapped in duck tape down the middle that was then colored with a blue sharpie. You could see spots of wet Elmer’s glue around the obvious crack, despite the sling Peter had placed the arm in.

“Hi!” He greeted you.

“Hey, you. What happened to your cast?” You laughed and raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, nothing. I just scuffed it a little.” Peter lied and pulled it deeper into the sling.

“Uh huh. Come in.” You chuckled skeptically and led him to the lab. You held the door open for Peter and noticed him touching it with his broken hand as he passed through. You were already skeptical and decided to play with him a little.

“This is so cool. Your dad never lets me in here.” Peter said as he looked around the lab in awe.

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Come sit.” You smiled innocently and patted a chair at the lab table that wasn’t pulled out. Peter pulled it out with his broken hand and sat beside you. You eyed him curiously and he gave you an awkward smile. You decided not to expose him just yet and let him help you with a few things around the lab for an hour. He was beyond excited just to be there and you didn’t want to ruin it just yet.

“Can you figure out this formula for me?” You asked and handed Peter a marker.

“Sure.” He smiled and went to the whiteboard. He started writing with his broken hand and you watched with an amused smile.

“You should probably use your other hand.” You said, making Peter freeze.

“Oh. Right.” Peter forced a laugh. “I keep forgetting it’s broken. Which it definitely is. You saw it.”

“I did see it. Does it still hurt?” You asked and touched the sling.

“Oh yeah.” He lied. “Real bad.”

“Aw. Poor baby.” You pouted and brushed some hair off his face. Peter gulped and blushed under your touch as he made a fist with his broken hand. You noticed him moving his supposedly broken hand and decided to tease him a little.

“You know, it’s really a shame your arm is broken.” You said and took a step towards him.

“Why?”

“Because we have the place to ourselves. We could’ve had a little fun together. But obviously we can’t, with your broken arm and all.” You replied and watched his face carefully for a reaction.

“A little fun?” Peter gulped again as you got even closer.

“You know….” You smiled coyly and walked your fingers up his arm.

“No.” Peter swallowed. “I don’t know.”

“Come on. You’re telling me you haven’t dreamed of fooling around in one of the giant rooms in this place?” You asked and wrapped your arms around his neck.

“And you’re saying that’s what we would be doing? If my arm was healed?” Peter asked with wide eyes.

“Uh huh. Too bad it’s not.” You sighed dramatically and took a step back. Peter looked down at his fake broken arm and contemplated telling the truth.

“Yeah. That’s too bad.” He mumbled.

“Hey Peter?”

“Yeah?”

“Catch.” You said and tossed a paper weight at him. Peter caught it with ease in his broken hand, making his cast break in half again. You raised your eyebrows as Peter squeezed his eyes shut.

“Shit.” He whispered.

“Don’t feel bad.” You chuckled. “I knew you were faking it the second you walked in.”

“You did?” Peter sighed and pulled the cast and sling off.

“Come on, Peter. Duct tape?”

“I know. I’m not a craft boy.” Peter admitted with defeat.

“I can tell. So what’s with the fake cast?” You wondered as you folded your arms.

“The first one was real. I swear. But it healed quicker then I thought it would and I didn’t need it anymore.”

“Then why would you tape the cast around your healed arm?”

“Because I didn’t want you to know it was healed.” Peter mumbled, just barely audible but you still heard it.

“What?” You laughed. “Why not?”

Peter sighed again before looking into your eyes. You looked at him expectingly and he knew there was no way out of this.

“Because then you won’t hang out with me anymore.” He said with a sad smile.

“What?” Your smiled faded as your arms dropped.

“Before I broke my arm, I had trouble getting you to even look my way. But that night in your apartment, I never lost your attention. Not even once. And then you showed up at my school and met my friend and I guess I liked that so much that I wasn’t ready to let go of it yet. So I taped my cast back together to keep your attention a little longer. I’m sorry.”

“Peter, I didn’t do all those things because you have a broken arm. I did them because I like you.” You said as walked back towards him.

“You do?” Peter raised an eyebrow. “Even though I have two normal arms?”

“It’s something I’m willing to look past.” You smiled teasingly. Peter smiled back before winced and gripping his shoulder.

“What’s wrong?”

“I kinda triggered the injury when I broke the cast.” He grimaced and moved his shoulder in a circle.

“Aw. Do you want me to kiss it better?” You laughed sarcastically.

“Yeah. Can you?” Peter replied with equal sarcasm and held up his arm. You moved his arm down away from his face and leaned in to kiss him. Once Peter processed what was happening, he was able to kiss you back. He wrapped his now healed arm around your waist to pull you in, feeling the dull ache he got from moving it but deciding it was worth it.

“Any better?” You asked once you pulled away.

“Much.” Peter smiled and went to kiss you again.

Tag List 🏷️

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[bakubunny]

f!reader | part 1 | it had been a week since toji was a total creep and overheard what you’d assumed was private, personal time, and the last thing he’d do was let it go. now he was making a point to get in your space. he’d touch you unnecessarily, make smart remarks. and it was irritating as hell, having to constantly push him away; it was hard enough to look him in the face or keep your cheeks from flushing. but seeing you flustered only seemed to egg him on, no matter how many times you’d told him to, “back the fuck off, toji.”

“i think you mean daddy, sweetheart,” he’d said this morning. if it weren’t for the fact that he looked twice your size and was clearly infinitely stronger than you, you’d probably deck the nasty old creep, but you knew better. at this point you’d considered finding a new place to live several times until you remembered that he was letting you live with him for almost nothing.

but now, as you stood at the front door, it took everything you had not to slam it shut when your boyfriend left. he was doing it again, accusing you of sleeping with your coworkers, his friends, your roommate. but you weren’t. tears welled in your eyes as you wondered why the hell you put up with his shit yet again when toji - in a rare moment of what seemed like kindness - asked that from behind you.

“why do you keep that piece a shit around?” he said.

you jumped at his voice, not having heard him as entered the room.

“doesn’t matter. i don’t fucking know anymore,” you replied. you tried to walk past him, but he was a wall in front of you. “move. please.”

aaaand of course, the snark was back.

“please, what, pretty girl?” his voice was low and smooth like honey as he spoke.

“cut the bullshit,” you said as your cheeks flared with heat.

toji leaned against the hallway entrance, unwilling to move.

“i said move.” your patience was already thin.

toji lifted your chin with that stupid fucking look that made you weak in the knees, the one you’d wanted to wipe off his face so badly all week. “gettin’ tired of your bitchy attitude, princess. don’t make me show you how to behave.”

you ignored the heated throb between your legs. “you’re such a fucking perv.”

he scoffed. “yeah, one that’s got you touchin’ yourself every fuckin’ night. beggin’ me to fuck you. cryin for daddy to come stuff your cunt til you’re too dumb to speak.”

your chest grew hot.

“c’mon, brat. two little words. what d’ya got to lose, some greasy twerp who’s sleepin’ around on ya?” he asked.

the words stung. you knew he was right.

your fists balled up as your face burned hotter still. “please, daddy.”

the grin on his face was almost sickening. “tell daddy what you want,” he taunted.

a thought ran through your head. so much of you wanted to tell him to move so you could hide, sleep off the tears you were just put through. but toji was right.

what did you have to lose?

“fuck me.”

.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

“shit, toji-” you whined.

a heavy, wet, plap-plap-plap filled the room as toji drove his thick, veiny cock into your cunt. he groaned hearing his name on your lips, so desperate and slurred. so much better than when you’d fucked yourself thinking of him.

“c’mon, baby. say my name, tell me who fucks you this good, huh?” he growled.

toji’s tongue ran up the side of your neck from behind. your fingers curled deeper into the sheets as a shiver ran down your back; he sucked and nibbled at tender spots along your neck, leaving a trail of marks behind. you moaned his name and cursed again. drool dribbled into the bed as the last syllable of his name was drawn out on your lips.

“tha’s a good girl,” he said before landing a hard strike on your ass.

“ah! daddyyy,” you cried out. your cunt fluttered in response.

you were so full of toji’s cock that you couldn’t think, could hardly breathe. you’d be thankful he had you on your stomach so you could lay there and take it, but he’s so thick and big that every thrust made you feel split wide open as your pussy clenched around him, your body limp.

toji leaned back. thick, calloused fingers gripped your hips harder. he looked down and watched your ass ripple in front of him from the impact of his thrust, mesmerized by the soft thickness of your thighs. he groaned seeing the cream you left on his cock the more he fucked you. you pushed your hips up a little to meet his thrust and adjust the angle, but toji stopped you.

“ah ah, babygirl, daddy’s gonna do all the work for ya,” he said. “fuck ya better than that useless prick ever did. ain’t that right?”

his massive hands slid up to your waist and pinned you to the bed as he adjusted the angle of his thrust, his cock dragging along your sweet spot and hitting a deep, tender point that had your legs trembling, brain melting into mush.

“yes, so much better. fuck, s’perfect, please don’ stop,” you moaned.

it was that moment when your phone lit up again, buzzing with a name you wanted to forget. your now ex-boyfriend. toji let out a frustrated grunt and grabbed your phone. he tossed it next to your face.

“answer the damn phone so he stops calling,” toji said.

he hadn’t even been gone twenty minutes and he’d called three times in the last five, probably to beg you to forgive him.

“n-no you g-gotta stop, toji, what are-”

toji scoffed. his thrusts softened as he answered the phone and put it on speaker. you made some semblance of an attempt to not sound like you were fucked out of your mind.

“babe? what do you need?”

toji’s hips rolled into yours as he slowly fucked you, dragging over your sweet spot in long strokes as you bit your knuckles. your eyes rolled and you swallowed a pant while you waited for a response.

“babyyy, princess, i’m so sorry. listen, i know you’d never-”

he was cut off by your cry and the helpless moans that followed as toji unexpectedly resumed his hard, heavy pace, slamming his hips into yours. the wet clapping of your pussy against him was loud enough that it had to be heard on the other line. without thinking you, you whined toji’s name, loud and clear with your phone still in sight.

“you filthy fucking bitch-”

toji took the call off speaker as your ex-boyfriend screamed, still connected but now much quieter as he brought the receiver closer. he leaned down and pulled a fistful of your hair. “s’not my name princess. try again.”

without being prompted, you did all the work for him.

“f-f-fuck, daddyyy, fuck, please make me cum, please, y’so fucking big, feels so good. need’a cum on your cock,” you babbled mindlessly.

toji laughed quietly. “ya hear that? that’s what a slut should sound like. bet ya never made her moan like this.”

rather than hang up, your ex only seemed to get angrier hearing toji’s voice. toji left the call running.

“i know babygirl, daddy’s so big, huh?” he said into your ear. “you can take it, sweetie. take it like a good girl f’me.”

your cunt fluttered and clenched around him like a vice. toji moaned, his lips connecting with your skin - your neck, shoulder, ear. “fuck, y’so - tight. gonna make me - cum.”

feeling toji swell and throb inside your walls with every thrust only pushed you that much closer as your legs shook hard. “m’ so c-close, shit, please don’t stop, daddy-”

“that’s it pretty girl. cum, make a mess on my fucking cock,” toji said.

your orgasm came crashing down over your body in waves as toji held you tighter and fucked you through it until the tight grip of your cunt pulled him over the edge.

“that’s my girl, mmm f-fuck, such a - good slut.”

toji came with a loud groan that rumbled on your back and made you shudder underneath him as ropes of hot cum spilled into your pussy, filling you to the brim.

at some point, the call had ended. toji grabbed your phone immediately after he came and opened up the front facing camera. he grabbed the bulk of your hair in one hand to pull your head back and held your phone in the other in front of you both, his body massive compared to yours underneath him.

“smile for the camera, princess,” he said.

he took a picture of your sweaty, fucked out face next to his and opened your messages. he pulled up the picture. “don’t come back.”

send.

if you’d like to be added to my tag list, let me know. ♡

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[kneelingshadowsalome]

Scorpio Curse (König x F!OC)

Part 2/3 of Valkyrie

(Part 1 here)

Summary: König gets an order to make a female SpecGru sniper talk, but König doesn't want to hurt women.

Category: Smut 🔞, angst, fluff

Tags & warnings: Explicit mature content +18 audiences only, strangers to lovers (slight enemies to lovers), dubious consent, threats of rape, virgin!König, size kink, size difference, p in v, multiple orgasms, cunnilingus, squirting, hugs and cuddles, super fluffy ending. König will be named in later chapters. 

Part 2: Mostly König who is in desperate need of a hug (don't worry, he will get it soon enough :*)

A/N: KorTac and SpecGru are rivaling military contractors, Conor is König's superior (and a huge villain), and I just wanted to write angsty smut featuring our favourite Austrian boi. 

"You should've come to me, König."

He was still here.

No one had told him to leave his stuff and sign the papers and get the fuck out.

He had been called to see the team leader, though.

Immediately.

"It's true that we don't do that shit. Especially with the SpecGru, not after everything that already went through."

He told his side of the story, and apparently, the command agreed that Conor had made a mistake.

"Your superior officer slipped, but that doesn't mean you have the right to do whatever the fuck you deem more appropriate."

The leader's cheeks were red, and his voice traveled from peaceful, tired account to a booming loud yell.

"To tell you the truth, König, you're good at what you do. But pull this kind of shit again, and the KorTac will ensure you lose your rifle for good. They'll make sure you'll get spat in the face in every fucking PMC on this fucking planet, you hear me?"

He was surprised he didn't catch spit flying right now.

"Sir."

"Now go fix that goddamn fence."

"Yes, sir. Right away, sir."

König, former weapons sergeant of the Jagdkommando and current operator of the special forces known as KorTac, felt like a fresh recruit when he turned heel and marched from the office. He thought about asking whether the surveillance tape would be destroyed or if it was already but sensed that this was not the best moment to ask questions. The leader's tired voice followed him as he walked away with cold sweat tingling down his back.

"Jesus. Where did you even get those bolt cutters.."

He worked half a day to get it right. Repairing the fence was easy, but fixing it so that it wasn't a weak spot in the area's defense was not. He had kneeled down in this exact same spot less than 24 hours ago, with a tense, silent cargo thrown on his back in a fireman's carry.

He had yanked the door to the surveillance room open to let the men know they could get a coffee break while he watched the prisoner — only to find that there was no one there. He had been played twice the fool, and she had paid the price. He wasn't man enough to tell her it had been all in vain when he went to get her.

He certainly wasn't going to tell her that he would still do it all again.

She stayed mute the whole journey to the fence, remained quiet even when he placed her gently on the ground and showed her the hole he had made on the chain link fence for her to crawl through.

"There you go, little Walküre."

She stared at his work for a while, sniffed, then looked up at him.

"You think you can fit through that?" He asked, although he had made sure the hole was big enough for even him to go through.

"Yeah…" she uttered her first words since forever before reaching for her road to freedom. Realizing she was still tied, she pivoted back.

"My hands.." she started, but he was already kneeling on the ground with his combat knife pulled out. With utter care, he cut her loose. She caught him after it was done, and he glanced at those tiny fingers that barely reached to close around his wrists.

"Thank you."

He raised his stare, and her eyes bored into his as she ensured her words had sunk in. Then she turned, dived for the hole… but turned back again.

"König."

He had enough time to discover that the naked pain in her eyes was of the exact same kind as the agony spreading in his heart before she leaped to him, threw her arms around him — and suddenly, he was home.

"Don't get yourself killed." Her voice was a muffled sob that hit his skin through the mask as she pressed her face against his neck and squeezed him with a surprising amount of strength. Dumbfounded, he raised his arms but wasn't sure if she would welcome the touch. He didn't want her to think he would seize her just when she had been offered a way out.

"Promise that you won't get killed."

He knew that he would probably get maimed for this. At the very least, he would lose his contract. But he hadn't even thought about it when he made that hole and carried her here.

She released him and pulled back. Her eyes were pure attention, a time-halting awareness that seized him without warning. It didn't matter that he was loaded with gear, that he had a helmet and a mask on. She could see him. All of him. And she smiled.

Then she reached for his mask.

He did nothing to stop her as she grabbed the hood and started to lift it. His vision went black with the ascending cloth for the longest second…

And then he could see again — see her wide eyes roam his face. The silence was pierced by a few raindrops, the first of an impending heavy rain. They landed on his helmet and on his arm guards, specked on her cheeks as they fell from the heavy clouds above them.

"Wow," she breathed, with parted lips and eyes that sparkled.

She grabbed his helmet through the cloth and pushed both the hood and the piece of metal away. The bundle landed somewhere next to him with a soft clunk a second before her lips pressed against his.

Rain fell, and with it, the paint from around his eyes — all the black he had surrounded himself with ran down his cheeks and neck, all the way under the collar of his shirt and over his heart that thumped like a maniac. They were in a warm August shower together, and she pulled him by his neck, threatened to swallow him, and he could do nothing but melt and surrender and answer with the same gentle hunger.

Her fingers swept across his chin; they caressed his temples, brushed his scalp, and tugged at his hair, not hindered by the fact that there wasn't much to grab hold of in the classic military undercut. They slid down his neck, grabbed his tactical vest, and pulled him deeper into the kiss. She sucked his lip, kissed the raindrops away, and he was hard as a rock even in the pants that were soaked and cool.

When she relented, all too soon, he would've given everything to freeze time and stay there. Under that hail, kneeled in that mud — with her, forever.

"I can't go through that fence unless you promise me," she panted in his mouth, and every single fiber in his body told him not to promise anything. He wanted to grab her instead, take her back, tuck her somewhere safe, and keep her as his own.

"Ok," he whispered.

A gush of hot air landed on his face as she gave a short laugh.

"Ok what?" She smiled against his mouth, her teeth colliding with his lips.

"I… promise."

"'Atta boy," he felt the words before he heard them, and she kissed him once more, and he could've drowned in that kiss. In those words.

"I'll never forget this," she said, lips wet with all that rain, eyes blinking through the drops that slithered down her face and got caught in her lashes.

I'll never forget you.

"No problem."

"No problem…? God. Could you get any more charming?"

She thought he was charming…

"Just one more thing, hero."

