#she’s like ‘they should’ve just shut down the protests from the beginning’

[melonnade]

absolutely disgusting the way that the violence on my campus this morning is being talked about on the news. reading articles rn and they keep talking about violence on both sides & fighting breaking out ‘between’ the two groups. call it what it fucking was. it’s not two sides being violent, it’s one being attacked by the other. rhetoric matters.

[pinkmelodie]

The Red Means I Love You ❤︎

Summary: Jason Todd x fem!Reader. You and Jason used to date before you left to stay with the Titans. You both miss each other more than you’d like to admit, but stay out of contact. Fast forward to after he died, you encounter Redhood. Old feeling stir, and before you know it you’re bent over the motorcycle of someone you swore you’d leave in the past.

Warnings: Angst -> smut, 18+, p in v, unprotected s$x, mentions of death & terrorism.

A/N: This takes place right after s3ep2, right after they find out Redhood’s identity :3

You didn’t fully know what was happening; just that there were too many hostages in the building—all who would be killed if not evacuated immediately. You were about to run and help the rest of the titans get everyone as far away as possible before Kory pulled you aside.

You went to protest before she quickly interrupted you, “Go search for Jason.” 

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Uhm, what?”

“Look, I have a feeling he’ll listen to you better than anyone.” she said. “Jasons not someone who can be brought down by force. Shit, he came back from the fucking dead, you think he’s gonna let us beat this new…phase out of him?” 

You wanted to argue, but Kory wasn’t someone who was wrong often. She had a good point, and you knew you had to follow it.

“We’ve got this under control,” she assured, resting a reassuring but firm hand on your shoulder. “Go.”

You were skeptical, especially when you could see Gar in the distance shaking in his boots trying to convince an old lady to let him help her down the steps, and citizens clearly getting whiplash from Connor moving them to safety too fast. Your team was…definitely something, but with some hesitance you finally turned and ran in the direction of the one member you wanted to see.

…

“Jason!” You called out, your voice echoing through the barren alley. Gotham was creepy enough already without walking in some sketchy, busted up route in the pitch dark.

You kept calling but the only response you got was your own voice echoing back to you. You tried to scratch your mind for something to say that could persuade him, but you came up blank. Guilt ate at your conscience when you remembered that you hadn’t spoken to him for months before he died. 

To be honest, Jason never had anyone in his life to begin with. He told you that along with all his other secrets, and you still broke his heart. 

You stayed with the titans, thinking he was being naive for not wanting to. You didn’t think about the fact they never once tried to help him, or ever see him as more than an immature kid. They didn’t have the energy to help Jason through his issues so they just abandoned ship, sending him right back to Bruce and his horrible coping mechanisms.

As much as you wanted to be angry at Dick, or Kory or really anyone else for letting that happen, you had to face that you played your part.

Jason Todd died alone. He died feeling like no one would miss him, like he was a failure of a Robin and a failure of a titan. Because even after everything, all he wanted to do was prove himself.

So, yeah. Admittedly the first words you chose to say were not a good idea. Probably should’ve seen that one coming, but you never were too good at comforting him. was anyone?

“It didn’t have to be like this, you can still come back to the titans!” You tried to coax him, almost immediately regretting it. You quickly shut your mouth, tho the damage was already done. You just prayed he wasn’t here—he didn’t need to be provoked into blowing your brains out. 

Only when your muscles stopped tensing and you thought you got lucky, a voice you couldn’t even recognize rumbled above you. It shot ice up your veins and you would’ve frozen in place if you weren’t so adiment on seeing him again.

“Still taking about the titans? Why am I surprised.” He taunted, tilting his head in a gesture so familiar it made your heart ache. When you spun around you were met with someone you couldn’t believe was really Jason. He was standing on some rusted fire escape, a steel red mask boring right through you. 

You tensed, but not out of fear. No, you could never be scared of Jason, not the same nerd who woke up early to make you breakfast or who secretly wore reading glasses. 

You debated messaging him for months after your breakup, paragraphs on paragraphs you never sent. You had so much to say to him before, so why now did your mind go blank?

It was hard to see what he was feeling with the mask, but you could tell he was expecting a snarky remark back. When you just stood there dumbfounded, he sighed. “Look, I’m done trying to prove myself to them. To Bruce, to everyone! I don’t have to be some fucking nobody y/n, and neither do you.”

Now that made you snap out of whatever trance you were in. “‘and neither do you’? What are you trying to do, advertise me the life of crime?”

He groaned, “I don’t know why I ever tried with you. The titans are just a bunch of fucked up people acting like one big happy family, is that what you wanted? Are you happy you made that choice?” He sneered.

There was malice in his tone, but it wasn’t real. he didn’t feel angry anymore, just betrayed.

He would’ve splayed his heart out for you on a silver platter if you asked, just for you to turn your back on him. You followed him in his dreams, haunted him every time he smelt a familiar perfume, even appeared behind his shut eyelids while the life drained out of him. You were a part of him, and from what he knew you’d never looked back when you stormed out that day.

That’s why it shocked him when tears started to well in your eyes. God, your eyes—the ones he would subconsciously buy clothes of in the same colour. “You could’ve came with me,” you whispered. 

Your meek tone broke something in him. His shoulders relaxed and in a blink he leaped down, knees bending upon landing on the hard ground in front of you. Seeing him like this; the mask concealing his identity, various weapons strapped to his thighs and seemingly more toned than the last time you saw him—you could understand why everyone was on edge.

He stood there motionless, a silent and intimidating presence before you. You both stood there in unbearable silence until finally, he lifted his mask off.

His features were lit beautifully by the dim street light, eyes glinting ever so slightly. He looked exhausted—more troubled now, but you knew, despite everything, this was Jason. Your Jason, not who he was manipulated into.

“No, I couldn’t have.” he muttered begrudgingly, “they made that very clear.”

“So what, you just become a terrorist? Is that your idea of solving your problems?”

His fists clenched in barely concealed anger. “Bruce couldn’t save Gotham, so he abandoned it. I’ll be the one to fix it.” 

“By running around in a new suit and planting bombs everywhere? Real great strategy.” You rolled your eyes, but started to blush when you stared at him too long in the plated suit that fit him perfectly. You quickly caught yourself ogling and looked away, assuming he wouldn’t catch the red tinge on your face. 