She bit her lip, looked down on the soaked grass, then up at him, and smiled.

“What’s with the hood? I really don’t get it. You look super nice.” She winked an eye at him. And then she turned and crawled through that hole and vanished into the darkness.

He was left alone in the descending rain, and there he had remained ever since.

He was convinced he still had her scent on him. He never washed that shirt he had been wearing the day he lifted her in his lap. He tried to catch her from it, and for a few days, he thought he actually did. But then that scent became only a memory.

Nevertheless, it followed him everywhere. No one knew that he was encompassed by it. That he was shrouded with her as he walked the base or rose on the plane.

Days passed by, and he still felt her lips on his own. Her taste in his mouth. Felt her legs around him, her soft walls surrounding him.

He replayed the frenzied vision over and over again in his head to remind himself that he had truly been inside her. That he had made her produce all those sounds. Made her clench around him and smell like honeydew and summers by the lake. He realized that he had started to truly live only after he had opened the door to that bleak room full of her. And then his life froze like a movie that was pressed on an eternal pause as he saw the soles of her boots push against the muddy ground to get her through that fence and away from him.

Three weeks passed — three weeks without her.

He did his job, went on missions, and executed orders to the letter.

But mostly, he was in his thoughts.

Mostly, he thought of her.

He thought of her when he had a rifle in his hand during ops. He thought of her during briefings, when he did deadlifts, racked a barbell after bench press, or sparred with training knives.

He thought of her in showers, in the mess hall, and most of all, in bed at night when he stroked himself to a release that eased his sleep.

He had never been so virile, not even as a teen. His libido was off the roof as the only thing he could think about was how he could get to jerk himself off in the shower stall or in his bunk after the day was done. Thoughts of her were his reward, the only thing that seemed to sustain him.

She was the most radiant thing in his life: everything else had faded away, turned to gray and black. Monotone, lifeless, empty. The pain faded for a while every time he came into his fist. Then it hit him with an even more crippling force as he realized that she wasn't real; she wasn't here.

Still, he fantasized what it would be like to hold her after, how they would drift off to sleep together. He envisioned her skin, her scent, her hair. The top of her head against his chin, her little hands around his neck, her laugh, all of it.

Sometimes when he had a hard day, he fantasized how her body would press softly against his back, and she would slide an arm around him, and it would disappear beneath his shirt. Her palm would come and rest right where his heart was, and she would just hold him.

On the worst days, he cried. He thought of the bullies and what they would say and how they would laugh if they saw him now, curled up in the soiled sheets with a cock in his hand, falling asleep on a tear-soaked pillow.

After a few months, he started to dissolve.

He got reckless on the field — jumped out of the helo before it had even landed properly, was all sloppy with his cover, wasted bullets, and revealed his position for the sake of getting up close and personal, for having the satisfaction of killing his opponents with a knife or with his bare hands.

People complained. Hutch complained, Fender complained — even Zero complained.

Some said it was just good old König, that he didn't care. Medics said he had a guardian angel with him when he never got hit, got barely even scratched when at the same time, some of the best operators were severely injured.

And some saw right through it.

"He fell in love with that sniper bitch. That's what's wrong with 'im," Conor had said.

He had nearly attacked the man for what he said — what he had called her. His angel.

But he knew that's what Conor wanted: to taunt him into making a mistake that would result in his dismissal from the force. Would probably destroy his chances to continue a career anywhere in the military. And then he would quickly find himself in civilian life, where he had never quite fit into.

"Promise me you won't get killed."

He had promised her to stay alive, and he couldn't disappoint her. So it became a prayer. Every night he made an offering to her, so she would keep him safe. No bullet could touch him. He knew that somehow she could feel his longing, the love he had for her. She would protect her like the war maiden that she was. And even if he caught that bullet, he knew it would only take him to heaven. She had already carried him there.

Six months without her, and people started to fear him.

His teammates looked at him with dread as he geared up for missions with the secret knowledge that he was practically immortal. The team leader said he resembled a machine, and he took it as a compliment. Even Lieutenant kept his mouth shut and looked at him with something akin to respect.

But he got even more time off when he wanted the exact opposite. He was pretty sure that there was a note in his file now. Right after the screaming red words released a prisoner without the requisite order from a superior officer. A comment that said he was behaving wrong, that he was unstable or something. They offered him cognitive therapy, sleeping pills, meditation groups, ice baths, even acupuncture. He turned it all down, knowing that it was no use.

And so they sent him home more and more often.

It was even worse there. He never wanted the leaves, but KorTac was firm in their protocol. Contract soldiers needed time off duty to prevent "substantial impairment concerning the operator's ability to work." Even if he wanted to, he couldn't stay in the barracks and get every mission he could get his hands on.

He sat in his apartment, slept late, went for a swim, went to the gym, and came back to sit and sleep. He thought of her when he walked the streets with a hole in his chest, a hole as deep as the Mariana Trench. He saw her in all the women of the same height and weight as her. At some point, he realized he had never paid so much attention to women as he did now.

"Go get a pint and a girl, König. Just get it out of your head."

Zero meant well, but he could've punched him too for saying that.

He didn't want a girl; he wanted her.

Pint sounded good, though. He had visited the nearest pub only a few times before, but the place had only reminded him that he was not home and that pubs were different from bierstubes. But right now, he didn't want to go back to that cold, dark flat to stare at the ceiling and wait till sleep would come.

He pushed the door open and stomped his feet on the mat even though it didn't rain outside. He walked further into the dimly lit hall and saw that early evening wasn't the busiest time in this place: more than half of the tables were empty.

And then he looked for the counter and saw her.

His Kriegsmädchen was there.

His Walküre was here.

She was here and looked just the way he remembered her — no, even more luminous. Glowing.

Perhaps he had finally lost it. But he kept looking, blinking, and saw her fingertips curl around a glass, saw the hair she had tied into a high ponytail, the smile that spread across her face just before she laughed.

The angelic sound went straight between his legs and stabbed a hole in his gut, and he was bleeding — months and months of pain, right there in the hallway of a quiet pub.

She was alive and safe, laughing, and so lovely that his hands started to tremble just as they had when his bullies approached him back in school. It was odd because she was everything but. He took a step, heart thumping and palms sweating, like he was approaching an enemy he knew he had to finish with his bare hands.

He walked to the counter in the eye of a storm, and she evaded his gaze and tried to act like she didn't even notice that some man was striding toward her.

Did men approach her often?

Of course they did. And she tried to look like an immovable stone, a prey that wouldn't draw attention.

"Walküre?"

And only then did she turn her gaze, eyes filled with both fear and hope.

Her mouth opened, and she drew a sharp breath, shoulders tense. He had to fight tooth and nail to not grab her and press her against that counter or kiss her, devour her while he carried her off out that door...

"... Valkyrie?" Her friend repeated sarcastically, with a birth of a laugh on her lips, staring at him like he was a circus attraction. He didn't spare even a glance her way.

Couldn't, because he was mesmerized by the most soothing gaze in the world.

"Hi," she breathed, voice almost breaking.

His eyes went straight to her lips as she said it, the sound far too similar in his mind to the breaths that had escaped her in that dull, grey room.

She cleared her throat and swallowed.

"Kate, this is… Siegfried. A friend from my old job."

He knew he should move, look to the side, and say hello. Act normal. But he couldn't move, couldn't even blink.

She pursed her lips and looked down at her drink, at her friend, and then back up at him.

"Nice to meet you," her friend spoke, and he finally managed to turn his eyes toward her and nod slowly.

“You must be the battering ram.” She took a sip of her drink with a flash of eyebrows.

He heard a sharp inhale from beside him and only wanted to ignore everything and everyone else in the room except for the one who gasped like that.

“You know, the one they send to charge through doors?”

“Done that too.”

The friend called Kate's eyes widened from the stare he knew made most people uncomfortable.

"What are you doing here?"

His angel spoke, and he turned. She was looking even more beautiful with flushed cheeks. It was strange to see her like this: sitting gracefully on that bar stool, wearing jeans and a bit of mascara. She wasn't covered in dirt and sleepless nights and fear, and he realized that he never wanted to see her like that again. He wanted her safe and sound, and happy; even if she had come on this earth to fight, just like he, even if she was deadly with a rifle. Even if she was a more able-bodied sniper than he ever could be.

"To get a lager."

"No, I mean," she laughed, sending warmth between his legs, "Why are you here, here?"

After a blink or two, he realized she meant the town.

"I'm on leave. I live here."

"Oh." She bit her lip. "Kate, um. Would you… Would you mind if we catch up a bit?"

He saw from the corner of his eye that the woman looked him up and down, and then a smile started to creep up her face.

"You know what June, I think I'm gonna head home. You two catch up for as long as you need and I'll see ya later, ok?"

Her name was June.

Like midsummer fests and seagulls and Radler.

Honey and raindrops…

"I'll go grab a table," he declared, thinking how odd that sounded, thinking whether his English was somehow off. As if he was going to physically grab a table and raise it in the air...

Kate chuckled behind his back as he turned and headed for a darker, more private corner.

"Jesus Christ, June… I knew you did some special commando shit, but that guy is -"

"Will you keep your voice down?"

"I mean… If you catch up all night, I doubt you'll be able to walk tomorrow."

"Kate…! "

The rest of the exchange of words faded as he reached the table and adjusted the chairs to be able to sit down.

Then he noticed that he was still wearing his jacket and got up to take it off. He saw her coming with her drink in hand, and she flashed a smile at him as he threw the leather bomber across the chair next to him.

"Nice jacket."

He looked down at the dark brown leather, worn and looking mostly what people called vintage or something.

"You gonna go get that beer, sweetie?"

Sweetie.

Sweetie.

"Ja," he nodded, turned, and marched back to the counter.

He ordered a beer, then asked what the lady over there was having.

"I think she, ah… ordered a mojito." The bartender extended his neck to the side to glance at their table. "Yeah, that's a mojito."

"One of those as well."

The man gave him a look that distinctly said You really think you're gonna get some of that? He didn't know what it was in his aura that told people he was a loser. Or a menace. And he didn't know which of those looks made the pain worse. But all of it faded instantly as she greeted him with a shy smile when he returned to the table with the drinks.

"Oh, you shouldn't have… I haven't even finished this one." She raised those lovely eyes at him, smiling, smiling… "Thank you, König."

Her fingertips brushed his as he gave it to her, the glass sweating with tiny cold drops of condensed water. She had pale pink, almost nude nail polish that made her nails look shiny and pure, her hands even more delicate. She watched as he scoured through the chairs to take a seat, pick a coaster and place his own glass on the table.

"A big one."

She then turned those playful faerie eyes on him, and he was suddenly grateful that he had picked the loose, black cargo pants to wear today… and that he was sitting.

"This is considered a small beer where I come from."

"I'm sure it is," she chuckled. The tight, white t-shirt she wore reminded him of the first time he had seen her, even though it was not one of those heavy cotton, military shirts. He grabbed the beer to do something, anything, and raised it to his lips, almost pouring the liquid all over him when he took a sip. She watched him gulp and smiled even wider. He was half hard at that point and had to spread his legs to accommodate and conceal what was happening in his pants and under the table.

"What about you, Walküre? What are you doing here?"

"I'm helping a friend -uh, Kate. She had an awful breakup."

He nodded and kept picking up his beer, drinking a small sip and trying to hit the center of the coaster as he set the glass back down.

"You're not with SpecGru anymore?"

"I signed off one week after… After. You know."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said, even though he wasn't sorry at all. At least, not for the fact that she was out of harm's way.

"Nah, don't be. It was for the best. I'm able to sleep at night and everything."

She had trouble sleeping? Maybe that's why she looked even more radiant than before. She had slept well.

"I was worried about you."

"Really?" she tilted her head to the side, and her eyes started to shine even brighter.

"... that you might not find your way home."

"I'm a big girl. Trained with the Green Berets and everything.. But it warms my heart to hear that. I worried about you, too."

"You did?"

"Yeah. Sure, I mean… I was afraid you'd get into some trouble because of me."

Someone laughed at the next table, but the unexpected sound reached him through a comfortable haze; like he was sitting underwater. The battlefield wasn't nearly as distressing an environment as this peaceful pub - or any other place he rarely visited. But this time, with her, it was not too bad. His senses were blown wide, but he wasn't afraid.

"Also ja… They did yell at me."

"That's horrible. I could never yell at you."

He felt himself nearly choke on the beer, tried to breathe through his nose, and forced the liquid down with an audible gulp.

"You kept your promise," she said in a low voice, her smile fading slightly. Her eyes locked with his, and he basked in the warmth.

"Natürlich."

I prayed for you every single night, Kriegsmädchen.

She gave him a small, sad smile and looked down, swirling her ice-filled glass.

"You know I…" she started, took a breath, then another. "I've missed you, König."

He squeezed the tall glass before realizing that it might actually break at some point.

"I've missed you too, Walküre."

He looked at his beer, still halfway full, and then at the completely untouched drink he had brought her.

"You want to go to my place?"

Part 3:

[lushlovers]

C*ntmuffin, J Burrow

summary; you're just having a bit of harmless fun, but joe doesn't seem to enjoy it as much as you are.

warnings; fwb type beat, swearing, joe's actually a dick and a hypocrite, mentions of smut(?), alcohol consumption, lsu!fratboy!joe (yes that needs a warning), cameos from jj and ja'marr:D, literally all the things you'd see at a college party, use of the c-word like twice lolll.

word count; 811

note; ummmm i love lsu joe and i need a frat au because there's so little its criminal. my friend called me a cuntmuffin earlier and i wanted to write about frat joe so.

If looks could kill, you'd be six feet under right about know. You can feel Joe's eyes burning holes into the material of your best little black dress, he watched as your hips pushed back onto the crotch of some guy you had no clue or desire to even learn what his name was. His hands feeling you up was just enough.

"D'ya wanna come get a drink?" He's slurring into your ear shamelessly, his accent was thicker than it was a couple drinks ago. You nod, grabbing his hand and pulling him behind you in the direction of the kitchen. Glancing in the direction of Joe, his brows raise, looking at you in a way you didn't quite understand or maybe you didn't care to acknowledge.

He scoffs catching the attention of Elaine, who was running her mouth about whatever she could think of, "You okay, Joey?" Her voice is obnoxiously high pitched, almost like nails on a chalkboard, even worse because she didn't understand the concept of shutting the fuck up. "'M fine, thanks. Gonna go get another drink," he murmurs, pushing himself off the wall and quickly walking away before the girl could think to muster a response.

He brought this upon himself when he walked through the door with an overly chatty, but quite pretty brunette cheerleader on his arm. Karma's a bitch and you were gladly playing him back in this game. All night you kept you options open, bouncing between different guys, some of them even being some of his fraternity brothers.

Speaking of, one of his good friends was leaning against the counter chatting up a pretty girl, "Yo, JJ," you heard his voice before he pushed passed you to clap his friend on the shoulder. Justin smiled wide, introducing the girl at his side as Aiyanna, "It's nice to finally meet you, we hear a lot about you," Joe smirks obviously trying to embarrass his friend. It's true though, Justin never shuts up about this girl.

You decided to not join in the conversation simply listening in as you poured yourself a generous amount of vodka and following it with some juice. The guy who's name you still have yet to remember watched you closely, like he was in a trance of some sort. "You're staring," you mumble, tilting your head to the side a small smile playing on your lips. Guys are so easy sometimes.

"Sorry," he stutters, "You're just really pretty." His face flushes, resembling a tomato, as you closely watch his reactions. You hadn't realized how close Joe was to you both until he leans in to whisper in the boys ear loud enough for you to hear, "Should see her on her knees, Blake. Fuckin' incredible."

Blake's eyes grow ten times the size, "Fuck off, Joe," you grit pushing at his chest until he's out of the kitchen and into the crowded hallways. "'M really sorry about him, he's a dick." Not really sorry, the jealousy he was radiating was the hottest thing ever. Now your face is warming at his words, you groan as you cup your face in your hands, no way he just said that to this poor dude.

As Joe walked back over to his "date," he had this shit eating grin on his face, Ja'marr was well aware he was up to something, "The hell'd you do, JB?" He barks out a laugh, shaking his head. "That smirk, you did something." He knows he did, but he's not going to tell him just yet.

The cheerleader looked between both of them confused as ever, "Did-" Joe cuts her off with his index finger on her lips, shushing her. Ja'marr's laughing now, all this time it took for him to do that. Her brows furrow and she storms off to god know's where.

Before Ja'marr can ask again, you are standing in front of them with the biggest crease in your brows and hands on your hips, "See her on her knees? Really, asshole?" His friend gapes, feeling just how angry you were, "It was nothing, babe. Calm down," he reached out for you but you slap his hand away from you.

"Don't 'babe' me, you cuntmuffin." He keels over at your insults, his eyes clouding over with tears as he cackles. "Nothing about this is funny," your arms are crossed over your chest now, huffing you punch him in the shoulder, making him grunt and stand up straight.

"It's just, that's a first, I've never been called a cuntmuffin before, baby."

[musings-of-a-rose]

Hi, congratulations on 1000 followers, you really have no idea how much your writing helps me, thank you.

Can I request 15, 16 and 45 from the Fluff Prompt List? with Frankie? thank you, again <3

I'm Right Here

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

Word Count: 1k+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

Notes: I hadn’t intended to be the one writing for my 1k followers, purely because I have a lot going on (I’m good - it’s just life!) and I knew I wouldn’t have the time to dedicate to writing a ton of prompts. But I wanted to write this one! Initially, I saw something very angsty with these prompts, but considering you chose them off the fluffy list, I decided to stick with a fluffy theme.

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

❤If you enjoy the fic, please consider giving me a warm beverage! (It is not required in any way!)

**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

Frankie Morales Masterlist

“You’re hurt. Please, just let me help you.”

Frankie shakes his head, immediately groaning and rubbing his temples.

“I’m o-”

“Don’t you dare say ok. That guy got a few good hits in.”

Frankie cracks open an eye to glare at you. “I won that fight.”

“Ok, Benny. You may have won but that doesn’t mean you aren’t hurt.”

“I can do it mysel- fuck!!” Frankie tries to stand from the couch but slumps back, hand clutching at his side. 

“I’m right here, you stubborn ass. Let me help you.”

Frankie sighs, finally giving in, shoulders slumping back, wincing at the motion. “Ok. You win.”

You pull out a small first aid kit, grateful that you had one stashed in your bathroom. Your hand comes up to gently hold his chin, his stubble scraping lightly against your skin as you dab at the gash on his cheek. His eyes are on your face, as if he’s taking you in. 

“Why did you fight that guy?”

Frankie is silent a moment. “He was a jerk.”

You chuckle. “I’m not debating that but why fight him? He was twice your size. You’re a skilled fighter which is the only reason you’re walking away from this with a handful of injuries. What did he say?”

Frankie’s eyes don’t quite meet yours, looking away. He shifts nervously where he sits. “He- he was just saying jerk things.”

“Frankie?”

“Don’t worry about it. Ouch!” You had dabbed a bit of rubbing alcohol on his cut, making sure it was disinfected from the other man’s rings that had gouged into his skin.

“It’s not like you to just fight a guy, Frankie.”

“Look, just-” He moves his face from your grip “-forget IT HOLY SHIT WARN A GUY!”

You had cut him off by placing ice on his bruised ribs, causing Frankie to nearly jump out of his skin. Laughing, you move your hand and replace it with his to hold the ice in place. 

“Don’t be a baby. It’s just ice.”

“It’s fucking cold.”

“That’s what will help the bruising. But don’t change the subject.” You fix him with a look and his eyes soften.

“I-I don’t want to say.”

“Frankie, I’m a big girl. I can take it. What did he say?”

Frankie’s eyes meet yours. “When you turned him down, he said a bunch of terrible shit about you. I’m not going to repeat it.”

“So, wait…did you beat that guy up to..defend me?”

Frankie nods, looking down at his hand that was holding the ice. “Yeah. I wasn’t gonna let him talk shit about you.”

“Oh Frankie. Why would you do that? I mean, I appreciate it but it’s not worth you getting hurt over it.”

“Is it not obvious?” He’s speaking to me but his eyes remain on his hands.

“Isn’t what obvious?”

He’s silent now, obviously nervous about whatever he wants to say.

“Frankie, look at me.” He sighs, bringing his deep eyes up to mine. 

“We’ve known eachother since what, the 3rd grade? You yelled at Timothy Mattheson when he pulled on my braids? We’ve been best friends since then. You can tell me any-”

“I’m in love with you.”

“I- you’re what?”

He sighs, nodding slightly. “I’m in love with you.”

“But..for how long?”

“Since the third grade when I yelled at Timothy Matteson.”

Tears well up in your eyes. You had had a crush on Frankie since then too, but you’d always told yourself it was one sided. There was no way that Frankie liked you in that same way and you were too terrified to lose him as a friend to ever ask.

“Look, you don’t have to feel the same way about me. It’s ok. But could…could you just…hold me? For just a moment. Before you break my heart?”

As if I could ever hurt you.

“If I hold you, I’m never letting you go.”

Frankie’s eyes snap to mine, a slight glimmer of hope in them. “What?”

“I love you, Francisco Morales. And I have ever since we met.”

Frankie throws his ice pack on the couch, wincing as he sits up, his hands coming up to hold your cheeks. He hesitates only briefly, his eyes studying yours before he pulls you in, lips gently brushing against yours. Losing yourself in the kiss, you reach forward blindly to grab at his shirt, but your fingers poke at his bruised ribs and he breaks the kiss to swear.

“Oh my God I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s ok.” He lets out a breath of pain. “I want to kiss you so bad but maybe we should wait for this-” he gestures to his ribs which are turning a dark, angry purple color “-to heal a bit?”

“I think that’s fair.”

Frankie beckons you to him, cuddling you up on his opposite side. You swear you can feel him practically purring with happiness and you’re sure he feels the same from you. 

-------

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[happi-tree]

i hate accidents (except when we went from friends to this)

“Oh, god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you, I don’t know what came over me, you’re just so hurt and I was so scared and I didn’t know what to do and -”

Link cuts himself off as he glances up from Taylor’s still-glazed expression to his forehead. Before his eyes, the gash stitches itself closed, the open wound fading to a pink scar that pales to white before disappearing entirely.

Lincoln remembers hearing the words “kiss it better” throughout his entire childhood. He remembers the way his dads would patch up his scraped knees with ointment and a bandage and top it all off with a tiny kiss before treating him to a hard candy from their first aid kit for being such a good boy.

Never once had Link thought that the phrase could be literal. Or that his newfound powers could make it literal.

Or: Link discovers a rather unorthodox way of using Lay On Hands thanks to one Taylor Swift, and for some reason, he can’t seem to stop finding excuses to perfect his new skills. Fortunately, Taylor is more than happy to help.

once / twice / thrice, pt. 1 / thrice, pt. 2

twice (‘cause it’s gonna be alright)

The second time it happens, it’s not an accident. 

Taylor invited Link to his house on the pretense of doing homework together (who knew saving the world meant having so many late assignments?) and maybe watching some anime later. 

It had taken Link some convincing at first, but Taylor thinks he’s finally got him hooked on Blue Lock: Keyed Up!!! (which is good, considering it’s the only soccer anime that Taylor’s watched). 

Unfortunately, though, homework comes first. Which sucks, because there are about a million and one better things that a protagonist like him could be doing, but he doesn’t want to worry his mom about his grades slipping any further.

Plus, Taylor missed an additional afternoon’s worth of classes yesterday for a long-overdue orthodontist appointment (his jaw aches at the reminder), so he has extra extra make-up work. Ugh. 

At least Link’s passable at science. Normally, Scary could make up some pretty good answers for all of them for their English work, but she’s out recording some stuff for Erica’s podcast. Normal has cheer practice, so Taylor doesn’t really have much hope for his pile of Spanish worksheets, but at the very least, he and Link are making progress. 

Very slow progress. 

Taylor accidentally clenches his jaw a little too hard, and the ache in his teeth intensifies from there-but-tolerable to fucking-hell-it-feels-like-someone-is-wrenching-my-upper-jaw-in-two-holy-shit.

He makes a quiet, whimpering sort of noise, and Link looks up from his work immediately, eyebrows all scrunched together and lips downturned in concern. It would be cute if Taylor could focus on anything other than the agony plaguing his mouth.

“You okay, dude?” he asks, shifting closer on Taylor’s king-size mattress.

“Nnnnnnn,” Taylor moans, shaking his head ever so slightly and flopping back against the pillows dramatically (but carefully, so as not to accidentally make the pain worse somehow). “Teeth hurt.”

“Oh, right, you got your braces adjusted yesterday,” Link gently moves their notebooks and laptops to the side, where they won’t get crushed. 

Taylor’s eyes squeeze shut as he tries to do anything but focus on the ache. “Mmm,” he confirms. “And I think maybe my fangs might be growing in? Hard to tell, but I keep accidentally cutting my tongue on my canines, so I think they’re getting sharper.”

“That’s pretty cool,” Link says, and the sincerity in his voice brings a smile to Taylor’s face, which he cuts off with a wince because fuck, ow, that hurt.

“Would be cooler if my entire mouth didn’t hurt like hell, though,” Taylor grumbles. 

He opens his eyes to find Link hovering over him, looking worried and… hesitant?

“Jeez, Link, I’m not dying or anything. The torment is endless and the agony neverending, but I will persevere! Ah, fuck,” Taylor mutters, pressing a hand to his cheek, which only seems to make matters worse.

Link’s still looking at him like that, though, so he makes grabby hands to beckon him closer.

“Cuddles would maybe help, though, if you’re just gonna sit there,” he offers.

“I can work with that,” Link says, laughing a little under his breath and leaning back on the pillows beside him. 

He opens up his arms and Taylor wedges himself between them, tucking his head under Link’s chin and burying the top portion of his face into his chest, right below his collarbones. He inhales, trying to focus on the smell of laundry detergent and fresh-cut grass and sports deodorant and sweat and something uniquely Link rather than the pain in his jaw, and it works a little.

Link’s arms come around to encircle him, and while Taylor can feel stifled by skin-to-skin contact (he already has enough trouble regulating his own body heat without throwing someone else’s into the mix), the way Link holds him feels… nice. Protective. Link begins to trace tiny, meaningless circles into his back with his thumbs through the fabric of Taylor’s shirt, and the sensation grounds him. 

Taylor quietly realizes that he hasn’t felt this safe in a long time. 

His mouth still hurts like a bitch, though.

As if on cue, another pulse of pain floods his mouth, and Taylor instinctively clenches his jaw against the feeling, which in hindsight was pretty stupid because it makes the ache intensify tenfold. Taylor lets out a whine into Link’s chest, clutching helplessly at his best friend’s shirt. 

He fantasizes somewhat deliriously about taking his teeth and chucking them out of his face where they can’t hurt him.

“That seems like it must be pretty painful,” Link says sadly.

“Nnnnnnnngh,” Taylor replies because yeah, no shit, Sherlock-kun.

“You know,” Link starts out, tone still soft but much more considering, more nervous. Taylor can feel the vibration of Link’s voice against the top of his head, right where it’s pressed against his taller friend’s throat. “I think I can fix that, if you want.”

Taylor pulls away a bit, and Link loosens his hold to allow for some space.

“Well, why didn’t you say so earlier?” Taylor asks. “I know I look totally awesome and composed on the outside, but I am fucking perishing inside. Yes, please, whatever your idea is, I will literally do anything. What were you thinking of, though?”

“Well,” Link says, voice pitching high, “I was thinking, I could, uh. Kiss it better? Like I did last week, if you remember that?” He looks briefly down at Taylor, as he says this, scanning his face for… something. “Oh my god, it would be so embarrassing if you didn’t remember that. Never mind, this is so stupid, sorry, forget I said anything.”

Except Taylor doesn’t really hear that last part because he’s too busy reliving the feeling of Link’s chapped lips pressed against his temple, callused hands cradling the back of his head, big brown eyes that look like black holes in the darkness of sun-off threatening to swallow Taylor completely. 

Does Taylor remember last week? That’s like asking someone if they remember that the sky is red. Taylor remembers last week annoyingly well, and he keeps remembering it, and the scene plays and replays as the hellfire within his ribcage flares and the heat rises and he looks up at Link who’s still working himself into some anxiety-ridden ramble and -

Cool it, cool it, part of his mind whispers to him. 

Link offered to kiss me, an irritatingly large amount of his brain shrieks back at him, uncool and uncharacteristically nervous and taking up more mental real estate by the second. Boy hugging me boy touching me boy kissing me?

You just need to calm down, the more rational part of his brain assuages. You’re Taylor Swift, you’ve got this.

I’m Taylor Swift, I’ve got this. Taylor mentally chants, strongarming the fire in his chest and turning the flame down to something a bit more bearable. I’ve got this. I’m popular, I’m icy cool, and anyone would be lucky to kiss me. I’ve got this.

Brain successfully rebooted, Taylor nudges at Link’s shoulder, stopping his friend’s mutterings in their tracks.

“As long as you haven’t talked yourself out of it, I’m, like, totally down if you’re still offering. You severely underestimate how desperate I am for pain relief.”

“Oh,” Link says, eyebrows drawn up in surprise. Then, “Really?”

“Yeah, oh,” Taylor echoes back. “Really. The only thing is… don’t you usually have to touch whatever’s hurt for it to work? And like, it’s my teeth, so…”

“Yeah, and?” Link prompts, like he isn’t quite seeing any problem with that and.

Oh.

Oh, Link means kissing kissing. Like, on the mouth. And to get at Taylor’s teeth… that’s like making-out-kissing. Oh, god. Oh my god, okay. This is fine. Sure! Great.

“Oh,” Taylor says aloud. Then, “Okay!”

“Are you sure? About this?” Link questions, searching Taylor’s expression even as he places a slightly-clammy hand to Taylor’s cheek, even as Taylor’s face feels like it lights on fire in response. The clear concern in the upturn of his brows and the gleam in his dark eyes has Taylor humming in assent before he realizes what he’s doing and placing his hand atop Link’s larger one, holding him there as Taylor’s gaze is drawn to his slightly parted lips.

“For the love of god, Link, just kiss me already.”

“Okay,” Lincoln says, quiet and slightly unsteady. And he closes the gap.

It’s clear that this is Link’s first kiss, and Taylor’s pretty sure Link can tell that it’s the first time he’s kissed someone, too (well, someone that isn’t his body pillows).

Link’s lips feel softer against Taylor’s than they had against his forehead. He’s tentative and shy and exceedingly gentle, and Taylor’s unsure if that’s out of the fear of causing him undue pain or if it’s just who Link is, but he appreciates it either way.

 Link’s thumb strokes delicately across Taylor’s cheek, almost reverently, like he’s afraid that Taylor will break apart in his arms if he doesn’t treat him with care. Link’s other hand comes to rest at the side of his neck, threading through the hair that’s escaped Taylor’s topknot, and the feeling of it paired with the light press of Link’s lips against his own draws another humming sound from his throat.

Taylor tries his best to reciprocate, mouth pliant against Link’s, free hand fisting in the soft, slippery fabric of his best friend’s shirt and tugging gently as if to bring him in even closer. His other hand moves from atop Link’s to cradle the back of his head and run his fingers through his close-cropped hair.

Link makes a low, soft sort of noise that will no doubt be replaying for weeks on end in Taylor’s head. God, he needs to hear that sound again.

Sadly, though, they’ve run out of air, and Lincoln pulls away only to lean back in and carefully rest his forehead against Taylor’s.

Taylor’s eyelids blink open (oh, he had closed them, when had that happened?) and he comes face-to-face with Link, brown eyes deep and dark, half-lidded and half-dazed, staring directly at him with open affection. His hand still rests on Taylor’s cheek, and Taylor can feel the stark temperature difference there, anxiety-chilled and demonically-overheated, as something flutters hard in his chest.

“Uh, wow,” Link says, quiet and very breathless, and God, who gave him the right to be so beautiful and so adorable at the same time?

Taylor draws his lip in between his teeth and is greeted with a sharp stab of pain.

“Ow, fuck, shit,” Taylor hisses, scooching back to put more distance between the two of them. “Guess that didn’t work, but thanks for trying, Link. You out of spell slots or something?”

With Link’s complexion, it can be difficult to tell when his friend is flushed or flustered, but his wide eyes and cringing expression definitely come across as embarrassed.

“No,” he replies, voice a few octaves higher than normal. “I, uh, forgot? To do the spell.”

At Taylor’s quirked eyebrow, Link elaborates, “I just wanted to make sure I didn’t accidentally hurt you more, and then I got so wrapped up in that that I guess I forgot, and then you did that thing with your hand in my hair, and -” he cuts himself off with a whine, covering his eyes with a hand and dramatically rolling over, the picture of mortification. “Kill me now.”

Taylor laughs, loud and sudden and sharp despite the pain, and Lincoln curls a little further into himself. 

“I can just, uh - I made it weird, I can just go, I guess?” Link says in that reedy, nervous way of his, voice cracking toward the end as he sits up, moves to stand -

“Dude,” Taylor clambers across the mattress after him, grabs his wrist. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“I-“ Link gestures with his thumb toward the door. “Home? I mean, I screwed up, and you laughed, and now you probably think I’m so stupid and-“

“Hold up, handsome,” where did that pet name come from - “I wasn’t laughing at you- I mean! I was,” Taylor watches as Link’s expression droops further “- but not to make fun of you! It’s just…” Come on, just say it, you’ve never had trouble speaking your mind before - “endearing.”

Link looks more confused and anxious than anything, but that’s better than sad and anxious, so Taylor takes that as a win. 

“Plus, you’re not getting away from me that easy, Li-Wilson,” He adds, tugging his friend a little closer. Link doesn’t resist it.

Taylor allows a smile to pull at his lips, only flinching a little bit at the pain he now expects. “You can try again, you know,” he offers, looking up at Link through his lashes. 

“I can?” His friend asks, skin flushed darker across his cheeks. “I didn’t make it too awkward?”

“Nope!” Taylor responds, popping the “p.” 

“Nothing awkward about a good old-fashioned makeout session with your best friend!”

“Best friend,” Link echoes, “Right…”

“C’mon,” Taylor goads, crooking a finger toward him as he smirks. “I don’t bite.”

Taylor’s gaze lowers from Link’s face and rests at the side of his friend’s neck, taking note of the sparse freckles there. His teeth feel a little heavier in his mouth.

“Not unless you want me to,” he murmurs. 

“What?” Link asks, sounding strangled. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Taylor evades.

“If you’re really sure -“

“I am,” Taylor confirms, moving to sit half-gracelessly in his friend’s lap, hands steadying his weight on Link’s strong shoulders. “Now, less tally-talky, more smoochy-smoochy!”

“So demanding,” Link teases, even as he threads his fingers through his hair again. Taylor can hear the smile in his voice without having to look - which is good, because if he did, he’s pretty sure he’d give into the impulse to kiss the curve of his lips without preamble.

“You bet.” Taylor’s voice comes out much breathier than he expects as he meets Link’s eyes. “Don’t forget the spell this time!”

“I won’t! Probably.” 

Just like before, Link leans in again, and a slight smile pulls at Taylor’s lips as he meets him halfway. 

The sensation of Link’s lips against his own is a little less foreign now, a little less startling. Taylor lets himself melt into it, and just before he closes his eyes he can see the adorable little furrow of concentration between Link’s brows that he gets whenever he’s casting something. 

Kissing his best friend tastes like vanilla chapstick and Taylor’s favorite soda. Link had snagged a bottle of lychee Ramune out of his hands earlier, saying something about how carbonation was bad for braces and offering his homemade sports drink instead (which hadn’t tasted too great but wasn’t quite as bad as Taylor had expected). Taylor finds that he doesn’t really mind, now - not when the flavor is even more addictive this way.

Link’s hands come up to cradle the sides of Taylor’s face like some sort of fairytale prince, firm and gentle and insistent all at once. The soft pressure of his friend’s fingertips ghosts along the jut of his jawline, and it’s almost worshipful, like Link sees Taylor as someone to be adored. 