You don’t know how you ever thought he wouldn’t notice. Of course he noticed, it’s Jason Todd.

For fucks sake, the guy noticed every detail about you. The way you’d avoid eye contact when nervous, the pace of your blinking quickening when you were lost in thought, the slight heighten of your voice when you were excited about something. All these tiny things and you thought he just wouldn’t notice the way you eyed him down all red in the face?

Come on, you were basically writing your true feelings out to him in big, bold… ..red letters…

and it’s not like Kory ever specified exactly what to do once you found him… .. .

So that’s how you ended up bent against his motorcycle in some busted up alleyway, pussy spread open on his dick.

You gasped and clawed pointlessly at his covered back; nails clinking uselessly against the metal armour of his suit. 

Your own suit was pulled off just enough to get access to your cunt, panties pulled to the side so he could plunge his thick cock into you.

He was groaning more than he used to, and you could swear you even heard him whine. His pace was ruthless, thrusts messy but coordinated. He kept trying to push further inside you, pressing his body as close to you as possible like you would vanish at any moment. 

“Fuckfuckfuck-“ he rambled. Death heightened all of his senses—made things have so much more of an impact on him. Maybe he just missed you too much, or maybe he let himself forget how good you feel.

To be fair, you were far worse off than him. You would’ve alerted everyone in Gotham if he wasn’t covering your mouth with a gloved hand, though it’s not like anyone here would bat an eye to screaming.

“My poor baby just been lonely, s’that it?”He teased, manhandling you by your hips to meet his harsh thrusts. 

“Nobody to fill up this pretty hole like I do, such a shame,” he pouted in faux sympathy, as if he wasn’t balls deep at the moment.

“I’m back now. Fuck the titans, I’ve always treated you better, haven’t I?” He’s fucking your ability to form coherent words right out of your throat, but he knows your answer when you squeeze around him.

“Jay!” you moaned into his palm. Your cunt was squelching embarrassingly loud with each thrust, thighs shaking so hard you for sure would’ve fallen over if he wasn’t holding you up. Every drag of his cock in you hit the perfect spots, just like he remembered you love.

“You don’t even care that I’m red hood, do you?” he asked, his tone full of confidence. “Nah, you don’t. So fucking wet, does my suit get you off princess?” 

He moved his hand to play with your clit, getting it soaked with your fluids. You were too cock-drunk to lie bite back, just nodding desperately and mewling out something akin to a yes.

He smirked. “Pussys sucking me in the same too, fuck- I missed this. I missed you.”

He acted cocky when he was fucking you like this because it’s the only way he was sure you even wanted to be around him. Not much to complain about when his big dick is ravaging you, no?

Deep down he always felt right at home with you. He wouldn’t admit it, but he would give up red hood for you. He’d give up anything for you, actually. Nothing mattered as long as you were with him. And he wasn’t letting you go this time.

With the ministrations on your clit and him pounding into you, it wasn’t a surprise when that knot in your stomach came undone quickly. Especially not with how many failed orgasms you had with your fingers, pretending it was him.

Ever attentive, he noticed immediately. “You gonna come, baby? Try not to get any on the new suit.” He winked, as if you were gonna squirt for him. (You have, many times.)

The cherry on top was when he unexpectedly flipped his mask back down and leaned in to whisper right into your ear with that deep voice, “come for me”

And you were gone. You came with a cry of his name, eyes rolling back and toes curling. Your pussy gushed all over his dick, forming a white ring around it that you could see every time he slammed his hips.

Seeing your pretty face so euphoric was what sent him over the edge, and grudgingly he pulled out, pearly white cum shooting all over your stomach.

You spent a minute regaining your breath while he pressed gentle kisses all over your throat. He only let up when you whined at the slight pain of the pressure on your newly forming hickeys. He tucked himself back into his pants and re-adjusted his belt. You were wondering if he planned on just leaving until he took his coat off and wrapped it around you.

He moved you so you were set down properly on the back of his motorcycle and then stepped on. You instinctively laid against his back, resting your head on his shoulder and he admired you with pure adoration.

“Wrap your arms around me babe,” he hummed, affectionately rubbing your thigh that was pressed to his.

When your brain finally caught up to what was happening you gave him a confused look.“Wha- wait! Where are we going?” 

He looked at you like you were crazy for even questioning it. “Home,” he laughed, “what? Did you think death was gonna do us part, baby?”

[okkotsuus]

hello! i’d like to request a very sad gojo angst, based on billie eilish’s song “what was i made for?” like reader could be having a self doubt moment??? if she’s good enough for satoru (you can do the same thing you did as to that one gojo angst you did! where gojo was healing from geto’s death) thank you ! ^__^

it’s not what he’s made for (satoru g.) !

features: satoru gojo

contents: crying. implied death and injury. grief. basic jjk triggers. feeling useless. feeling not enough. feeling ashamed. failing to protect people. perceived judgment. heartbreak. hiding things from partners. hurt with comfort for once. angst. 1k words.

notes: idk how i feel about this, so lmk if it's not what you want and i can try it again :)

you can’t help but notice the way satoru gojo stiffens the second he sees raw emotion being expressed. it’s something you find out before you even begin dating him. you can practically feel the discomfort radiating off of him when he sees another sorcerer cry at their partner’s death.

it was at that moment you vowed to yourself to never cry in front of him. but that was a while ago, and you were no longer in a shallow friendship with him: you were in love.

but you couldn’t shake that fear that if you ever showed vulnerability to him, he would regard you with that same disgust. it was irrational, you knew that, but it still lingered in the back of your mind.

even now, as you feel your heart actively cracking in your chest as yet another sorcerer is slain under your care, you just choke down the tears until satoru leaves the room. the inside of your bottom lip is bitten raw from how many times you’ve clamped your mouth shut to ward off sobs of agony.

with a cursed technique like yours, every mission comes with a lot of survivor’s guilt. protector’s promise: a cursed technique that grants you a stats and cursed energy boost based on the strength difference between you and your allies. even more so when your allies are weaker than the opponent. you also get a boost from non-sorcerers being in the immediate area

alone, you are a low-grade one. but with a group weaker than you, it skyrockets to high-grade one or even to special grade. as such, you are often paired up with sorcerers fresh out of training, or even those still in it.