The tenderness of it all sends a thrill down Taylor’s spine, and then the chill spreads, unfurling itself through every nerve. 

Taylor has been on the receiving end of Link’s magic before, but he’s rarely lucid enough to appreciate it, to bask in the comforting coolness his friend’s Lay On Hands brings. It’s less like running an open cut under cold water and more like a fresh breeze in the middle of a stagnant summer afternoon, he thinks, something blissful and relieving that reminds him of safety, just like the boy he’s kissing. He falls forward into the embrace - both the spell and Link’s affection - as his hands tangle themselves in the back of Link’s athletic shirt, chasing the feeling. Link’s magic is a deeply soothing sensation, a balm to Taylor’s flushed cheeks and fire-bright nerves and burning heart, and he can feel himself melt in Link’s hold, his thoughts reducing to little more than a warm haze against his lips.

Link pulls away after what probably amounted to only a few moments, and Taylor leans after him on instinct. His eyes flutter open just in time to see Link gazing down at him fondly through his lashes, the last dregs of his magic sparking across his irises in anvil-sharp flashes of bronze before fizzling out entirely. His lips are slightly kiss-bruised, and it sends a jolt of satisfaction through Taylor’s stomach as he realizes that he did that.

“Did it work this time?” Link asks him, still cradling Taylor’s face in his hands, thumbs still grazing lightly across his cheeks.

It takes a few seconds for Taylor to register the question, then a few more as he prods at the back of his teeth with his tongue, clenches his jaw experimentally.

“Looks like it!” He confirms happily, though his joy sours a bit as Link’s hands leave his face to lean back on his arms, mourning the loss of contact.

“You’re a genius, Link,” Taylor praises, smiling and then smiling wider when he realizes that he feels no pain whatsoever. “Think you could do that again whenever my joints are acting up?”

He doesn’t really mean it - of course, a bigger part of him than he’d like to admit does, but his tone was supposed to come off as teasing - but Link’s eyes go wide and his cheeks darken further, and maybe Taylor wouldn’t mind at all if his friend takes that one hundred percent seriously.

“I- I mean, if you want t- If it’d help?” He fumbles, face flushing further as he stutters. It’s pretty commonplace to see Link a bit flustered, but it’s different when Taylor knows that he’s the reason for it. It’s pretty cute, in his opinion. 

“It’d do more than help. Chronic pain sucks ass, but you’d be, like, my personal angel,” Taylor says, looking up at Link. 

You already are, his mind adds for him. 

“Sure, then. Anytime. Uh, that’s what friends are for, right?” Link asks, those big brown eyes of his searching Taylor’s face for something.

He said “anytime”, is Taylor’s only coherent thought, one that runs giddy circles in his brain. I kissed Lincoln Li-Wilson. Twice. I just kissed my best friend twice. He said he’d kiss me again. God, I want to kiss him again. 

“Mm,” Taylor half-responds, still reeling from the way Link’s hands carded through his hair and smoothed over his cheeks and the way their lips slotted together. 

“Oh,” Taylor hears Link say distantly. “Okay, that’s, um. Okay.”

“Mm,” Taylor hums again, still in the process of rebooting what’s left of his brain.

A hand waves in front of Taylor’s face. “Taylor? You okay there, buddy? Did I do the spell wrong somehow? Please tell me I didn’t break you.”

You can break me anytime, Taylor thinks, mind conjuring images he definitely should not be having this close to the subject of his fantasies.

Taylor shakes his head in attempt to clear them. “All good, my man! Just, uh, thinking.” He desperately hopes his face isn’t as red as it feels.

“Wanna get back to homework, then?” Link says, gesturing to the pile of notebooks. “I think one of our make-up quizzes is due tonight.”

“Oh, shit, I forgot about that. We should probably get back to studying, huh.” He scoots away from Link to grab a notebook and his laptop, and for once in his life he misses the body heat of having a person next to him.

“Okay,” Link says, patting the empty space next to him and propping himself up against Taylor’s headboard.Taylor complies, settling himself into place at his side and handing him a pen (ballpoint, blue ink, Link’s favorite kind). He finds his own (a click pen, black gel ink) after a few moments of feeling around on the comforter.

“We’re still on chapter seven, right?” He asks, chewing on the end of his pen as he attempts to decipher the chicken scratch that is his own handwriting. 

“Unfortunately,” Link sighs, slinging his left arm around Taylor’s shoulders. 

As Taylor leans into Link’s side, he thinks that even though make-up work is bound to be hell, there are much less fortunate things than this. He smiles to himself, and it doesn’t hurt one bit.

[staceymcgillicuddy]

For the three word sentence prompts: Don’t you dare. Thanks 😊

Oh boy, this one might have inspired a whole new AU. The vague premise in my head is that Eddie spent a couple years in Hawkins before leaving for... elsewhere. But he still did the talent show. And kept up with Gareth, I guess. IDK! if people like it, I might flesh it out into a full thing of college girl Chrissy and bar band Eddie!

“Don’t you dare!”

The words are a whispered admonition; Shawna pays no attention and leaves Chrissy standing, mortified, by the side of the building while she marches over to where the band from earlier is loading equipment into a van. 

“Hey,” says Shawna to the curly-haired drummer, who looks like a muppet and a teddy bear had a baby. “You guys were really great.” 

The drummer stops cramming his kit into the back and turns, giving Shawna a once over and evidently liking what he sees. Which makes sense—she’s in a skintight blue dress with zig-zag green stripes, and her hair is teased and crimped like she’s Tawny Kitaen’s little sister. Or, big sister, considering the size of her boobs. 

Chrissy’s never had a friend like Shawna before. She’s half in love with her because Shawna is scary and brave, and mean sometimes. She does what she wants when she wants to, whether talking back to professors or flirting with bar bands in parking lots. 

“Hey, thanks,” says the drummer, leaning against the van’s edge and grinning at Shawna.

“Do you have, like, a tape or anything?” 

“Uh, we’re working on it. We play here every—” 

He’s cut off by the back door opening, where the reason Chrissy didn’t want Shawna talking to the band emerges. The lead singer, carrying an amp, looks every inch as terrifying as he did onstage, stalking around in tight jeans and a cropped t-shirt that shows his stomach and whose hair makes Chrissy think about Richie Sambora. 

Chrissy kind of has a thing for Richie Sambora. 

“Move,” says the lead singer, and the drummer hops out of the way with milliseconds to spare. 

“Hey,” says Shawna. 

“Eddie,” says the drummer. “This is uh… what’s your name, honey, sorry?” 

“Shawna. And this is Chrissy.” 

Chrissy’s feet shuffle forward before her brain can catch up. Shawna always does this—drags her in to talk to guys when she’s not even sure how she’s feeling about guys these days. Not since she broke up with Jason before the start of freshman year, then had some bad dates, and attended a disastrous frat party in the wake of her freedom. 

“Hi,” she says, only her introduction is drowned out by the lead singer jamming his thumb between the amp and the door. 

“Jesus fuck, Gareth,” he snaps at the drummer. Gareth, apparently. 

“What the fuck did I do?” 

“Move your fucking shit, man. I’m bleeding out for space back here. Hey, sorry.” That’s to Shawna, who he’s looking at with some interest. Obviously. Most guys look twice. 

“Hey.” Shawna nods, then tosses her head at Chrissy. “Chris, come say hi.” 

God, Chrissy should never have said she thought the singer was cute. Idiot. Idiot! 

Still, she goes. Takes Shawna’s hand and lets herself get pulled into her side and smiles at Gareth, then goes stock still when the singer—Eddie—gives her a once over. 

She fully expects he’ll find her wanting. Next to Shawna, she’s still a church mouse. Country mouse. Plain black dress and flats and her hair in a ponytail, and, honestly, she’d wear sexier things, but she never feels quite right in them. Life was easier when all she had to worry about was a cheerleading uniform on Fridays. Choices stink. 

To her surprise, though, Eddie smiles. Leans against the door of the van and says, “Chris, right?” 

“Chrissy,” she corrects, then feels dumb for correcting him. Chrissy’s such a babyish name, but Christine sounds too grown-up, and Chris is just for certain people who know her well. 

“Chrissy.” He tucks some hair behind his ear and smiles. He never once smiled onstage, and it’s a relief to spy some kindness on his face. “You liked the show?” 

“Uh-huh,” she says, which is mostly correct. The music wasn’t her thing, but she really liked watching him perform. 

“Cool. You guys from around here?” 

“We’re at IU,” Shawna supplies. 

“Cool, cool,” he echoes. “We play there sometimes, too.” 

Eddie won’t stop looking at her. He’s doing that thing that guys do where they have a whole conversation without transferring their attention, and it makes her want to squirm. That would be undignified, though, so she fiddles with the sleeve of her dress instead, and hopes to God that Shawna will pick up the loose threads of the fraying conversation.

“Like at parties, or what?” Shawna asks. 

“Sometimes.” Eddie cocks his head to the side, studying Chrissy closely. “Hey, question.” 

“Hmm?” 

“You didn’t grow up in Hawkins, did you?” 

[miscelunaaa]

shell-ter | knj

pairing: hermit crab!namjoon x marine biologist!reader (who is also soft-bodied because reasons)

genre: crack, humor, smut, strangers to lovers, hybrid au, really just unabashed nonsense

summary: While walking on the beach and avoiding your responsibilities, you stumble upon a line of hermit crabs waiting to exchange shells. It should be an exciting moment for you, but instead there’s this random naked guy yelling at you to leave his friends alone. Why can’t a stroll on the beach ever just be a stroll on the beach?

rating: 18+ for maximum crabby goodness

word count: 6.9k

warnings: Scientific inaccuracies around the nature of crabs, hermit crabs, and other adjacent decapod crustaceans (I tried my best, I promise). Implied early pandemic setting. Writer plays fast and loose with hybrid tropes. Swearing. Crabby Namjoon lmfao. Meet ugly. Awkward public nudity, which is also very likely illegal wherever this is set. Joon’s crab friends leave him to die. Probably inaccurate descriptions of hermit crab mating conventions. Namjoon being casually naked the entire fucking time. Instinctually protective Namjoon. Lots of hybrid nonsense. Bittersweet ending?? Kind of??? Look, Namjoon plays by nature’s laws, y’all. This is perhaps the least feelingsy thing I have ever written. sexual content in the form of: Breeding kink. Oral, female receiving. Face sitting. Body worship??? Size kink. Big Dick!Namjoon. Dirty talk. Strength kink. Unprotected sex with other birth control in place. Rough-ish sex. Squirting. Possessive Namjoon. Hybrid nonsense. 

notes: this is all @thatlongspringnight’s fault, so everyone pls be sure to thank Julie. I ironically and unironically love hybrid fics, and this series is going to be my homage to the more ironic side. There will be more chaos!! I’ve got ideas for each member, some more than one! Please note that this is a significantly delayed crosspost from my AO3 pseud. I’m still trying to decide how to approach this space in a lot of ways and posting this is partially me feeling out how I personally feel about getting work out in this space anymore. 

Please also note!! I am no longer doing any tag lists. If you want updates for as soon as I post a fic, please subscribe to me on AO3. Updates go straight to your inbox and AO3 is way more stable than this fucking dinosaur of a platform. And this is to say nothing about it actually giving a shit about writers. 

my masterlist | my disclaimers | read on ao3

The sun has only been above the horizon for a short while and already it feels like the sand’s been baking underneath its gaze for hours. The tiny grains each feel like hot coals as they wend their way between your toes. You scowl and try to step more carefully. Seokjin’s already fucked up the shower drain once or twice after neglecting to shake the sand off his body; you’d hate to be the next call to your cranky landlord.

It’s not a glamorous life, being a marine biologist, but someone has to do it. Or at least, that’s what you and Seokjin keep telling yourselves every time the university threatens to cut your funding and bring both of you back home. Someone has to study the beach flora and fauna, right?

Right?

“But why crabs?” you mutter to yourself. “Why the fuck did I pick crabs …”

Hermit crabs aren’t even real crabs, you muse to yourself as you step lightly over the early morning beach. They’re still crustaceans, just not “true” crabs like their sisters in the infraorder. Every time the university threatens to cut funding, you have to explain it to some bureaucrat who doesn’t think it’s important to know the difference. To the average person and their piss-poor science literacy, taxonomy seems like a lie anyway.

All things become crabs in the end. You’re more than ready to carcinize and join your tiny decapod brethren. Seems easier than waking up at the asscrack of dawn just to put on pants and a bra and see if you can catch them moving shells all at once. At least the crabs are nicer than anyone in the finance department so … take me now, crab daddy or whatever.

Today doesn’t seem promising. You’ve been trying to observe a vacancy chain for a week, with no luck. It’s not even for your thesis; you’re just fucking bored. Like fine yeah whatever you could be working on your thesis right now but why do that when you can avoid it and watch hermit crabs line up and wait patiently for shell to free up? They even naturally orient themselves!! They line up by size! That’s way more fascinating and way less depressing than talking about brachyura behaviors in wild environments versus commercial ones.

Maybe you should have picked the fake crabs instead. Maybe your advisor would let you change your thesis … for the third time …

Better not. It’s just easier to procrastinate the inevitable at this time.

Hours pass, and nothing’s happening on the beach. You’ve walked it up and down, you’ve reapplied sunscreen, you’ve finished both water bottles, and you’ve seen nothing, not even a lone crab sighing. You go home for lunch with a sigh, taking care to knock the sand out of your sandals before going into the dinky apartment. And then you repeat it all again, leaving this time with a sun hat and stronger sunscreen for the intense afternoon light.

You’d think by this time that the sound of the waves beating the shore would drive you nuts and remind you of your failures, but no. It’s the only thing soothing your annoyance at the lack of hermit crabs and your lack of will to work on your thesis.

Every once in a while, as the sun makes its way across the cloudless sky, you sit for a moment in the hot sand, dropping your notebook to the side. During these moments, you allow yourself to stare out into the sea and let the quiet flow through you. It’s nice, really. No one’s been coming to the beach because of the pandemic, so it’s personal nature hours just for you, the lone soul brave enough to venture out.

It’s during one of these moments, late in the day, the sun just beginning to touch the horizon after a long day of making things unbearably hot, that you see it. Or, rather, you see them.

Hermit crabs, perhaps a half dozen or so, beginning to queue up in the sand. It’s adorable, really; they’ve arranged themselves biggest to smallest, and they’re holding onto each other with their claws to make sure the order is maintained. At the end of the line lays a shell, just a bit too big for the biggest crab to move into.

The wonders of nature never cease to amaze you.

You watch from a few feet away, trying not to make any sudden movements, as a few more crabs join the line and the rest shuffle to make sure they’re in the right order. You turn to reach for your notebook.

As you’re flipping through to the first available page, you hear a little pop.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

The angry voice makes you jump, your notes and pen flying somewhere as your hat falls off and you scramble to look dignified instead of very obsessed with crustaceans.

“N-NOTHING?? I-I waS—”

“Doesn’t look like nothing to me.” The voice is angry, accusatory. Your head spins around to find its source before you’ve even located your pen and you’re too startled to care about the undignified shriek you emit when your eyes find it. Or, actually—if you had to make an assumption—him.

A man, tall and lanky and naked as hell, is staring down at you. His hands are on his hips, his skin burnished gold in the mid-afternoon sunlight. Good lord, he’s so fucking naked! And angry!! But mOSTLY NAKED???

Why is an angry naked man yelling at you on the beach?

Why is it also kind of turning you on???

(Maybe Seokjin was right, maybe you do need to get laid.)

“Do you fucking mind?” He’s tall too, glowering down at you with handsomely hooded eyes, his full lips set into a hard line that makes no sense with how soft they look.

This is not the time to be thinking about this man’s mouth!! What are you doing? Has the sun addled you? Say something!

“D-do I mind? Mind what?”

“Do. You. Fucking. Mind?” the man spits at you. His eyebrows furrow.

Don’t look down. Fuck. Do not look down.

“Do I mind?” Something in your brain finally fires correctly. “Do you mind?? Naked asshole yelling at me?”

“This is my natural state and this is my turf—”

You scramble up to stand, almost falling over because your head swims from doing it too quickly.

“Your turf? This is a public beach, dickwad.”

Dick. Don’t look down don’t look—

Fuck. You looked down. Ohhhhhh boy did you look down. Oh wow. That’s a peen. That’s a big ole peen out in the sunlight in public on this here public beach. Holy shit. He’s gifted and he’s naked and he’s on the beach yelling at you and fuck why is this making you so horny???

“Lady, I don’t know who the fuck you are but you’re on my turf, you’re scaring my friends, and you need to fucking leave so we can do our business and get back to doing what we do.” The man’s chest is rising and falling rapidly as his jaw ticks with frustration. He’s got really nice pecs and his n—NO. FOCUS.

“I’m sorry, what friends? It’s just you and me here on the beach.” Thank god. This would be hard to explain to the local cops.

He steps to the side and points at the ground, to the little hermit crabs in their line. “My friends??? The crabs that you’re disturbing, including myself???”

The incredulity in his voice makes it click for you.

“Oh. Oh my god, are you a crab hybrid?”

He puts his face in his hands and shouts through his palms: “YES.”

“I … okay, are you all hybrids? I’m so sorry, I didn’t know, I—”

“Save it, I don’t care. Could you just leave us alone now? You’re scaring the littler ones and we all just want new shells.”

You bend over to pick up your notebook. “I’m a scientist, I promise I wasn’t trying to scare you and your friends.”

“Fine, whatever, just leave us alone please? You’ve been walking up and down this beach for days and you’re disturbing the peace.”

You’re suddenly very aware of the sand stuck between your sandals and the soles of your feet. Your heart sinks. “Ah, yeah. I can … do that. I guess.”

It’s better this way, probably. You need to start working on your thesis anyway. Your notebook feels heavy in your hand as you secure your hat back on your head.

“Great,” the man says. His shoulders relax as he sighs. “Great. Thanks for understanding. I have to get back to it but if I see you around again, I’m coming for you. Got it?”