the higher-ups treat you as a way to weed out weak sorcerers, all while boosting your own powers and giving your obscenely hard missions. because you also receive a boost if your allies are injured or killed. it’s one of the most heart-breaking things a sorcerer can experience; to have a partner die. and you lose at least one nearly every mission.

with no outlet in satoru, you find yourself sobbing alone or with shoko. she knows how satoru is, just as well as you, having been his classmate and friend for ten years. that’s why you should’ve expected this.

when she picks up the phone, you speak immediately. “shoko, i’m sad again, don’t tell my boyfriend… it’s not what he’s made for.” you hear shuffling on the other line and protests from her before a familiar voice rings in your ear. “y/n, it is what i’m made for. now, come home, we need to talk.” then, the line clicks.

you feel your heart break, he doesn’t think you trust him. he’s mad. he’s upset. he’s disgusted. the thoughts spiral as fat tears fall down your cheeks, opening the door.

there stands satoru, arms crossed and his lips pursed. the blindfold he usually wore was hung loosely around his neck, forcing you to look straight into his baby blues. the second your eyes meet his, your facade crumbles.

with a choked sob, you fall onto your knees, crumbling like sand. but you never hit the ground, strong arms slip under your arms and around your back. the side of your face pressed against his jujutsu-uniform jacket. his other arm slips under your knees as he picks you up as if you were the most fragile thing in the world, kicking the door closed.

satoru sits on the couch, your legs draped over his lap as he holds your so tenderly. a part of you feels guilty and stupid for thinking that he would ever be disgusted with you. you had never seen satoru gojo handle anyone with this much care, touch feather-light with the strength of love.

“why haven’t you told me you felt this way, do you not trust me..?” his words come out in a whisper, voice shaking ever so slightly. at that moment, you feel like the worst person in the world for making him think that. your hands cup his face as you look towards him with your teary eyes, desperately shaking your head.

“satoru, no, i trust you so much, more than anyone-”

“then why?”

your words catch in your throat, shame burning and pooling in your gut as you decide whether or not to tell him that it was because of some silly face he made years ago. worry surges again before being dissipated by his forehead pressing against yours.

a deep breath in, then you speak. “i didn’t want you to think i was weak…” in that instant you see his face soften, likely connecting the dots himself. 

he’s gentle as he presses your face into the crook of his neck, arms winding around your back. his words come out faintly against your ear, breath lightly tickling your skin. “i’m sorry i made you feel that way, you’re not weak. you’re strong, much stronger than me in this regard.” he feels you smile against his skin and he chuckles, rocking side to side with you in his arms as if nothing else in this world mattered more.

you can’t help but feel like a fool for ever thinking that satoru gojo would look upon you with disgust for anything: especially not for some tears. not when he looks at you like you’re the world when you do any little thing. not when he whispers such sweet nothings to you at any opportunity. not when he holds you so desperately close when there is any sort of chance.

you can’t help but be forced to realize the strength in which satoru gojo loves. the love that is exclusive to you and you alone.

okkotsuus 23

[aajjks]

🥺 my babies are reunited. i don’t like it when they’re apart

mommy issues!JK

“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!” screams your frightened mother as she watches jungkook rummage through her home. “she’s not even here, you madman! i will call the cops on all of you. i will SUE yo—,” she’s then interrupted by chris who shoves his handgun in her voice before saying “shut the fuck up before i blow your fucking head off”

“HEY! watch how you talk to my wife!”

“shut it, old man because after he’s done with jicheol. you’re next” says mingyu while eunwoo holds his gun at a terrified soo-min.

you hear loud commotion coming from the living room but you can’t make out whose voice is whose. next thing you hear is two gunshots and what sounds like jicheol’s groans. you gasp, ‘could it be..?’ you think to yourself.

“YN BABY! WHERE ARE YOU? YN ITS ME JUNGKOOK SWEETHEART PLEASE PLEASE COME TO ME!”

your eyes fill to the brim with tears. “it really is you” you cry. “i’m over here, jungkook. i’m right here” even though your voice is hoarse from the beating you received from jicheol, you’re hoping jungkook can hear you. when his footsteps get close, your heart begins to race to the point that you can’t breathe and when the door comes down, you’re a crying mess.

“YN BABY- o-oh my God!!! BABY!!!”

“j-jungkook. you-you really came for me. i’m…i’m so sorry. this is all my fault. i-i deserved this. i shouldn’t have left you. i should’ve stayed—i’m so sorry. i missed you so much. i thought *sniffle* i thought you hated me. i love you so much, jungkook. i won’t leave you ever again”

despite the pain you’re in, you’re so happy to see those familiar eyes. you know he’s shocked to see you like this—all battered and bruised but you don’t care. you’re reunited with your lover. he didn’t have to come all this way to get you. he could’ve found someone better and lived happily ever after yet he chose you.

you pull jungkook into a tight hug and cry into his shoulder repeating how sorry you are over and over. you both are an emotional mess. there’s no telling what could have happened to you if he hadn’t came. in such a short time, he’s already hurt you. jungkook gently traces the cuts and bruises on your face; these bruises are fresh. jungkook notices how you wince from just the slightest squeeze to your body and with your consent, he lifts your shirt to see more bruises along your abdomen.

“he broke my left leg but i can try and walk” you say after jungkook asks what’s happened to your leg. “are we…are we still together? i understand if you want to break up but i was just being stupid and-and selfish. i’m such a selfish piece of shit and—,”

~🫧

You’re rambling, he loves you so so much,

Jungkook can’t hear a word you’re saying as soon as he gently grabs your face and pulls you in for a deep kiss.

He holds you tightly in his arms as he kisses you, it’s been so long- it feels like that but it’s been barely two days.

You kiss him back with equal fervor and jungkooks hands are protectively wrapped around you as you both share a passionate kiss.

You must’ve endured so much pain, as you cry into the kiss jungkook feels like he’s being choked. Reluctantly he breaks the kiss and holds your face in his hands tenderly.

“Baby we are anyways going to be together. I promise- you had a right to leave me… I’m not mad at all.” He kisses your face.

“No don’t walk yn… I’ll carry you to the car and Sargent Jung Hoseok should be here soon to arrest your psycho ex.”

Jungkook gently gets up before scooping you into his arms bridal style. “Shhh let’s just go home I’ll buy you everything new.” With you in his arms he leaves your room.

And all the attention is on you, even though your parents try to protest, and as jungkook tries to get out of the house with you,

ji-cheol grabs jungkooks leg, “NO YOU CANT TAKE HER AWAY SHES MINE! YN YOU BITCH I WILL FIND YOU! I WILL KILL YOU!” He screams before yugyeom comes to both of your rescue and kicks Ji-Cheol straight on the face, making his grip on jungkook loosen.

“Take her away JK, we got him.” Eunwoo assures, smiling his gun at Ji-Cheol.

Jungkook stops for a moment, “yn I’ll take this ring off okay?” As you give him consent, Jungkook takes it off your finger and throws it on the ground.

Jungkook hurriedly gets out of your hell house and he walks straight to his car- Nara was swapped with the boys in the other car so it’s just gonna be you, him and eunwoo.

“Sit comfortably okay?” He kisses your forehead as he unlocks the car with his keys, Jungkook sets you down on the floor before he opens the gate for you.

As he makes sure that you’re safe in the car, “yn stay here I have some unfinished business I need to take care of..” he locks it,

Just as he’s done he spots the police car approaching.

“HYUNG!!!!”

[bobo-archive2]

I Want Help (but how?)

Summary: Raine wakes up after a nightmare and is reminded that their hair is too long once again.

Rated T, 984 words

This is pretty much written just to establish that Raine has a therapist in that au I won’t shut up about

-

A moist feeling lingers in their body as soon as they wake up.

Raine should’ve been used to these nightmares, but every time they occurred they were always deeply unnerved by them.

They sat up, grabbing their glasses, and placing them on. They got a quick glance at the woman sleeping beside them. Their partner, Eda. She was fast asleep, it would be best not to wake her up.

Just like every other witch, Raine knew it was okay to ask for help. Yet when it came to things like this… they always felt so stunned. Trapped.

A hurt pangs them, and they remember what bothered them. Every memory. From the threats of being drugged to having their body taken over by that sickly, horrific slime. Mutilation that nearly occurred inside themself. Something they wished they could’ve not been present for.

They stand up, brushing the hair off the back of their neck. Something about it refused to leave them alone. It was bothering them to no avail.

Raine went to the bathroom and entered it, closing the door softly behind them. They stood in front of the counter, staring at their slightly too long hair. Disgusting. That’s what they tell themself.

How pathetic it is, for them to stand here, nearly crying over the fact that their hair was just a little too long? It was stupid of them. They had been through so much, gotten through so much, and they were still crying over things like this. A tear falls down their face as they grip the edges of the counter tightly.

I am strong.

They summon a pair of scissors.

I will not let this bother me.

They held the scissors up toward their hair, threatening to snip.

I will not.

A snip is heard.

Let him.

Mint locks fall around them.

Stay in control of ME.

But it’s no use. They gag on their sobs as they scream at the mirror, desperately trying to fix the nauseating feeling inside them. Why would this never work?! That stupid hair of theirs would always grow back and every Titan forsaken time they felt worse!

“Raine?”

They try to ignore the knock on the door.

“Raine, what’s wrong? Are you okay in there?”

They have to get something right. They’re Raine Whispers. One of the strongest witches, according to most people who knew them. And especially according to Eda. They couldn’t fail her like this.

“I can hear you… please answer me. Are you safe?”

“G-Go away!” Their voice shrill as it protests her.

Stupid. Failure. Weak. The voices bounce all around their head as they lean forward above the sink. Their head begins to pound. They want the tears to stop. It was wet. Raine hates feeling wet. It always reminds them of the moisture of his slimy… oozy… guts…

They don’t notice Eda opening the door to the bathroom. They’re standing over the counter still, desperately wiping their face with a towel to banish the feeling.

“Raine! Titan, give me those-” She grabs the scissors from their hands. That made them return to reality and whirl toward her.

“E-Eda!” They hold their hands up as the towel drops to the floor, “What…”

“What happened? What were you using these for?!” She asked them. They opened their mouth, trying to speak calmly but…

“I-I… I had a nightmare and I just…” They lean their side onto the counter, “Eda… I don’t… I-I…”

“Shh…” Eda holds her hands up, “Is it okay if I touch you?”

“I…” Raine thinks for a moment before shaking their head, “I’m sorry…”

“It’s okay,” She tells them, “It’s perfectly okay if you’re not okay… you can tell me what’s wrong, I’ll listen.”

“But you’ll… you’ll see me as weak or…” Raine leans down and picks the towel back up, going to bury their face in it, “Or pathetic.”

“Raine Whispers!” Eda gasps, “I will never see you as any of those things. You are the strongest witch I know! You shouldn’t be scared of showing this side… I’m going to be right here no matter what, love.”

Raine hesitates, but finally takes a deep breath and begins, “It’s just… I can’t stand my hair even touching my neck anymore… I-I don’t… I want to be strong but every single time small things… like this happen…” Raine bursts back into tears.

“Raine…”

“And every t-time I cry I hate it! It’s wet and… I just hate feeling wet… it reminds me of him…” They clutch the towel closer to their chest, “I can’t even get a good night’s sleep when just something is slightly wrong. Too sweaty? I’m thinking of him. Too long of hair? I can’t control anything. Bad day? Another nightmare to haunt me. It’s been two years, why does this all still have to bother me?!”

“... Have you told this to anyone?” Eda asks them. Raine shakes their head.

“I don’t… I want to ask for help I just…” There’s hesitation in their voice, “I’m scared.”

“Then how about one step at a time,” She holds the scissors, “... do you feel comfortable telling me things?”

“I-I’m not sure…” Raine admits, “I’m sorry, I wish I could, it’s just-”

“Raine, don’t worry,” Eda assures them, “How about… maybe a therapist?”

Raine is quiet as they contemplate.

“Huh… m-maybe…” Raine considers it. They stand silent for a while, thinking about Eda’s suggestion as she awaits a clearer answer.

“Would that be a good place to start?” She asks.