Did he have to say “come for you” while ass-fucking-naked on the beach and looking like a hunky dreamboat??? You feel something in the pit of your stomach pulse with need.

“Yeah,” you say as you abruptly turn away. Is the sun hotter now or is it just you? “I got it. Bye then, I guess.” God, this is just fucking weird. Hybrid crabs in the wild and they’re kind of hot too. Ugh. Seokjin’s going to laugh his ass off.

“Bye.”

You only make it a few steps away before a loud, frantic “FUCK” makes you whip back around.

The man is on his hands and knees, still very naked and human shaped, scrutinizing something in the sand.

“Um, is everything alright?” You keep your voice low and soft in hopes that your question won’t aggravate him further.

He sits back on his heels, throwing his head back with a groan. His throat bobs, and you try not to think about what biting at his resplendent skin might be like.

“No. No it’s not. I lost my fucking shell because these assholes—” he gestures wildly at nothing in particular “—finished the shell queue without me. The only one that’s left is way too small.”

And now the handsome naked man is pouting. He’s a hermit crab hybrid without a shell and pouting and distraught and now even more naked in a way. Good lord, is this a test? Is there a dude with a camera hiding somewhere recording all of this for reality TV?

“I’m sorry.” What else can you say?

“This is what I get for helping these ungrateful fuckers. This fucking sucks.”

If he doesn’t have a shell, does that mean he’s homeless?

“How long do you think it’ll be until the next vacancy chain forms?”

“The what? The shell switch?” He looks up at you. You’re still standing a little ways away, but the anguish is clear on his face. “I don’t know, it could be days it could be …”

Weeks.

Shit. You can’t just leave him out here like this.

Without thinking, you walk over to him and squat down to look at him at his level. “I’ve got a roommate, he’s a scientist too. I’m sure if we explain what’s going on, he’d be okay with you crashing with us for a bit. If you want, that is. I just … I feel bad. You lost your shell because you were yelling at me.”

The man bites his lip as his eyes trail away, lost in thought. And then, after a moment, he nods his head.

“Okay. It’s the least you can do, I guess.”

He’s hot. He’s kind of rude, but at least he’s hot, you think.

“Great,” you reply, hiding your slight irritation. You shrug off your sun protective button-up and hand it to him. “Tie this around your front to cover up. It’s just a five minute walk from here. I’m Y/N, by the way.”

He looks at the shirt and takes it reluctantly.

“I’m Namjoon.”

The first thing you learn about your new hybrid acquaintance is that he has little regard for personal boundaries. The moment he steps into your apartment, he refuses to leave your side. You’d expected him to be skittish, maybe, but not clingy like this. You’d had to keep him out of your bedroom as you changed out of your beach clothes, and you’d actually locked the door to the bathroom for once because it took too much convincing to let him know that you weren’t going to suddenly disappear on him, leaving him alone in a strange place. You weren’t unconvinced that he wasn’t going to to break the door down. You could hear him pacing on the other side as you tried to pee in peace with mixed success.

If you hadn’t been convinced of his hybrid status before, watching him sniff at the air and scrutinize everything in your little apartment would have been enough to change your mind. And then there’s his proclivity for nudity, which just further proves his nature. His behavior is just that removed from what you’re used to from normative humans.

You’d also expected more questions from him, if you were being honest. Then again, just because Namjoon had been encountered in a wild environment didn’t mean he’d been born out there. He’d not been perturbed by the microwave or the stove or even the hot water kettle you’d started as soon as you got out to the kitchen. But fuck, he was weirdly clingy.

You frown as you wait for the water to boil. You don’t know much about hybrids, but if you had to guess, his clingy behavior likely has something to do with you being an available female and it being the mating season. August is primetime for horny hermit crabs; maybe his instincts are drawing him to you in some way because of it. If you’re being honest, you don’t completely hate it, though it feels a bit cringe to admit that to yourself. Even so, you try to shake the shame. So what if you enjoy the fact that he may or may not at this point in time consider you desirable in some way? Who doesn’t want to feel desired every once in a while?

As you reach up to open a cabinet above the counter and grab a box of tea, you hear something rustle behind you. Namjoon probably, still looking around while hovering.

“Namjoon, do you want some—”

Your voice catches in your throat as you feel a warm body press to your back. Large hands appear on either side of you, grasping the counter. You feel warm breath on your neck.

“—tea?”

A nose nuzzles into your skin, lips exhale a shaky breath.

“You smell really good, baby,” Namjoon says. “Smell good enough to eat, to …”

T-to what? You feel like you’re about to implode. To whAT??

“To what?”

Ugh, you sound pitiful with your voice all airy like that. You’re lucky anything managed to come out at all.

His hands don’t move to touch you, but his chest is scorching against your back. He’s close enough that you hear him swallow as his lips brush just barely against the shell of your ear.

“To breed.”

Namjoon’s voice is so low it brings goosebumps to your skin. A tremble passes through you, and you’re certain he can feel you shiver between his form and the counter.

“That exciting for you?” he asks. “The idea of getting your cunt fucked by a hybrid cock?”

“Yes,” you breathe.

His hands finally move, his weight settling against your back as he begins touching you, brushing his fingertips against your forearms and over your hips.

“Do you want me to mate with you, baby?”

“Yes.” God yes.

The scramble for your bedroom is a blur. All the way there, your hands are trailing over his skin while his are pushing your clothes up and off. You can feel how hard he’s gotten against you, but before you can get your hands on his erection, he’s falling back against your bed and pulling you on top of him.

Maybe you should be worried about how quickly things escalated. And maybe your conscience should shut the fuck up and let you be vaguely irresponsible with your feelings and body for the first time in months.

Namjoon groans as you straddle him, letting your hot flesh drag against his. His fingers sink into the softness of your thighs.

He murmurs a protest against your kisses. “Not yet, I want to—”

You realize he’s pulling you up his torso before can think to stop him. With stunning ease—damn that hybrid strength—he carefully positions your center over his face.

“This. I want this. I want your scent. I want you.” He looks up at you from between your thighs with those intense, dark eyes of his. Fuck. Fuck you want to die. This is fucking obscene. This is fucking—

The first suck against your folds makes your body pulse, and every movement after that brings you higher and higher into a stratosphere you didn’t even know existed. Namjoon is extremely skilled with his human mouth. It feels like you’re being devoured. It feels fucking amazing.

“Taste so ripe for me, baby. Breeding you’s going to be so easy,” he says against you. The vibration of his low, husky voice reverberates up your spine. Goosebumps spring up from your bare skin. Did your nipples just pucker?

Maybe you’ll leave out the fact that you’ve got an IUD. Maybe you’ll just let him have his fantasy about you. You’d hate to break his little paguroidean heart.

Namjoon licks wide stripes through your folds, each stroke culminating in a suck at your clit before he starts the motion anew. He groans into your flesh as if it’s the finest thing he’s ever consumed, as if he can’t help how this makes him feel. Each stroke, each tug, each movement and sound he makes pushes you closer to an edge you didn’t realize was there.

Your hands find their way to his scalp. You run your fingers through the dense hair as you breathlessly moan praises to him. It’s all you can do not to grind down onto his face; you’d hate to feel like you’re suffocating him. When his teeth graze your clit, however, you find yourself gripping his hair close to his scalp and grinding down anyway.

“Fuck, I’m so close, I’m gonna come,” you keen, your hips dragging along his lips.

“Come on my face, baby. Give it all to me,” Namjoon growls. His grip on you tightens and he starts helping you hump his face.

Suddenly, the wave hits you. It carries you past the edge and out into a realm of pleasure you haven’t felt in ages. You cry out, your body tensing as your cunt pulses with release. High as you feel, the emptiness makes it feel incomplete.

It’s like Namjoon senses this, because abruptly, he’s flipping you down onto your back. He towers above you as you whimper and reach for him.

“Please, I need your cock,” you say, fighting tears as your orgasm’s flood recedes.

“I’m going to fuck my spawn into you over and over, baby,” he purrs, his eyes trailing up and down your quivering body. “Gonna fill your soft, pretty body up with my seed. You’re not going to be able to walk for days when I’m done with you.”

You watch as his hand drifts down his torso to tug at his massive length. Will it even fit? You’re not sure. And will he actually wreck you the point of rendering you immobile? Who fucking cares?? You’re willing to see him try. For science. Yeah, for science or something.

You reach for him again, hands open and needy as you help him pump his length a few times before he finally lifts his eyes back to you. He looks hungry, perhaps as even as needy as you feel.

Namjoon finally leans over you, and you feel the tip of his cock start pressing into your cunt. You suck in a breath as slowly, so slowly, he pushes further inside. His size almost hurts; it toes the delicious line between pain and pleasure, and you can’t be bothered to differentiate between the two. Not now, not in this moment.

He groans once he’s finally fully sheathed within you, and the sound of his pleasure makes you clench. The squeeze makes his body tense.

“Cunt’s so tight, so fucking right around me.”

If you weren’t so breathless from being filled, you’d cry out praise in return. You don’t get the chance to catch your breath. Namjoon starts thrusting slowly, and the drag of his skin against your core makes you grip the sheets and press your hips into his.

For a moment, you wonder if this is it. This is hybrid sex. It’s normal sex but just a little bit better in all the right ways. Your hormones sigh in content, but your scientist brain is a little disappointed that it’s not something more.

After a few moments, during which you finally seemed to adjust to his girth, he stops and hooks your legs around his elbows. The stretch of your muscles is unexpected and before he starts to thrust again, you panic.

“Namjoon, I don’t think I can bend like tha—”

“Yes you can. I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his face dropping to kiss your knee as you adjust. He’s got your legs bent up at an intense angle, making his thrusts even deeper. Because of his strength, he’s able to help support your weight on his arms and thighs so that you don’t have to support it yourself. You’re completely at his mercy now, and fuck if it’s not the hottest thing that’s ever happened to you.

He picks up his pace as you relax into the position. Every thrust has his hips slapping against yours, the wet sound of his cock fucking your cunt echoing into your tiny bedroom. You realize through the haze that your bed is creaking and hitting the wall behind it as he fucks you hard and deep. You can’t be bothered to care if your neighbors will hear. They can probably hear you moaning and crying in his arms too. The hybrid above you seems to think the same thing.

“That’s right, baby, let them hear you. Let them hear me breed this wet fucking hole. Let them hear me fill you with my spawn.” Namjoon’s breaths are beginning to grow raged. When he’s not grunting obscene, filthy things at you, he’s biting his lip. Sweat’s dripping down his temples and neck and beading at his chest. “You’re mine. This is my cunt, no one else can fill you like this, can they?”

“No one can. I’m yours,” you whimper as your hands trail up to grip his arms. “Only yours.” What the hell has gotten into you? Pre-thesis trip you could never.

His thrusts grow rougher still and you realize that the string within you has wound itself tightly again. Fuck, it’s never snuck up on you like this. Namjoon’s cock is dragging against every sensitive spot it can and at such a quick pace that suddenly, just as soon as you noticed it, the string is snapping.

You scream. You’ve never screamed during sex before. This orgasm’s even stronger than the last; your ears ring, your heart pounds, your cunt tries to squeeze around his length so tightly that he almost can’t move. And you’re wet, so so suddenly wet. There’s a trickle down your ass and into the sheets and you realize that this fucking hybrid’s still fucking you through it as if it’s nothing.

He doesn’t make it much longer after you. As soon as your orgasm begins to ebb, his hips begin to stutter, hard and fast.

Namjoon swears one last time and with a last snap of his hips, he comes, emptying himself within you.

Your ears continue to ring with the sudden silence. The sound of heavy breathing is the only thing reminding you that right, yes, you’re still alive, this isn’t a weirdly real wet dream at all. This actually happened.

You wait for Namjoon to pull out, only to realize that he’s looking down at where you’re still joined. His brow is furrowed, even and his chest rises and falls with recovering breaths.

Finally, you break the silence.

“Everything okay, Namjoon?”

“Yeah, just ... I didn’t realize you could gush like that.” His fingers brush along the stretch marks at your inner thighs as he looks down at the sticky scene.

“Yeah, it’s a bit messy, I’m sorry. It means you did a good job though.”

Namjoon grabs a pillow and places it under your hips before carefully pulling out. You whimper at the sudden loss of his cock.

“Don’t apologize, I just—”

Is he ... is he pouting right now??

He sits back on his heels and surveys your wrecked, tired body, the pout still playing his lips.

“I just wish you could have done that on my face. It smells so good.”

Your feel your face heat instantly. Not even his obscene dirty talk had you feeling this embarrassed. Does he even know what he’s saying right now?? You’re so stunned you can’t even speak.

Namjoon shrugs to himself before finally settling next to you in the bed and pulling you towards him with care.

“It’s fine,” he says into your neck. “The night is still young, it just means I’ll have to try harder when we go again in an hour.”

Your stomach lurches at the thought. You’re not sure if it’s horror or anticipation. “Again? In an hour?”

Morning comes sooner than either you or Namjoon expect, and with it, your roommate, also arriving sooner than you expect.

He makes himself known in his customary way, which doesn’t have the customary result he expects. Barging into your room, already recounting the wonders he saw out at the reef, goes over poorly when you’ve got a hybrid still sleeping in your bed, clinging to you under the thin sheet covering your naked bodies.

Seokjin yelps. You scream. These are normal and expected reactions.

But poor Namjoon … he does neither of those things.

“I’ve never seen a grown man skitter.”

“Well, you scared him. I think he’s got a right to be spooked.”

You and Seokjin are standing outside of your bedroom door while Namjoon hides under your bed, refusing to come out until he thinks it’s safe. Your roommate’s not wrong; the man had absolutely skittered into his new hiding place. He’d actually tried to drag you with him, but you’d resisted long enough to shout at Seokjin to leave before you tore him a new asscrack.

“His dick is … well, it’s huge.”

“Nice subject change there, you jerk.”

“What? You expect me to see an endowment like that and not say something? How did you even fit it inside you?”

“Please don’t say the word endowment. We’re stressed enough about funding without you comparing his dick to the massive amount of money we’re missing out on.”

“Fine. Unlike the rich white assholes back home though, he seems … nice? I guess? The whole hiding under the bed thing notwithstanding. Did he at least know how to use that enormous—”

You hold up a hand. “Just stop. The sex was great. Amazing even. But um, the hiding thing—”

“You’re about to tell me something weird aren’t you. Hon, you’ve got to stop bringing home your weird hippie types, like, you can’t just bring hot homeless dudes home. Living in a van is not the same as having a house! I hope you used a condom.”

“Jin. Ugh. God, that was one fucking time. He’s not unhoused and even if he were, what business is that of ours?”

Suddenly a voice comes from inside your bedroom. It’s muffled, and perhaps a little salty in tone, but it’s now close enough to make you think that maybe Namjoon’s gone from hiding under the bed to hiding under the blankets. “Well, technically I am homeless and it’s all your fault!”

Seokjin raises an eyebrow and levels a hard stare at you. “Talk.”

Namjoon doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to get back to the beach after being coaxed out from your bedroom. In fact, he’s not in much of a hurry to do anything besides follow you around the little apartment, wrapping his arms around your waist whenever he’s got the chance. He’s also not in much of a hurry to put on any of the clothes that Seokjin picked out for him.

Namjoon just looks at the garments and instead walks over to you and pulls your body into his chest. His body is warm against your back. The gesture seems sweet, but it’s beginning to get annoying. Seokjin looks the two of you up and down, your stiff form enveloped by Namjoon’s lanky, muscular one.

He shrugs. “If I had thighs like that I’d eschew pants too, I guess.”

You purse your lips as you watch Jin leave the room, leaving you with the very naked and needy Namjoon.

“Hey, so um,” you start, your fingers finding his arms to loosen his hold on you. “You’re really cool, but I’m not much of a … cuddler? Like casual cuddling is cool but this is a bit much.”

Instead of letting you shake him off, the hybrid’s hold around you tightens.

“I’m not cuddling,” he scoffs. “I don’t cuddle. This is protection. I’m making sure you stay safe until you can release your eggs in the ocean.”

It’s very hard not to roll your eyes and scoff back. This is an instinctual behavior for a lot of brachyura species, and apparently it’s something he’s displaying too.

You pat his arm, perhaps with a little bit of condescension. “Yeah, but I don’t have any natural predators, big guy.”

“True. But you’re still all soft.” His hand trails up from your waist to fondle one of your breasts. Your breath hitches while he continues to speak. “You still need protection.”

“Namjoon, I’m not going to suddenly sprout an exoskeleton.”

“Don’t care. Still gonna do my job as your mate, at least until you can get back to the ocean.”

“Buddy, we had mammalian sex!”

As much as you protest, it’s no use. At any given moment as the day moves on, Namjoon’s got his naked body entwined with yours, to protect you from predators like email pings from your computer and Seokjin (but only when he suddenly stands up or steps too close to you). It’s all you can do to get him to release you from the confines of his embrace so that you can use the bathroom. For his part, Namjoon seems to be content to spoon you on the couch as you mindlessly sort through thesis research.

It could be worse, you guess. You’re getting your touch fix for the next few months of thesis hell.

Seokjin tolerates the interloper as well as can be expected, but softens when he sees the delighted look on Namjoon’s face as he has instant ramen for the first time. It’s a humble dinner, but it does the job. After that, Namjoon seems to soften on Jin too, and finally, you can move around the apartment without requiring Namjoon’s protection.

The next day, the hybrid seems more restless. He’s not ready to go back to the beach, but if you had to guess, he’s close. Now that he’s no longer preoccupied with your safety, he starts inspecting things in the apartment with care. He opens cabinets and sticks half his big body in them, probably just to see how it feels. He smells and sniffs things like spices and soap. He touches the carpet and the couch and the different utensils sitting in the kitchen’s tool crock. Nothing is not worth his inspection, it seems.

At one point, you walk into the living room to see him standing in the box that Seokjin’s extra computer monitor shipped in. He stands in it as if it’s exactly what he’s supposed to be doing at the moment, while still naked as ever, his hands at his sides with his back straight. His full lips are pursed into a thoughtful pout as he stares off into space.