“... I guess it’s worth a try.” They say. Eda smiles softly at them and nods.

“Okay,” She gestures to the scissors, still in her hand, “Would you like me to fix your hair up?”

“That would be fantastic.” Raine places the towel on the counter, “I think… this can be a good start.”

“A good start indeed.”

“Mhm.”

[jay-is-not-alwright-at-writing]

Woah, I totally didn’t mean to disappear for six months?? Sorry! Anyways, enjoy something not Marble Hornets for once, lol. Also posted on my AO3! I’ll start posting there more at some point in time, probably.

・・・・★・・・・★ ・・・・ ★・・・・

“Gasping, but somehow still alive, this is the fierce last stand of all I am.”

Her breath is ragged in her ears, the agitating sound making a concerning wet rumble reverberate in her lungs, reminding her too closely of a death rattle. Every ache and sting of pain across her body thrums in rhythm with the thundering of her heart.

It’s quiet, it’s so quiet and the soldiers who she’d spat at had taken Steve instead of her.

Like this was her true punishment. Isolation. Forced to wait for her fear to consume her.

Then her ringing ears pick up the faintest of sounds.

A shout, a yelp. Dead silence.

Robin was certain that sound had been Steve, god knows what was happening to him or how far away he was.

And then the screaming started.

It was nothing like she had ever heard before, not from a movie, not from another person, and never from Steve.

It was so loud and visceral, it sounded less like a human and more like a caged, cornered animal being beaten.

The sound was so sharp and sudden it made Robin jump, breath catching in her throat as her eyes lock onto the steel door keeping her trapped in the cold, metal room.

That was Steve. Steve was screaming like a fearful, pleading animal. Robin couldn’t even begin to imagine what was happening to him, every fleeting thought worse than the last.

They weren’t just torturing him, they were killing him.

They were killing Steve and making her listen.

She was getting Steve killed.

Blinking away her tears, Robin sniffles, shutting her eyes so tightly that swirls of color dance across her eyelids.

She can’t block out the sounds flooding into the room so loudly it sounds like Steve could be right next to her, pleading and screaming in pain.

She should’ve known better than to play tough in the face of actual sadistic psychopaths. Because now Steve was paying the price with his life and she couldn’t even get to the door because her arms were still bound behind her back and everything felt like a one big bruise.

”ROBIN!”

Robin’s neck pops audibly with the force of her head twisting at lightning fast speeds, stunned as reality crashed into her. Had Steve just-

Steve was shouting her name, pleading for her help and she swore her heart stopped as irritating, hot tears rolled down her cheeks.

This was all her fault and Steve was screaming for her and she couldn’t save him, let alone save herself.

Robin shouted as loud as she could, whether to let Steve know she was there, or to try and draw away those monsters from Steve, she wasn’t sure, but she screamed back for what felt like hours, voice cracking and wavering as she openly begged to whatever person may be listening to stop hurting him, to take her instead, please, just stop hurting him, kill her, beat her, she’d do anything.

Just don’t take her only friend away.

She’s in the middle of pleading with unseen forces when the next terrifying sound rings out, making her shrink back.

Something heavy and blunt cracking bone and smacking against skin, Steve’s cries of pain and exhausted screams.

What the hell were they doing to him? If they wanted answers they could’ve gotten them hours ago, but Robin couldn’t think beyond the sound of snapping bone and Steve’s sharp yelps that join the symphony of migraine-inducing chaos bouncing through Robin’s skull.

“STEVE! STEVE!” She swears she can’t get any louder and her throat stings in protest, wrists and ankles burning and wet with blood from constantly yanking against the binds holding her in this stupid chair, keeping her in this stupid, horrible room.

The door unlatches with a great push of the metal and it stuns Robin into complete silence for just a moment.

But then Steve is crumpling to the ground like a puppet without his strings, right in front of her, and the fear and rage ignite within her tenfold. “What did you do to him?! What did you do!?”

The old man from before, the one who had called her a сука, doesn’t answer her, merely stares at her like he knows something she doesn’t and it makes her body go cold.

Her gaze flicks to Steve again and she wants so desperately for Steve to do something, but he’s not moving, and it doesn’t dawn on her until the guards have already stepped towards her, ignoring Steve like he doesn’t even exist.

They undo the binds and she tries her best to fight, but her limbs are heavy and numb from lack of circulation and the men carry her with bruising grips.

Steve still doesn’t move and as the men carry her out of the room, that’s when she finally notices.

Steve’s Scoops outfit and face are grotesquely drenched in blood, hair clumped and matted with clots of crimson, he’s hardly recognizable.

Steve isn’t breathing.

Robin screams.

- - -

Her welcome back into consciousness isn’t exactly quiet or peaceful, it’s jarring and disorienting, with Robin’s body jumping up from her place on the spare mattress in a flurry of movement.

It’s so dark and she can’t tell what’s going on. Where’s Steve? Where is she?

She’s dead. Steve is dead. Her chest heaves as her eyes take too long in adjusting to the darkness, she knocks into something hard that digs into her back and it bangs against the wall like a steel rebar cracking bone and she shrieks in panic.

Robin doesn’t hear the mumbled question coming from Steve’s bed over the overwhelming smell of blood flooding the room, the feel of phantom pain squeezing her body as she trips over the mattress laying on the floor, painfully slamming into the ground with a gasp.

Steve is up and moving seconds after, concern and urgency in every movement, but she doesn’t notice him, scooting as far back as she can until she’s flush against the wall, eyes blown wide with her hands clutching her head; a desperate mutter of Steve’s name between heaving breaths as she cries.

“Hey, Robin, hey, breathe. Can you look at me? It’s Steve, I’m right here, it’s okay.”

The sound of his voice is jarring. His soft, calm tone blends with the sounds of him screaming and begging for her help and Robin can’t discern what is real anymore.

She just saw Steve’s dead body, but that couldn’t have been him because Steve is right in front of her, clean and injury free and crouching in front of her.

They haven’t worked at Scoops Ahoy in well over a year because Scoops and Starcourt burned to the ground after they battled a creature straight from Hell. But she just saw him-

Does it matter anymore? If she’s dead and he’s dead, what does reality even mean?