“Everything okay, Namjoon?” you ask gently, hoping you don’t startle him.

He blinks and turns to look at you.

“Yeah. Uh …” He pauses, and looks down at his feet in the box, and then back to you. “Does this box make my butt look big?”

It’s now your turn to blink and not speak for a moment.

This must be an instinct thing too. And it’s one you’re frankly unequipped to handle. How do you tell a hermit crab hybrid that he doesn’t currently need a shell, not in this form at least?

“Um, no, it doesn’t,” you say carefully but casually. “Looks great.”

Namjoon tries to hold your gaze but you glance away and try to make yourself look less perturbed by pulling out your phone and pretending to check the time. When you look back at him, his pout is even more pronounced.

“I don’t believe you,” he grumbles.

The rest of the day passes much like this, with Namjoon trying to see how it feels to cram his big body in various spaces. At one point, you find him sitting in your empty suitcase. At another Seokjin enters the bathroom and comes out screaming moments later; Namjoon had laid down in the bathtub and decided not to make his presence known until Jin had already lowered his fly to pee.

Your favorite might be the hybrid’s discovery of the colander in the kitchen. After inspecting it closely, he sets it atop his head. He thinks for a moment, rolling his shoulders and shifting his weight between his feet, as if to feel out how the colander might protect him from danger. Whatever protection it offers must be enough because after a moment, he nods, and carries on doing whatever it is a hermit crab hybrid does after finding suitable protection. In this case, it’s sitting at the kitchen table, eating peanut butter straight out of the jar with his bare fingers while you and Seokjin chip away at your research.

Later that evening, after you’d all eaten dinner and had gone to bed, Namjoon wakes you up and says, “I think it’s time for you to go release your eggs into the ocean.”

And who are you to argue with his instincts as a hybrid?

As luck would have it, the beach is vacant still, and the weather is having one of its rare mild days. There are no errant visitors escaping their homes for some sun. There are no beach patrols or lifeguards, no kids playing hooky. It’s just you and Seokjin and the increasingly agitated crustacean hybrid who just wants to make sure you deposit your eggs in the ocean like a good girl.

No matter how many times you tell him you’ve got an IUD and a mammalian reproductive system, he still thinks that he needs to see you leave his spawn out in the sea. He’d tried to pull you out of bed to do it last night, but you’d pinched his nipple to get him off you and made him compromise: if he put a pair of Seokjin’s shorts on and left the colander at home to come with you, he could escort you to the ocean to “deposit your eggs.”

So now it’s mid morning. You’re about to wade out into the ocean to please Namjoon’s instincts.

Seokjin had shaken his head and said, “The things we do for science” when you’d woken him. He’s not wrong, you sigh to yourself as you kick off your sandals and shrug off your bag. You set them in the sand next to Seokjin and approach the water lapping the shore. You turn, and see that Namjoon’s close behind you, but instead of looking out at the ocean, he’s looking at the sand underfoot, his brow furrowed.

“Everything okay, Namjoon?”

“Yeah, go release your eggs, baby.”

You hate that his casual language still makes you preen, days after he’d fucked you. It’s even more infuriating that he can make something like releasing imaginary spawn out into the ocean sound remotely sexy. And yet … the things we do for science … and for the people we’d probably come to love if circumstances were different.

The water is warm and comfortable as you wade out into the shallows. It soaks through the running shorts you’d worn and wicks up your shirt as you move deeper, so that eventually it’s up to your waist. You turn and look at the beach, Seokjin standing where the sand is still dry, Namjoon closer, the waves brushing over his toes.

You squat a little, trying to make your imaginary spawning look convincing. After a few moments, you stand and start wading back. As you emerge from the ocean, Namjoon smiles. Ah, he has dimples, how had you never noticed?

Seokjin trots forward and tosses you a towel as you walk further ashore. You wrap it around your middle as Namjoon moves to wrap his arms around you.

“Thanks for having my spawn,” he murmurs, his voice sweet and heady as he kisses your forehead and holds you for a moment. Your eyes meet Seokjin’s over his shoulder, and the man looks like he’s about to burst out laughing. He keeps his cool and swallows it down as Namjoon releases you and clears his throat.

“So uh, just a second, I think—” The hybrid squints and looks out across the sand. “—Yeah, one moment.”

He runs off in the direction he squinted, and suddenly stops and squats down. You and Seokjin watch as he picks something up and looks at it closely. And then he puts it down and picks something else up. The objects are too small for you to see clearly.

“Is he … is that …” Seokjin trails off and starts walking toward him, and you follow.

“It’s another vacancy chain,” you say as the two of you draw closer to the hybrid, just enough to see the gathering at his feet. You watch Namjoon’s eyes trail up and down the line of hermit crabs, who’ve already ordered themselves by size. “Maybe one of them is about to give up a shell that’s the right size?”

Your roommate throws you a glance. “That’s the hope, right?”

You nod. Is he expecting this to bother you in some way? For a moment, you zone out, wondering what you’re supposed to feel about all this. But it’s only for a moment, because suddenly your attention’s being stolen away.

“You fuckers, I’ll fucking fight you!” Namjoon suddenly shouts.

With a little pop, he disappears. In his place is a little hermit crab without a shell, its little spiral abdomen, soft and vulnerable, curled up to the side. Seokjin’s shorts flutter to the ground a second later, now empty. You and Seokjin watch as this little crab, presumably Namjoon, scuttles up to another crab similar in size, and starts to hit it with his pinchers. All hell breaks loose in the vacancy chain, and you loose track of Namjoon as the hermit crabs all swarm and start … fighting, you guess? It’s weird and kind of hard to look at, but you also can’t get yourself to look away.

After a few moments, a lone crab wearing a shell emerges from the scuffle and creeps toward you and Seokjin.

“Is that … Namjoon? Is he looking at you?” Seokjin groans. “This is fucking weird.”

You squat down to look at the little crab. It, or maybe he, waves a claw at you, almost as if saluting, and then walks off quickly. You let your eyes follow him down the beach as he moves away from the fray. When you turn to look back at the vacancy chain scuffle, you see that it’s broken up. The crabs are dispersing and going off to do whatever it is that they do during these late summer days.

Namjoon’s gone. And you can’t help but smile to yourself and wonder what the fuck just happened.

“Is that it?” Jin’s beside himself with laughter. “He’s just fucking leaving? No dinners or dates, just a fuck and run after you’ve fulfilled your purpose? Is there no romance left in the world??”

You stand and dust off your knees, watching your fellow scientist send the hermit crabs scurrying away as he walks up and reaches for his discarded shorts.

You sigh wistfully. “With the way the guy ate me out, I was dinner.”

“That’s gross. That’s fucking disgusting. I don’t need to know that shit.”

“Look I’ve seen things now, don’t knock hybrid dick till you try it.”

“Quit bragging, it’s unbecoming.”

“Fine. Just know that jealousy is unbecoming as well.”

As you walk back down the beach to collect your things, Seokjin squints out to the horizon. He takes a deep breath and sighs. “Well it’s good he was a paguroidea and not brachyura I guess, right? You didn’t like compromise your data or anything?”

“Oh god no,” you shake your head. “I will do a lot of things for science, but that’s not one of them.”

“Then, uh, what was all this then with Namjoon? An experiment of sorts?” He’s got a smile on his face, and a light, teasing tone. He’s trying to make sure you’re okay, it seems, trying to gauge whether or not you caught feelings.

“No, not an experiment,” you say, letting yourself grow quiet with thought.

“Then what would you call it? Like are you okay?”

“I’m fine!” You really are, you mean it when you say it. “This was fun, I think. Just some fun and helping someone who needed it.”

“So is that code for schedule you a vacation for the next mating season around here or—”

Seokjin’s sentence is cut off by you throwing a sandal at him.

“You jerk! I can’t believe you’re supposed to be the uncle to my spawn and you’re treating me this way!”

Your roommate’s laughter peals through the air. “You’ll regret that when you need help coming up with names for your several hundred children.”

“Ugh, thank god for larval stages and precocious young.”

“They grow up so fast. Want noodles when we get home?”

“Please. Let’s head back.”

Thank you for reading! Drop me an ask and tell me what you think. Find me in various places at my carrd :)

©miscelunaaa 2022. My work is only found on this blog and under my ao3 pseud. Do not, under any circumstances, copy or repost my work. Thank you.

posted: originally to ao3 9.10.2022, to tumblr on 10.26.2022

[littlemelaninfics]

The Lion's Den || Dark!Bucky Barnes Imagine

A/N: Hey! This is a prequel to The War Sector

WARNINGS: NONCON, dubcon, language, smut, choking kink, cream pie, Dark!Steve, kidnap if you look hard

“I’m sorry, Barnes. You’re a great soldier. Perfect almost, but she’s just more qualified in the things you lack.”

“What about her!? What about what she ‘lacks,’” Bucky shouted at Tony. Bucky let out a chuckle,

“This isn’t about qualifications. This is about you wanting to get closer to that whore!”

“Hey! Watch your mouth! That is your new Superior, you WILL treat her with respect and that is an order. Do you understand?”

“This is fucking bullshit.”

“I think you mean, “yes, Sir”. Now go cool off, Soldier.”

The look Bucky gave Y/n was piercing. Not only was she his new leader, but she was in the room when he got his ass handed to him. She looked him up and down before staring into his now dark blue eyes through the strands of hair that covered them.

That night, Y/n was the last one to stay at Stark Industries. She said good by to the last co-worker as they left the office. She went to print her thesis on the new machine Tony was working on when the lights went out. She stopped dead in her tracks. Where the hell are the generators?

She started to feel weird when her training kicked in. Do not stay. She turned back to her desk to grab her jacket and keys when she felt a presence behind her. She turned around quickly to be met with nothing. Hesitantly turning back towards the desk, she felt the same thing and this time was met with a grinning Bucky.

“Shit! Bucky. You scared me haha.” She doesn’t know why she laughed. She was actually terrified.

“Hey, Y/n. What are you still doing here?”

“I forgot my keys.”

“Mine never leave my side,” he said holding his pair.

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow,” she awkwardly walked past him before stopping when he called out to her,

“Did he fuck you in your throat or pussy?”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I mean, that's how you got this job right? Riding Stark in his penthouse while the rest of us WORK FOR WHAT WE'VE GOT!?" he asked turning back around to face her while stalking over to where she stood almost shaking.

“Watch your goddamn mouth! You are no longer allowed to speak to me that way. Is that clear, Soldier? That is an order and you will follow it!”

“Or what?”

She replied in a low voice, “Or you will be removed from this mission and any other mission in the foreseeable future.”

He chuckled at her authority attempt before striking his titanium arm across her face. She immediately fell to the ground of her place of work when she was flipped over on her back. She began to fight the beast above her, quickly losing the battle.

He lifted her skirt and removed her panties in one swoop while the other hand held her wrists. Bucky easily pried her limbs open and situated himself between her thighs so she couldn’t close her legs.

He wasted no time pulling out his cock before menacingly saying,

“Now you’re going to know what it’s like to get fucked.”

"NO!" Y/n screamed in protest.

With that, he roughly shoved his length into her cunt with a grunt. He ignored her cries of “please” and “help” as he used her body to get himself off, asserting his dominance over her. Size beat logic yet again.

She’d be lying if she said he didn’t hit the right spot once or twice, but this is a member of HER team. How could she possibly think it felt good for even a second?

When she clenched around him one good time, he let out a guttural moan that filled the office room.

Her body started to betray her when his metal fist tightened around her throat, cutting off her air supply. It became very difficult to breathe when she arched her back off the floor, giving in to her body’s corrupt orgasm.

Bucky felt her walls become even wetter, making him slip out with a moan. He thrusted back in and went balls deep until he covered her cervix with his cum.

She began sobbing once more as Bucky stood up,

“I don’t know what you're cryin for. You seemed to have enjoyed yourself based on the wet spot on the carpet,” he said with a dark chuckle.

Y/n pulled her knees towards her chest before hearing footsteps. Thinking Bucky was gone, she looked up but was met with another pair of blue eyes.

“Captain! Captain, please help me! Please! He raped me! Bucky raped me!” she screamed as she began to sob at at his feet, still too sore to stand.

Steve held on to her arms while looking Bucky deep in his eyes.

“What the fuck?”

“Don’t lecture me.”

“What would happen if Tony saw that footage instead of me? Or what if Natasha had!”

“Well they didn’t. You did.”

“You can’t fuck her in the office, on camera and not expect to get caught. If you’re that horny you fuck her in the parking lot or her apartment.” Steve said pushing Y/n off of him.

“This isn’t about sex. I mean, yeah. She’s fucking tight, but this is to teach that bitch a lesson. You know it should’ve been us two running this mission. Look how fucking PATHETIC SHE IS!” He screamed, looming over her shivering body. She curled into herself even more, trying to be as small as possible.

“C’mon…I have the perfect place to keep her, you killed the footage. It’s an win fucking win because you know we’re next in line.”

Steve looked at Y/n and back at Bucky,

“No one will know?”

“Just us.”

Steve sighed, “Where’s this place of yours?”

[cynicalone94]

Don't Go Where I Can't Follow

He slows as he rounds the corner, bringing his gun to bear. There’s no sign of the man that he was chasing and he inches forward slowly.

Movement to his left catches his attention and he turns just in time to catch the tackle head-on, his weapon pinned between their bodies as they slam into the ground.

A quick elbow to the face buys him a little space and then he’s rolling, holstering his weapon while he drives a hard punch into the face with his left hand.

And then he’s rolling the man to his stomach and wrenching his arms behind his back to lock the cuffs in place.

Antonio and Kevin come around the corner as he drags the man to his feet.

“Dude, Halstead.” Antonio crows. “That guy is twice your size.”

“Yeah.” he scoffs, catching his breath. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Voight and Erin come around the corner facing them next, a couple of patrol officers behind them.

Jay hands their perp off to the patrol officers, barely listening as Voight orders them to have paramedics check the guy out and then take him back to the district.

Damn, that one hurt.

“Alright.” Voight snaps, a little closer this time. “Good job on the grab, Halstead. But this one isn’t done yet. Let’s get back the district and put the rest of the pieces together.”

The team splits, heading for the cars. Erin follows him maybe a little too close but whatever, he’s fine. Yeah, getting tackled by a bus hadn’t felt good but he’s fine.

Which he reminds her of yet again when they get back in the car, causing her to roll her eyes but at least she stops staring.

Back at the station, he and the rest of the team gear down, removing their vests. The velcro on his vest catches on his hoodie as he pulls it off and his shirt rides up.

“Shit man.” Adam says, eyes locking on his chest.

“Ruze.” he chides. “My eyes are up here.”

“Shut up, man.” Adam scoffs. “You got a bruise the side of Texas forming on your chest.”

“I got tackled by a bear.” he growls. “Yeah I’m gonna be a little bruised. It’s hardly life threatening.”

“Go to Med.” Voight orders. “Get it checked out.”

“Come on, Sarge.” Jay says, turning toward him. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Let the docs be the judge of that.” Voight says, his tone leaving no room for question and Jay sighs.

“Yeah, okay.” he agrees reluctantly, dropping his vest on his desk.

“I’ll drive you.” Erin says, grabbing her keys.

An hour later, he’s sitting on an exam bed at Med enduring his brother’s poking and prodding with ill grace.

“Is this really necessary?” he asks, holding up his arm and shaking the blood pressure cuff and heart rate monitor clipped to his finger. “I got tackled, I have a few bruises. I’m fine. You should see the other guy.”

“I’m sure.” Will agrees. “But I don’t like the location of the bruising or how rapidly it’s developing so why don’t you just humor me?”

“I have been humoring you.” Jay grumbles, looking at his watch. “For the last thirty minutes.”

“If I could get you an x-ray we could sort this out.” Will says. “But all the bay with their own machines are in use.”

“Then can’t I just -”

Jay cuts off with a gasp as a sharp lance of pain stabs through his chest. The blood pressure cuff scrunches around his arm as his hand comes up to clutch his chest.

“Jay?” Will asks, reaching out for him.

He can’t breathe to answer him.

The pain is getting worse and he can’t breathe.

“Jay?” his brother repeats.

“W-”

Then everything goes black.

Will feels bad.

Jay’s probably right.

It probably isn’t anything to worry about but Will doesn’t feel safe just sending him back to the district without checking.

So he tries to convince his brother to just hang in there with him a little longer. Jay inevitably protests but cuts off midway through with a pained gasp, hand coming up to clutch his chest.

“Jay?” he asks, reaching out to put a hand on his brother’s shoulder.

Jay stares back at him, eyes wide with terror.

“Jay?” he repeats, glancing over at the monitors that are beeping erratically, his brother’s pulse racing.

“W-”

Jay’s desperate attempt at his name is the last thing he chokes out before he goes limp, eyes rolling up in his skull.

As Will dives forward to catch his brother before he falls off the bed the beeping of the monitor stops.

It isn’t the dramatic alarm of an EKG machine but somehow the silence is the loudest noise Will has ever heard.

“I need some help in here!” he screams as he lies his brother flat on the exam table, starting compressions.

Medical personnel flood the room, the rattling wheels of the crash cart sounding in time with the orders that he’s shouting.

“Come on, Jay.” he begs. “Please, little brother.”

“Clear!” Connor calls and he forces himself to pull back as the paddles are pressed against his brother’s chest.

The tones from the hastily connected EKG machine don’t change and he resumes compressions.

“Jay.” he begs. “Don’t go where I can’t follow.”

The next shock brings Jay’s heart back into rhythm.

Will falls back, trying to catch his breath as Connor takes over treatment; snapping out orders as he slides an oxygen mask over Jay’s face.

“Page the on call Cardiologist and then I need to get a CT and MRI of his chest. Start an IV and lets get some meteprolol onboard.”

As the nurses scramble to follow the instructions, Connor turns to Will.

“He came in to have some bruising to his chest checked out, right?” he asks.

“Yeah. It wasn’t supposed to be anything that would be a problem for me to treat.” he says, staring at his brother. “His vitals were stable and he seemed okay but the bruising was pretty ugly. I thought maybe he had a rib fracture.”