She can’t get enough air into her lungs, her eyes water and it feels like Steve is slipping away, and she wants nothing more than to latch onto him; scream, kick and bite to ensure that nobody is going to hurt him anymore. Steve is her friend, her best friend and he will not be hurt ever again as long as she is able to fight.

But none of that happens, and she doesn’t realize that it’s her who is slipping, tilting to the side, ragged breaths becoming choking gasps as her eyes roll back into her head and her body shakes without her control.

Everything goes blank as her headache reaches a crescendo.

- - -

Feeling herself once again coming back from the black nothingness isn’t awful, but it does confuse her when she can hear Steve frantically trying to get her attention. She groans to see if that will shut him up, a horrific migraine ripping through her skull.

Steve, in fact, did not shut up, instead, he got louder; desperate.

Robin can’t even scowl because every action sends a stab of agony through her brain and suddenly her stomach is doing flips and everything becomes too much, gagging and fighting her own reflex as she pukes. Robin hardly registered the feeling of cold wood pressed against her cheek.

She is on the floor. She’s laying on her side, a puddle of vomit so close to her face the acidic smell was making her nauseous all over again.

What the hell was going on.

She’s not quite sure whether she was dozing off or things had finally started to go quiet, when there is a distinct, loud thud of something smacking the hardwood floor.

Her heartbeat picks up so quickly, it feels like a hummingbird is darting around her chest, and it jumpstarts her back into semi-awareness in the worst possible way.

She barely notices that she’s been lifted up from the recovery position on the floor, coddled in Steve’s arms like a little sister being consoled by her brother after a nightmare.

Which, isn’t that what this is?

Her heart pounds so hard in her chest it feels like the beats are skipping, but she’s not experiencing heart failure so she isn’t sure if she’s dying, she’s not sure of much anymore.

Slowly, feeling comes back to her in disjointed pieces, like the computer she and Steve have to boot up for ten minutes every time they clock into work.

Steve holds her, sounding just below complete panic mode, hand simply resting on her head while he gently, slowly rocks her as though she’s a fussy toddler who needed to be quieted during nap time.

Or, no. No, Steve wants to comfort her, he doesn’t mind if she’s acting like a helpless child, he’s here to help because that’s what friends do. They comfort and console and even slowly rock their friends to get them to see the danger and fear has passed.

Her thoughts are too fast for her physical body and when she tries to speak it comes out rough and slow. “D’ngus?”

The slow, rhythmic movement doesn’t stop but Robin can feel Steve’s chest expand and then fall as he sighs with relief.

“Hey Rob. You’re alright. You kind of scared me, there,“

Steve pauses, going quiet, as he looks down at her and watches her for something she can’t currently grasp. “Are you feeling better?”

How is she feeling? She’s mostly confused, so she tells him as much.

Steve gives a tight, delirious breath of laughter and he’s looking at her like she’s the most terrifying and amazing thing in the world.

“We’re at my place, you had a nightmare, you freaked and then had a seizure. It was scary. But you’re okay. I’m okay, too.”

A seizure? She doesn’t remember that. She remembered bits of the reality-bending night terror she experienced. She remembers being terrified of the darkness swallowing her whole, but now, held close to Steve, Robin can piece things together a bit more clearly.

Steve’s room isn’t so dark now, he must have flipped on his lamp light at some point without Robin’s notice. She can see that his heavy wooden dresser is slightly askew, his bed a rumpled mess of sheets and blankets like he carelessly kicked away the covers in his haste to get to her.

They’re sitting on the mattress Robin had tripped over, the energy from adrenaline and fear seeping away as Robin stays as still as possible, listening to the thump of Steve’s heart, which is strong and comforting, a reminder that Steve really is okay.

She doesn’t feel okay, though.

Robin knows Steve is willing to let her stay, silent and curled in his hold, as long as she needs. But she also knows Steve must have a good amount of questions that he’s holding back. So, as much as she enjoys the tranquil nothingness of safety and calm, Robin collects her thoughts.

“I dreamt, I thought-“ it’s hard to articulate exactly what she wants to say. How could she say that? ‘I heard you get beaten to death’? ‘I saw your body as I was dragged to my own demise’?

How could she ever admit that she’s terrified she’s never going to be able to protect him. That seemed so stupid.

Now who's the dingus, Buckley?

Steve runs a hand up and down her arm, the touch making her want to cringe away and yet cling to Steve all the tighter.

“Breathe, Robin, it’s okay, you’re safe; I’m here.” Steve gently reminds her, sounding so put together and assured in their safety it makes a pathetic sob rise from Robin’s throat as a shiver runs through her.

“It felt so real,” she breathes, like if she says it any louder their sense of safety will break and they’ll be right back in the thralls of danger. Steve just nods in understanding and waits to see if she continues.

“We were with those men. The Russians.” The old general’s face flashes in her mind the clearest and she burrows her face into the crook of Steve’s shoulder, inhaling the scent of his laundry detergent to ground herself.

Steve runs his hand through her hair for a moment before letting it fall back on the middle of her back, a reminder of his presence.

“I pissed them off, spat in one of the guys’ faces, but instead of taking me they took you, dragged you out and I was all alone.” Robin’s voice breaks as she tries to get her breathing under control, blinking back stinging tears and fingers clenching the soft fabric of Steve’s shirt.

Robin keeps her face hidden in Steve’s shoulder, voice dropping to a disbelieving, shell-shocked whisper. “They killed you. I got you killed and you were screaming and I couldn’t do anything and-“

Robin’s fragile composure collapses in a fresh wave of tears, hitching sobs racking her entire body as she wails I’m sorry through every stuttering inhale.

A soft hum has Robin quieting, shivering breath heavy and loud in the otherwise silent room. Steve rubs circles into Robin’s back that stitches her together and makes her fall apart all over again.

She never thought Steve Harrington would be a shoulder to cry on, an angel on Earth. She feels as though she doesn’t deserve this.

“It never would’ve been your fault. The situation was out of our control and there wasn’t much we could’ve done on our own. Besides, I’m still here, we’re both safe and you’re not alone, Rob. We got out, and we’re both here, alright? I’m not mad, but you scared me, Buckley. I hate seeing you scared, I hate seeing you in pain, you don’t ever deserve it.”

The doubts and fear and steadfast self-hatred scream at her and refuse to let go, but still Robin finds a weak smile upturning her lips as a sobbing laugh tumbles out, cramping fingers yanking at his shirt as she ponders just why Steve stays by her side; why he’s chosen her to have for a best friend, how they ended up clutching each other close on a spare mattress on the floor of Steve’s room, even after the screams of I killed you linger in the air like a shadow; a horrific thought verbalized.

Robin knows, as if it’s etched into her bones, that Steve could never hate her, never hurt her, never abandon her for things out of her control.

Steve could get angry; he could swear and punch and tackle, consumed by the heat of the moment, but Steve never was one to hurt, not truly. Anger always seemed awkward on him, like too small shoes that would press and rub against the Achilles tendon and make your toes cramp after awhile.

But Steve would never turn it on someone he cares about. He’d fume in frustration, maybe, but Steve swore he would do everything in his power to help and not harm.

How gently, how carefully he holds her, tells her that she’s right. She may not be deserving of his worry or his everlasting, calming presence, but Steve assures her, time and time again, that he’s not going anywhere.

He would stay right beside her as they traverse through places known intimately only to beings high above and far below.

“I have this constant nightmare about the time we T-boned Billy’s car to save Nancy, John and the kids. The swerve was… so violent, the sound of rubber screeching like the gates of Hell opening,” Steve slightly leans away from Robin, voice quiet and gaze far off, like he’s reliving an experience that never happened but still left it’s scars.

“I’d turn to you and you’d be there, sitting in the passenger seat, your tangled hair falling into your eyes, body slumped and kept up by the seat belt.”

“I’d replay the moment in my head, until I could process the sound of your screams going silent with a snap. Blood would splatter the window. Your head would flop without the muscles to hold it up.” Steve cuts himself off, slowly pulling his hand away from Robin’s back to run his fingers through his sleep-tousled hair.

Before Robin can speak, Steve continues.

Robin listens.

“When we spun, the force would make your head slam into the window and your neck would break under the whiplash. I don’t know why that is the moment that stands out clearest when having nightmares about then, but it tears me apart no matter how many times I have it.”

He relays it to her like it’s something he’d experienced so often that he's had time to mull over every detail and process it as a part of his messed up, broken psyche.

Robin pulls herself from Steve completely, eyebrows furrowed as she studies him. “Steve…”

Taking a breath, Steve looks at Robin with a sheepish smile.

“My point is, you’re not the only one facing nightmares and scary fake-memory shit about back then. We’re all messed up, some more than others, but the important thing is to know we don’t have to keep it all bottled up.”

Steve slightly shifts to take Robin by the shoulders, keeping her gaze with a soft look. “You can talk to me whenever you need someone to lean on; Joyce would welcome you with open arms, even emotionally constipated Hopper is good for advice when you get him to open up.”

Robin drops her gaze, not being able to handle looking Steve in the eye while she works out what Steve is telling her.

“You’ve… talked to them? About… all that?”

“Yeah. It’s… difficult, I’ll be honest, but it’s helped to know I don’t have to shoulder it alone. You don’t have to, either.”

Robin can’t help but give a mirthless breath of a laugh and shake off Steve’s touch. “Since when did you become an all-knowing therapist?”

“That’s not what I’m trying to say, Rob. I’m just saying what we’ve been through is really fucking terrifying and isolating, but you shouldn’t have to feel like you have to keep this from me; from any of us.”

The energy drains out of Robin with a choked sigh, as she slumps against Steve and places her forehead to his shoulder with a halfhearted shrug.

“Well, it’s not like we can ever tell anyone outside of our traumatized little band.”

Steve’s fingers quickly find their way back to her messy hair, as he gives a shrug back in return.

“No, maybe not, but I don’t think anyone else would ever really get it, anyways. Out of everyone I could’ve lived through these experiences with, I’m glad it was you. That way I know that no matter what’s going to happen, we’ll have each other, and we’ll have our friends to lean on and share this burden with.”

Robin smiles, slowly shaking her head, the texture of Steve’s shirt making her nose itch.

She takes a breath and lets it out slowly. “No, I guess not. You know what, Harrington? Maybe you’re not much of a dingus after all.”

Steve’s shoulders lightly bounce as he laughs. “Really? Wow, maybe we should have heart-to-heart conversations during the night more often.”

“Don’t push it, Dingus.”

“Okay.”

Even if they aren’t related by blood, by god does it seem as though they’re undoubtedly bound together by something untouchable by mankind, disconnected and imperceptible to everyone except for them and only them.

It’s woven securely in the milky twilight skies of the universe’s history, where they shall stay, truly and purely, soulmates.

As long as the stars burn and blaze, shining on to silently exist in the presence of others, basking them in light like unseen cosmic Gods, they will never cease to be, destined only to flick out when the universe beckons them to follow into the unknown night of nothing and witness the end of everything.

・・・・★・・・・★ ・・・・ ★・・・・

This work belongs to Jay-is-not-alwright-at-writing, if you have read or come across this outside of this Tumblr account or AO3 account that means it was stolen and reposted without my knowledge or consent. Please do not support apps or websites that repost without permission and/or illegally profit off of other people's work. ♡

・・・・★・・・・★ ・・・・ ★・・・・

[cythena]

nice guys never finish last

pairing: xiao x fem!reader

prompt: friend zoning xiao so bad that zhongli has to step in

cw/tw: dubcon, yandere, misogyny, virgin!reader, ooc xiao, reader also likes xiao kinda, 2k words, soft ending accidentally

“y/n,” xiao whispered into your neck. you placed your hands on his shoulders as his nose dragged against your jawline. he shifted his legs so he straddled your lap. his hard on rubbed against your exposed thigh.

“xiao,” you called him but he didn’t hear. he continued to thread his fingers into your hair. he pulled your body closer to his, enjoying the way your breasts were pushed against his chest. your head was slightly pulled back. you could only see his dyed teal hair moving around while he made his way up to your lips.

“xiao,” you tried again. he heard this time, he just ignored it. you sighed and pulled him back by the hair. his golden eyes narrowed at you.

“what?” he practically hissed.

you bit your lip. your eyes darted away from his. xiao’s grip on your hair slowly fell. he brushed your messy hair down.