“And then he coded.” Connor asks.

“Mid-sentence.” Will confirms. “He must have bruised cardiac tissue.”

“That’s my guess as well.” Connor agrees. “We’ll do some testing to confirm and determine the severity. I’ll work with the Cardiologist and we’ll find a medication regiment to keep his heart beating until the bruising heals.”

“I have to… I need to..”

Connor pokes his head into the ED, calling for Maggie who quickly comes over.

“Can you take Will to the doctor’s lounge?” he asks. “Get him some coffee.”

“No.. I..” Will protests.

“I’ll take care of Jay.” Connor promises and Will swallows hard before following Maggie out of the bay.

He’s immediately accosted by Erin.

“What the hell just happened in there?” she demands.

“He-” Will stammers.

How can he put to words what had just happened? What he’d just witnessed.

“Why don’t you join us in the lounge?” Maggie says gently. “I can fill in some blanks.”

“I need to see Jay.” she demands, shaking her head.

“His heart just stopped.” Will blurts out. “It’s looking like there was bruising from the tackle and he…”

“Dr. Rhodes is taking good care of him.” Maggie cuts in. “Let’s go sit down.”

Erin can’t seem to pull her eyes away from the door but she does let Maggie guide her and Will toward the lounge.

It’s hours later before they are shown up to the Cardiac Care Unit.

Jay is buried in a veritable mountain of equipment and Erin walks up alongside the bed, resting her hand over the top of her partner’s.

“And you were pissed that I made you come in.” she scolds lightly.

Jay doesn’t respond to her, deeply sedated to give his heart a chance to heal without the added stress that comes with being awake.

“God Jay.” she breathes. “If Will hadn’t been there… Why are you so stubborn?”

“I don’t think he knows how to be any other way.” Will says, sitting on the other side of the bed. “After our mother got sick he, he couldn’t let anyone worry about him, take any of the focus off her. So he taught himself how to be fine. No matter what.”

“That sounds like this guy.” Erin says, squeezing her partner’s hand.

“He’ll be okay.” Will tells her. “It was way too close but we got lucky. He’ll be here a couple of days and then he should be good as new.”

“Or at least as good as it gets with Jay.” Erin says.

“Oh come on.” Will says. “Jay’s practically superman and you know it.”

“Yeah.” she agrees. “Should have seen the guy he took down today. Guy was 6’2” and 300 pounds. And yeah, he was breathing a little hard, not to mention the bruising, but he got him cuffed without backup. And I’m sure he said it and sounded like a cocky bastard but you should really see the the other guy.”

“That’s exactly what he said.” Will says, shaking his head.

“Well, we’d better not let him find out he was right.” Erin jokes.

Will is asleep next to his brother’s bed when a change in the rhythm of the machines wakes him up.

At first, he’s studying the machines, trying to figure out what’s changed.

“Will?”

His gaze darts away from the screens to focus on his brother’s face.

“Jay!” he exclaims. “Hey kid, how are you doing?”

“What happened?” Jay asks.

“That blow to the chest that you took bruised your heart.” Will tells his brother.

“Seriously?” Jay groans. “It was a bruise.”

“On your heart.” Will growls. “That stopped your heart. You flatlined in the exam room. Right in front of me.”

Jay pales.

“What?”

“You scared the hell out of me.” Will says. “But you’re going to be okay. They had you in an induced coma for two days and inserted pacing wires. You’re already doing a lot better.”

Jay glances down at his chest, eyes narrowing at the wires poking out of the neckline of the gown.

“Don’t touch those.” Will cautions, hand coming up to stop him almost as soon as his hands move.

“When do they go away?” Jay asks.

“Your heart is already stabilizing.” Will promises him. “We’ll be removing them in a couple days.”

“When can I go home?” Jay asks.

“Probably once the pacing wires are removed.” Will says. “As soon as we can, I promise.”

Jay doesn’t look happy with the promise but his eyelids are heavy.

“Just close your eyes, buddy.” Will soothes. “Get some sleep. We’ll get you out of here as soon as possible.”

Jay sighs but let’s his eyes slip closed, relaxing into the bedding.

“Thanks Will.” he breathes.

“Thank you.” Will corrects, even though his brother is already asleep. “For not leaving me.”

[enigmatist17]

Seeley Booth was a simple man.

He went to church, helped take killers off the street, and ate at his favorite diner with his son.

He did not talk to vampires.

He did not fight demons.

Vampires didn't exist, the supernatural didn't exist, so what the hell was he looking at?!

"Angel, either help out or get out of the way!" The blonde with a face that had changed snarled at Booth, deftly dodging axes and guns from creatures that had looked normal seconds ago.

-----

He'd been tracking down members of a gang that seemed to be killing targeted people, when he'd become surrounded by some of his current suspects in some warehouse district. He knew something was wrong with how they stared at him like Booth was some sort of a snack.

"Hey fellas, I was looking for you all over town." He joked, hand resting over his holster with a grin. "No chance you're coming quietly?"

"This meal likes to joke. I don't." The tallest person, a man who Booth had to clock at almost 7' tall growled, head tilting to the left at an unnatural degree. "Suppertime."

"Uh, where are we all eating?" Booth felt the alarm bells in his head going off DEFCON 1 as the man in front of him laughed, the gun that was drawn in the blink of an eye disregarded.

"Here, and we're eating human." The man took a breath, and the air was filled with the cracking of bone as he and the others surrounding the FBI agent turned into the stuff of nightmares, his eyes wide as what he could only describe as demons of varying shapes and sizes began to converge.

"Holy SHIT!" Booth took a breath before beginning to fire, dodging the swipe of a large set of claws to nail one creature right in the eye with a precise shot, the body falling back with a thud. His moment of victory didn't last long when some sort of tentacle looped around his waist, flinging the agent clear across the worn parking lot against his car.

"I call first dibs." A smaller demon thing snarled, running on all fours towards the agent who scrambled to his feet to try and run.

"I don't think so." A new voice joked, and a blur of something pale came from nowhere, the force sending the smaller creature off-course and into the wall of the closest warehouse. Booth blinked at the man standing between him and the hesitating creatures, a pale hand slicking back platinum hair as he turned to give Booth some sort of remark, before being cut off by a snarl. The pale man let out a short laugh before his face changed, Booth's eyes growing to the size of dinner plates when the man turned away. "Playtime!"

After that, it became a game of dodging demons and resisting the urge to not shoot the British man-demon thing, who had gotten irritating within five seconds of shouting at Booth. Eventually, the fighting drew to a close, and the pale man whistled a tune as he poked around at the bodies.

-----

"So, Angel, when did you start toting around guns? Figured swords and lawyers were your weapons these days." The pale man snorted as Booth emerged from his vantage point, eyeing him with a raised eyebrow.

"Who is Angel, and who are you?" Booth isn't sure what good his gun is going to do against this...guy, but trains it on him all the same. "What are you? What were they?"

"The 'ell you on about who is Angel, is this a joke or something?" The blonde cocks his head to the side, hands on his hips, and thoroughly unimpressed.

"I'm Special Agent Seeley Booth, I'm asking for your name again, don't make me ask twice." The man squints a little as he regards the man, before his eyes widen in surprise.

"My my my what a surprise this is, you really aren't him." The blonde steps closer, not missing the gun that trails without hesitation. "Heart beatin' and everything, and minus a few scars, a spittin' image."

Booth just stares, clearly at a loss.

"My name is Spike, and you human Angel, just survived a demon hit squad who are not happy you're close to shutting down their little operation. Oh, you're welcome by the way."

".....Spike. Your name....is Spike?" Booth pauses before lowering his gun, hoping it was the right call. "That's a stupid stage name."

"Oi! It's not a stage name!" The other hissed, and Booth couldn't help but snort. "You little prick."

"Spike, what a stupid...okay, name aside, how many more of these...things are around? They've killed a lot of people, and I'm putting the kibosh on that." Spike couldn't help but watch Booth clear his throat and kneel down beside one of the bodies, brow furrowing in an all too familiar way.

"If I had to guess? Maybe half a dozen, these little fuckers are hidin' my own mark." Spike hopped up to sit on the hood of Booth's car, scoffing at the chipped paint on one of his nails. "Oh bugger."

"Do they eat like, y'know, people?" Booth waved at the bodies uncomfortably, and Spike laughed.

"These lot no, but their leader most likely does, and is not trying to keep a low profile if the...what are you again? Cop? Military?"

"FBI, the Feds?" Booth looked over, and Spike shrugged.

"I've been around the block for a while, seen government sects come and go." Booth continued to stare, and the vampire grinned. "Sounds fancy though, got that goin' for you."

"Look, as much as I'd like to shoot the shit all night, I have to call this in." Booth shook his head, pulling out his phone before in the blink of an eye, it was gone.

"Nuh uh mate, can't let you do that." Spike shook his head, having moved from Booth's car to the top of some crates ten feet away and up from where Booth stood. "Look, you go back to wherever you work, and I'll make this mess disappear, I'm not having the copper's up my arse while I'm here."

"Again, not a cop, give me my damn phone back." Booth lets out a sharp whistle, and Spike says something to himself before tossing the communication device to him. The agent goes to call his office, but pauses when he realizes the vampire has a point, who was going to believe he helped kill demons?

"Go, this'll all be gone by morning." Spike has materialized beside Booth, making the agent jump in surprise.

"This isn't over." Booth finally snaps his phone shut, rounding on the vampire who is grinning at him. "Where are you staying?"

"Already in your phone love." The vampire finally lets Booth have his personal space back, checking his watch as he does so. "I'm a night person if you need the hint."

"Right..." Booth heads back to his car, and slides into the driver's seat with a quiet grunt of his bruised back not being pleased with the seating arrangement. "So where..."

Spike is gone, and so are two of the bodies, the agent shakes his head as he quickly heads out of the area and back toward the city, hands gripping the steering wheel tight.

The early morning light a short hour later had never been a better sight.

[doberbutts]

Hi hi! I've been reading your posts about the Depp and Heard case and you offer a really refreshing perspective! I have a friend who was really invested in the case and she would update me regularly even though I was intentionally avoiding talking about it because of how sensitive of a topic it is and ofc she was very adamantly on Depps side. It sounds to me like both Depp and Heard might be victims in their own right and they both made their own contributions towards the toxicity of the relationship.

I think this case being televised has revealed the biases of those watching, for sure. It amazes me that there's so many "he tried to get a psych to say she was crazy on the stand!!!" as though she did not do that as well. And yet nothing about how the argument of "well he's an addict you can't trust addicts" isn't equally damaging to addicts that aren't hurting anyone and are trying to get better because addiction is a health problem you weirdos.

I think their individual claims are equally plausible. I also think the only people who truly know what happened are, well, the people they happened to or around. I think it is very possible for a bigger, older man to be beaten up by his significantly younger partner, I think it is very possible for said bigger, older man to fly into a rage that makes said younger partner fear their life even if the younger partner technically hit first. I think certain claims are pretty easy to prove or disprove- let's be serious, to my knowledge the dogs are yorkies. Humans don't shit the same size as a yorkie so all we have to ask is how big the shit was and that puts that point to bed, no pun intended. Sorry but what comes out of me and what comes out of my chihuahuas are very distinctly different in size. But I think some of it is much harder to prove since there were no doctors involved except for the finger: how can anyone prove they were assaulted with a bottle or held down for a cavity search? How can anyone prove they were hit in the face multiple times before striking back? How can anyone prove who landed the first punch? How can anyone prove if the first punch was out of self-defense?

The only thing I know for certain about this case is that they had an awful marriage. It must have been hell. It is better for both of them to be out. But I think in terms of domestic violence, it often takes something very extreme and yes I do mean more extreme than some bruising and a cut finger before it becomes very clearcut what's going on. There are often signs seen by those closest to the conflict, but as far as courts go it is notoriously tricky to get any domestic abuse charges to go through without that extreme event because often there either is no evidence to back a legitimate claim or the interpretation of the evidence could go either way. It's easy to claim a black eye is from something innocent or a dispute from both people throwing hands that got a little wild. It's less easy to claim a broken back and brain injury from being bodily picked up and thrown down the stairs by a man twice your size- as what happened to my sister- is from anything besides that man trying to kill you.

BUT I do think that the people who have made this their latest fandom hyperfocus blorbo meme factory are gross. It doesn't matter who you believe. You are running the chance of mocking a DV survivor if you're wrong in your belief. You're running the risk of calling a DV survivor a liar. You're running the risk of making a mockery of someone who is reliving some of their worst moments in front of a TV camera. I think those who are doing this can pick whoever they feel is the right answer without resorting to TERF behavior or to misogyny.

Lastly, I think everyone needs to remember that this was not a domestic violence trial, it was a defamation trial. The jury did not rule that there was no abuse coming from Depp to Heard, the jury ruled that even if Depp was abusing Heard, there was evidence she was abusing him too, and thus it is defamation to claim that she was the innocent victim of domestic violence. Similarly, they also ruled that Depp was wrong to say she made it all up for the money, thus it is defamation to claim she was making things up or fabricating evidence solely for financial gain. That means it's likely the jury believes they were hitting each other, not that only one was harming the other and the other is a perfectly innocent sweet angel that could never do anything wrong.

[java-dragon]

Bookbinding for beginners by a beginner.... [Inhales slowly] PART 6

[sits quietly while contemplating life's choices about typing all this out] I could have just said "Hit these links and go watch these guys" but no.... I had to go the extra mile...

Alright Sailor... get up keep going... Come on y'all we're getting towards the home stretch finally.

Alright I'll pick up a bit more from my last post. I didn't put end pages down. Well. Here we go

Whatcha wanna do- raid your craft store, the nice fancy paper that scrap bookers use??? That's the shit. Pick out whatever you'd like for your end papers, try not to get anything too thick (cardstock thickness). There is also proper end pages TALAS and Hollanders is a good resource for proper end pages if you'd like.

So what you're going to do is take your chosen end paper and fold it in half like you were making any other page for your bind. You're going to measure your awaiting fic, height and width plus 2mm (or a 1/4 inch) not much for the width. Trim to size.

Shift the mull that's been chilling hanging foot loose and fancy free and ease it up and over, measure the 2mm/1/4 inch and mark it on the paper and dab the glue on the edge along the mull and along the line- try and get a thin line and ease the two together, put some wax paper between the last page you glued the end pages to and in between the end pages.

I glue the mull down over the end back of the end paper Is it right? Not a clue.

I was racing to get this photo so I could get the wax paper back on otherwise it just looks like everything is frosted over.

since we're using a gross amount of wax paper feel free to flip the block over and do the other side the same manner and just put something mildly heavy on it or put it back in your book press.

Now?

We got a case to build.

Take out your glue, Davy Board, and card stock. Measure your cover- height, and width of front and back cover, and the width of the spine. Write it down somewhere or on the Davy board itself.

rough measurements it's good to be slightly larger than your finished text block than smaller.

Measure it out give yourself an extra half inch of space so you have good "hang" on your book on all sides. You can always trim this later. You will also need your text block to test fit everything.

This.... this is how far I've gotten on my journey bookbinding. So we will be finishing a book bind together.

Cut out your covers and measure out your spine. Always use the "Measure twice cut once" method, I use and abuse a rotary cutter. I need to change the blade that's why some of my lines aren't as crisp as they could be.

Now you're going to grab your glue, and a silicone or glue brush, and some sort of wax paper lay it down on your cutting mat or your work surface this WILL get messy. Also grab your bone folder. We need this to be CRISP... wait hang on I can do this better

There we go.

Now you need to figure out how you'd like your book to fold out. how big of a 'swing' I suppose for your book. I like 10mm most binders like 7mm. this can be DIY'd but if you'd rather just buy it do it. So take your card stock and measure out a good 3-5 inches depending on your comfort level I usually shoot for 4 inches. Glue the spine down to the center of the card stock and take your guide and just... nudge it around a little while the glue is still damp.

Great now... flip her over so the freshly glued side is down. Take your bone folder and outline the edge of the spine.

Make sure you have your wax paper DOWN at this stage.

Take your measuring guide and place it down to the crease you just made, where the cardstock is exposed? Lay some glue down and spread it out, and spread it around.

Take a few minutes and let the glue set for a bit, then flip it over AGAIN so the spine is facing you and run your bone folder along the edge of the cover.

don't be alarmed if the glue squishes out. It will dry clear and it will be covered up later anyway.

Allow it to set for a few minutes and then gently fold everything so it makes a book shape.

You now have a cover ready and waiting for book cloth, but take a break let the glue cure. Have a snack.

Once that's done go around and test fit your text block. If you have any hardcover books laying around that are mass produced I'd study those to see how the textblock rests. Trim off little bits at a time.

There are a few ways to go about Book Cloth. You can buy it. If you got the budget for it. DO IT.

Here's an Amazon Link , Here's Hollander's , TALAS , and Blick

For those that want more options or are like me that went "well let me learn a thing" you will need:

Tissue paper pick your colour it doesn't matter, the tissue paper is to give the fabric structure so we can make it stay on the Davy Board.

Heat n Bond Lite Sewable

And some sort of fabric, hit up Joannes or your local fabric store and pick some fat quarters ( a 1/4 yard and a bit).

And in iron, borrow your neighbors if you want too, ask your grandmother's if hers still works. Mine appeared one day. I think it tried and failed to hold me hostage. I don't remember. Plus and Ironing Board... mine has always been here... and will likely remain long after I leave. I call it Squeaky... Anyway!

Cut everything an inch larger than you need we can trim stuff later. Better to be a bit over rather than under.

Measure your case length and width and cut that out of the fabric, the heat and bond, and the tissue paper.

Iron out the wrinkles in your fabric and if there is a pattern- lay the pattern with the deepest colour down with the dull side up (or whatever side you like best). Or if it's a solid colour... just flop it down. Take your heat and bond put the textured side down against the fabric. The textured side is the glue, don't get that on your iron- paper side UP towards you. General rule of thumb- shiny down, matte up.

Iron according to the directions. Let cool and peel the paper up, put the tissue paper down atop of that, and flip it over to where the fabric is pointing towards you. Tissue paper is delicate, the fabric can take the heat better than the tissue paper. Iron. Let cool, and behold, your book cloth.

If you bought book cloth I just made you read that just cause.

See you next post. We're getting near the end y'all.

[rayofsuns]

"PROMISES, PROMISES"

"jason hurry up he's going to be back any minute." I said nervously glancing around the empty ally. "I'm almost done just give me a minute" the door to the strip club opened and a very drunk man covered in glittter stumbled out. "shit jay he's coming" I said watching the guy pick an argument with one on the bouncer who's left bicep is bigger then the drunk guy's whole head. "and.... done. come on lets go." he put the tire in our wagon, grabbed my hand and pulled me behind the dumpster. we watched in silent as the guy walked towords his car. I guess he was done arguring with the guy twice his size. he was so drunk he didn't notice his new tires weren't on his expensive new car. "I could have gotten the batteries too if I had time." I rolled my eyes, jason was always an overachiever and alittle greedy. he wouldn't have been happy if he had stripped the whole car. "jason shush" I said peaking out from the behind the dumpter and watched as the man turned on his car and attempted to drive away. his car made a loud shriek as metel scaraped on the concrete. I winced at the horrible sound. "jay lets make a run for it before we get caught. I said he nodded and grabbed the handle to the wagon. we ran as fast as we could past the man, now getting out of his car to see what that horrible sound was. "those are my tires! HEY! get back here you hoodlums!" he yelled. I glance behind me and watched as he tried to run after us but tripped and face planted in the ground. jason and I shared a laughed but continued to run.

I was breathing heavy when we finally came to a stop three blocks away from where we took the tires. "you're getting to greedy jay, we almost got caught." I complained. jason sucked his teeth at me. "we were fine y/n" I rolled my eyes and opened my mouth to speak but he cut me off. "you're my special fairy nothing can go wrong when I have you by my side." he grabbed my face and kissed my cheek. my cheeks felt hot. "come on let's get these to greg before that drunk fool report them stolen." I said jason smirked and wrapped his arm around my shoulder. "whatever you want fairy" he said using his other arm to pull the wagon behind us. "I get nervous stealing from rich people, the police actually care if they're stuff gets stolen" I said glancing behind me to make sure no one was following us. "the the fact that there's a shadow out there taking out bad guy--" "we're not bad buys" jason interrupted me "we're just kids trying to survive" he said glaring down at the pavement. he is angry. I sighed and entwined my hand into his. "you're right. we're not bad guys, just kids trying to eat." I sighed "that's why I love you jay, you keep me sane." I said kissing his cheek. his face turned bright red. "I love you too y/n" he said turning his face away so I wouldn't see him blush. I giggled "aww jay you're blushing." I teased he sucked his teeth at me "you wish. I'm red from running not because you kissed me!" he yelled sticking out his bottom lip in a pout "whatever helps you sleep at night" I laughed as we turned down a alley. it was dark except for a small light neon light hanging above an old rusty door that read 'greg's garage'. I knocked three times.

it didn't take long for the sqeaky door to open and a chubbly old man stood on the other side. "get ready to pull out the big bucks greg we got some wheels for you" jason said, well more like yelled. I don't think jason knows what a inside voice was. "quite down kid. I have neighbors" greg ushered us in, flipping on the lights. "let me see these tires." greg put on his glasses and studied the tires "what kind of car you steal these from." "BMW" I answered. greg let out a low whistle. "good steal kid" he stood and walked over to his safe. "jay I'm hungry" I said whining. "what did you eat today?" he asked but he already knew the answer. it was the same thing he had. absolutely nothing. "mom had her friend over when I got up, so I had to sneak out" I told him. jason nodded in understanding but I could tell he was angry. he hated my mom, he though she was worse then his because she slept with that gross man she calls her boyfriend. his words not mine. "how about we get some pizza for dinner?" I nodded and my mouth started watering at the thought "can we get breadsticks too?" he nodded "of course" my stomach started growling. "hurry up old men, we're hungry!" I yelled "calm down. calm down, here's your money" he handed me a stack of money and I instantly started counting it. "five-hundred" I said looking at jason for approval. jason is the one who knew about cars not me. he nodded "nice working with you old man" he said as I pocket the cash. "yeah whatever kid." greg rolled his eyes and walked us out. it was cold outside, like always.

gothem was known for a couple of things. the most famous one being our criminals and the second being how we have no sun. of course that wasn't true, we had sun. it's just our city was so polluted the sun can hardly be seen. we begain to walk when greg stopped us once again "hey kid wait up" greg disappered into his shop before coming back out. he handed jason somthing that I couldn't see "protect your fairy" he said before going back into his shop. my heart stopped for a seconded when I saw a gun in his hand. "jay--" jason tucked the gun in his wasite band. which didn't hide it well due to him being a skinny twelve year old. "let's go get somthing to eat, can't have my fairy starving to death." he said his arms tightening around my shoulder. I sighed "just promise you'll be careful" I said jason rolled his eyes "fair--" "promise me jay" he sighed knowing I wasn't going to drop it unless he promised "I promise"

[adoringhaikyuu]

they see you wearing a men’s sized sweater and think you’re cheating on them

characters: atsumu, bokuto, kenma, ushijima, (gn!reader)

summary: what happens when they see you wearing a men’s sized sweater and wrongfully assume you’re cheating on them.

warnings: nothing, just a hint of angst, some suggestive things and some dumb boys–

notes: this actually isn't that angsty! everyone is aged up and living together but it doesn’t really matter lmao (u can request others if you’d like! i kinda wanna do kageyama and oikawa)

part one | part two | part three | part four

atsumu:

this dumbass sees you all cozy in this extremely over sized sweater––like his size sweater

you’re on the couch, mindlessly scrolling through your phone, your head leaning on a sweater paw 

and at first he gets distracted cause you look so cute and his face softens

but then he realizes that he doesn’t recognize it, and it sure as hell isn’t yours

and !! he knows !! it’s not his !!

and he immediately thinks it’s another mans, i mean what possible other explanation could there be–

his brows furrow and he just speaks without thinking, masking his hurt with anger

“so who is it?” he crosses his arms and stares down at you, practically barking, his voice breaking the silence around you. 

you pause immediately and look up at him confused, noticing how he’s doing the same stance he does when he’s trying to act tough. “what?”

he tuts and rolls his eyes, sighing in annoyance. were you really going to deny it? he narrows his eyes. “who. is. it.” the look of confusion on your face only deepens and he can feel his blood start to boil. his voice is dead cold and it sends a shiver up your spine. “who have you been fucking?”

you blink, once, then twice. “...you? what’s going on here––”

“don’t play dumb with me, y/n.”��

you looked around the room for a few seconds then back to him. “...is it daddy? is that the answer––”

“y/n.” he growls impatiently.

“i don’t know what’s going on!” 

he breaks and steps closer to you, yelling almost in your face. “you’re cheating on me!” 

“what?!” you practically shriek. “why would you think that??” 

he scoffs, “are you kidding me?? the evidence is right there in front of my freakin’ face!” he points at you and you start to get aggravated as well, not knowing where these absurd allegations came from. 

“what the fuck are you talking about tsumu?” you set your phone down and stand up, a few inches away from him. 

“that fuckin’ ugly ass sweater you’re wearin’! you really think you’d be able to hide that from me, i’m not a dumbass!”

you look at him bewildered and down to your sweater, pulling at the hem. “you think it’s ugly? i bought it yesterday i thought it was cute–”

“i don’t give a shit! how could you do this to me i thought––” he cuts himself off and blinks a few times, the redness in his cheeks and on his neck slowly fading away. “wait you...you what?”

you looked back up at him. “i said i bought it yesterday...? what does that have to do with––”

“so it’s not some other guy’s sweater...”

the both of you stood there for a few seconds just staring at each other, you in disbelief, him with a guilty and sheepish smile on his face. without warning, you slapped his arm and he shrieked. 

“ow?! that hurt!” 

“i don’t care! you really thought i would cheat on you?!” you tried to shove past him but he stopped you, eyes wide as he held you by the waist. 

“baby i’m sorry––”

you looked up at him, eyes watery. “what the hell, ‘tsumu?”

he felt his eyes start to water up too, a dull ache in the back of his throat as he pulled you into his arms and held you tight. “i’m so sorry babylove, i––i wasn’t thinking and i just––i saw you all cozy in that sweater and the thought of you wearing someone else’s clothes, being with someone else...” you wrapped your arms around him, hearing the pain he was trying to hide, in his voice. 

his voice was small as he mumbled, his cheek smushed against your head. “i thought you had some side piece hiding around somewhere.”

you shook your head and nestled your head into his chest. “don’t be ridiculous ‘tsumu, if anything you’d be the side piece.” 

“hey!” he pulls away to look at you and smiles when he sees your lips curved upwards cheekily. his thumbs came up to wipe the remnants of your tears that hadn’t soaked into his sweater. “can we go cuddle now?” 

you pretended to think, “hm i don’t know...i don’t think you deserve those right now.”

he pouted. “please? i’ll do anything––i’ll cook all our meals for the whole week!”

you cringed, “last time you cooked, you almost burnt the kitchen down.”

his shoulders drooped as he tried to think of another offer. “oh!” he perked up, eyes bright. “i’ll get ‘samu to cook for us? he owes me a favor anyway–”

you smiled, leaning up to kiss him softly. “deal.” 

bokuto:

this absolute angel would be so sad :(((

at first he’d be like :D they’re so cute

and he’d be staring at you, all entranced and in love

then he realizes he doesn’t recognize the sweater cause he’s never seen you wear it before (he knows all of your outfits, he compliments all of them) and then he also realizes how big it is on you ://

immediately gets in a bad mood, more sad then angry

baby boy is just hurt tbh

was he not good enough?

he doesn’t even say anything, he just sulks and hopes you’ll come to him and let him down easy or come to your senses and leave the other guy

he’d forgive you, he loves you too much

bokuto walked into the bedroom where you were and paused for a bit before lying down next to you and staring up at the ceiling. you could feel his energy shift as he walked in, as if there were a cloud above him. 

“kou?” you asked, looking away from your phone to your pouting boyfriend. he simply hummed in response, not even glancing at you. “what’s wrong?”

he bit his lip, blinking a few times before responding. “mm, nothing.” 

your brows furrowed, wondering what could have possibly put him in a bad mood. “oh i know, did akaashi beat you at cup pong on that imessage game again?”

he frowned, “no––i mean yes, but––” he finally turned to look at you, eyes wide, filled with unshed tears and you sat up, alarmed. “are you happy?”

you tilted your head in confusion. “happy?”

“yes,” he nodded. “with me.” he was looking at you hopefully, the usual light in his eyes now dim. 

now it was your turn to frown. “of course i am, baby. i’m happiest when i’m with you. why are you asking me that?”

he seemed to perk up a bit at that, but he still wasn’t fully himself. he looked away, “nothing, no reason.”

“nuh uh,” you scooted closer to him and gently cradled his face, turning him to face you. “why are you asking me this? something’s obviously up.” 

his hand came up to hold yours on his cheek. “i just...” he looked down to your sweater. “you look really pretty in that sweater, you know? i think that’s what hurts the most, you still look like mine, my baby...even though you’re not wearing my sweater.”

“that’s what this is about? bo, you had me worried! if you want me to wear your sweaters i will, you know i love wearing them.” 

he looked up into your eyes, “but what about this one? what about the other–”

“i only bought this cause it was on sale, it’s not like i’m attached to it or anything. honestly, i like yours a lot better.” you smiled at him and you could see all the tension leaving his body, the hurt leaving his face as he smiled wide.

“you––you bought it!” 

this boy confused you more and more every day. “yes, i bought it. what’s up with you?” 

he shook his head vigorously like a little puppy, eyes wide as he hastily wiped his tears. “no–nothing!” he pulled you into his arms and you fell into him with a gasp, your legs on either side of him as he held you tight. “i love you so much, my precious angel.”

you raised a brow, giving into his embrace. “o–kay? i love you too, baby.” you let your head fall onto his shoulder, your boy was always so dramatic...

kenma:

kenma would be gaming at his desk, cat headphones on

and you’d sneak in, bored of doing whatever it is you were doing before, to sit on his lap as you always do

he’d barely look away from the screen as you squeeze into the chair with him, lifting and opening his arms to let you in

you’d snuggle against him and as he plays, he unconsciously kisses your forehead and lean his head onto yours 

he’d honestly play for a good while before he takes a break or a loading screen pops up before the next mission and he’d finally take a good look at you all cozied up on top of him

he’d bring a hand to your waist, just to let you know that he’s there and appreciates your company 

he’d notice how peaceful you look, your eyes closed as you held onto his sweatshirt

but then he’d notice your sweatshirt and his brows would furrow 

you felt kenma stiffen underneath you, and at first you thought it was because his game was getting intense––but you couldn’t hear any noise coming from the monitor or from the keyboard (and trust me you would hear when he was typing––his fingers going at fifty miles per hour). 

you opened your eyes to see him staring off to the side, not even paying attention to his game resuming, a worrying crease between his brows. you took the hand that was fisting his collar and brought it up to hold his cheek and though he softened at the touch at first, as he always did, you could tell something was off. 

“baby?” you mumbled. “what’s wrong? did something happen in your game?”

he barely even heard you at first, too caught up in his own troublesome thoughts. was it someone else’s? another guy’s? you wouldn’t––right? 

“baby?” again, no response. 

you sat up and his hands fell to the arm rests, or more like he put them there, as though he wanted you to get off. this was immediately a bad sign––he never wanted you to get off, even when you had to pee, he would grumble and hold you tighter, continuing to play his game as though you weren’t about to literally piss your pants. 

you turned his head towards you but he still wouldn’t look at you, instead choosing to look down. “ken what’s wrong? you’re worrying me.” he finally looked into your eyes and you felt a chill run through your body at the fierce look in them, an indescribable emotion swimming in his irises. 

he stared at you first for a few moments silently before speaking up. “when did––” he paused, unsure of how to go about this, his voice small and hesitant. “when did you get this sweater?”

you looked down at the fabric you were practically melting in and back up at him, a confused pout on your face. “a few months ago, why?” 

“a few months?” he frowned and tilted his head back down. it’s been that long? 

“yeah, i got it at that thrift store, you know the one by the café? why do you ask?”

at that, his eyes widened and his lips parted, but he quickly snapped out of it and wrapped his arms around you. “n–nothing. no reason.”

“what? but–”

“doesn’t matter.” he pulled you close so that you were leaning on him again, his arms tight, not letting you up. 

you snuggled back against him hesitantly, your hand sliding up to play with the loose bundles of hair that fell out of his bun at the nape of his neck. you smiled as he purred at your touch, his hands going back to the keyboard. 

you felt yourself sink back into his embrace, your fatigue quickly washing over you again. you’d definitely ask him what that was about after you woke up.

ushijima:

poor baby sees the sweater and tries to remember if he’s ever seen you wear it, since he already knows it’s not his

he comes to the conclusion that it’s most likely another man’s since it’s so big on you and immediately assumes it’s his fault ://

he just stands and stares at you for a while, brows furrowed in thought

but he does that all the time, so you don’t think anything of it and just go about your business cutting up your apple slices in the kitchen

he notices how the fabric is swallowing you up, but it’s still not as big as his, and that at least gives him a teeny bit of satisfaction that whoever this man is, he’s bigger than him

after a few minutes of contemplation, he stands next to you and speaks up

“do i not satisfy you enough, y/n?”

you paused and the sound of your knife slicing fruit came to a halt as you looked up at your boyfriend to see if he was joking. he wasn’t. you almost laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation but looking at the seriousness in ushijima’s expression, you decided against it. given the way your eyes would fill with tears, the way your thighs would tremble as you clung to him after every night you spent together in bed, he should have known the answer to that question. but maybe he meant it another way––

“in what way?” he frowned and you went on. “if you meant sex wise...then yes, you more than satisfy me. if it’s in terms of love and affection, then the answer is also yes. short answer is yes, always.”

this only seemed to trouble him further, somehow. “then what is it?”

you tilted your head in confusion, “what is what?”

“what made you go elsewhere?”

you blink and put the knife down. “ushi, i have no idea what you’re talking about, i’ve been here all day.”

“what made you go and find someone else to take care of you?” he said bluntly.

“what? i didn’t...” you turned fully to face him, piecing together what he was saying so cryptically yet plainly at the same time. looking at his features carefully, you could see the anger, frustration and most of all, the hurt he was trying to hide, on his face. your voice shrunk in size. “wait, you think i’m cheating on you?” he nodded silently and you felt a twitch in your stomach. “why would you think that?”

he reached down, “this” he tugged at the sleeve of your sweater with two fingers, as if it disgusted him. “is not mine. and it is far too large to be yours.” he crossed his arms and looked at you, waiting for an explanation.

you paused for a few seconds before you burst out laughing and he only stood there, watching you, offended and utterly confused. why was this funny? “i’m sorry baby i just––” you placed one hand on the counter and tried to hold yourself up and not fall down to your knees. you waited until your laugh died down to a giggle before looking up at your adorable, dumb boyfriend with a smile on your face.

“this isn’t your sweater, you’re right. but it is mine. i bought it the other day, it’s just oversized.”

his arms slowly dropped to his sides. “––oh.”

“yeah, ‘oh’.” you shook your head slightly. “you really thought i would cheat on you?”

“i didn’t want to believe it. i wasn’t sure, so i asked.”

you pursed your lips, more amused than anything. “more like you accused me, ushi.”

he looked down in shame. “i’m sorry.”

you placed a hand on his chest as he hesitantly wrapped his arms around your waist. “i would never hurt you like that. i’m yours.” you leaned up on your tiptoes and he bent down, eager to give you the kiss you wanted. he pressed his lips against yours, his hands holding you tight.

when you pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his eyes still closed. “i really am sorry.”

you placed a hand on his cheek and pulled back to look into his eyes, smiling at the way he nuzzled into your touch. “it’s okay baby. how about i just wear your sweaters instead of buying my own, hm?” though you were slightly teasing, he nodded, more serious than ever.

“i would like that.”