“i don’t…want this. we can’t do this…xiao.”

he remembers that moment on the beach so vividly. he’ll never understand your reasoning. anyone would kill to be under him. he brought you to a private beach his father owns. it couldn’t have been the location, he took you into a cabana just for this. he paid for your bikini despite your protests. he knew you wanted it. then, he begins to feed into your desires. you get his attention, his money, and then he’ll fuck you stupid. that’s all you need so why did you turn him down?

he went to zhongli after dropping you off at home.

“she just said we can’t do it,” he complained as zhongli sat typing away at his computer. xiao played with some of the trinkets that decorated the desk of his office. he also looked at his phone where your instagram was open. there, he swiped over pictures of you and him together. the latest one was from this morning when you took a picture together on the beach chair. you pressed your cheek into his with a cute smile on your lips. he didn’t smile in the picture. he only looked at your face mirrored in the phone. anyone would’ve thought this was an adorable picture between a couple. and that’s what it should be.

“hm. surely your attempt should’ve been successful. do not worry, i will handle this," zhongli replied without looking up.

you sat in your room staring at the picture of you and xiao from that afternoon. he picked you up as a surprise and took you to lunch. then he told you about the beach. he always did this. but then he tried to sleep with you, was all his kindness just for that?

did he really care about you? you really did like him, but is that all he wanted from you? would he have left you if you let him? maybe it's best you just stay as friends to avoid that ever happening.

you shut your phone off and rested your head on your pillow. you wiped a tear you forgot to hold back. with one came another and eventually you just allowed them all to free fall onto your silk pillowcase. you were still in your clothes from the beach. you just threw a shirt over it, xiao's shirt.

you awoke an hour past noon to a text from zhongli. why would xiao's father need to speak to you? it had to do with last night. zhongli was the last person you wanted to talk to. you wanted xiao to call or text or even better—show up at your door like some romantic teen. you wanted him to apologize and tell you he really does have feelings for you. oh how you'd instantly forgive him, jump into his arms, then maybe you would give him what he asked for yesterday.

you finally opened your text from zhongli after minutes of staring at it.

zhongli: y/n, i wish to apologize for xiao's behavior from last night. if it would do you any good i invite you to lunch today. xiao would not be accompanying us. i understand if you are still disturbed by last night's events.

of course, it was an apology on xiao's behalf. maybe he wasn't even sorry and zhongli just felt bad for you. oh well. zhongli was always a sweet man, you might as well go out for lunch with him.

and so you found yourself inside his home office. he said he had some business affairs to attend to but he would be sure to finish them quickly. then you could head to lunch. he typed away at his computer as you waited patiently. you played with your hands and checked your phone sometimes.

"y/n," he called. his fingertips hovered above the keyboard.

you placed your phone on the table. "yes."

"forgive xiao's bluntness, it was taken the wrong way."

"hm? oh..." you couldn't think of what to say so zhongli continued,

"he's not used to situations resulting in the way they did last night and because it was with you this time, he's quite upset about this," he resumed typing. "i ask that you submit to him."

huh?

"and what is that supposed to mean?" you frowned. there's no way he invited you out just to convince you to sleep with his son.

zhongli paused again. he folded his arms and shifted his seat so he could face you. if there was one thing xiao and his adopted father shared, it was their glare. the way they narrowed their almost glowing eyes was intimidating.

"i believe i must be blunt with you as well. it's best you yield to xiao's desires. give my son what he asked for, it would be easier than him taking it."

you scoffed and grabbed your phone off the table preparing to walk out the door. "it sounds to me like xiao is so spoiled and all you do is enable him. xiao is 20, he can learn how to deal with a no sometimes."

"you misunderstand me y/n-"

"i think i understand pretty well. i'll find my own ride home," you spat.

you stood up. zhongli was quick. he snatched your wrist. he held your palm against the wood of his desk. his glare grew more threatening by the second. his grip tightened.

"i was not asking y/n. apologize to xiao and come see him this evening. i believe you're competent enough to understand that." when you didn't object—rather respond to him—he released your wrist. you snatched it back to your chest. "now then, i promised you lunch now where shall we go?"

you stared at your messages with xiao. regret and fear flooded your veins. you reread your message to him over and over again. you tried to make sense of the situation. you tried to figure out why you said what you said.

you: can i come over? i wanna talk

and of course, he agreed.

you waited for the chime of your doorbell to alert you that some driver he sent had arrived.

xiao's room was down the hall third to the right. first was zhongli's office, the second was a guest bathroom. across was a guest bedroom and zhongli's bedroom. you stared at the door, xiao told you to come in when you got there.

"open the door," he said from inside his room.

you did. he sat on the edge of his bed. you think about the number of times you've slept there because he insisted you not sleep in the guest room. the lights were always off but his curtains were open. the moon provided all the light he needed.

"you wanted to talk. sit."

you didn't ask questions, you just sat. you wanted to cry at that moment. maybe it was the overwhelming tension that hung in his room.

or maybe it was the way you barely got an apology out before xiao pushed you against the pillows. he leaned down, his hair tickled your cheek. his hand tugged your sweatpants down. you pushed at his chest.

"quit it," he snarled. "this is why you're here."

he's right. this is what you expected when you reached his door. still, you wished it wasn't happening. you wished he would gain his senses and stop. then you could talk. you just wanted to find out how he felt about you. were his desires completely lust based or did he harbor any romantic feelings towards you?

xiao's cock was soon pressing against your entrance, the tip leaking precum onto your slit. he reached out for your hand. his forearm moved underneath your neck.

"wait xiao!" you wailed as your legs tried to close but xiao's legs stopped them. he drew his gaze away from where you two would finally connect. he hated your attitude. you whined too much. why couldn't you just be good for him? he's done so much for you.

"what?"

"i'm...a virgin..." you whispered.

of course, you were, xiao made sure of it. he rolled his eyes let go of your hand. he took two fingers and swiped them up your slit. he brought them to his face. they glistened with your wetness. he scoffed before shoving them between your lips. "you're soaked, you'll be fine. yesterday i was in a better mood," he muttered. his fingers reached the back of your throat. you never noticed how long they were until he forced you to gag on them.

he bottomed out in one thrust, using brute force to push past your walls. his mouth hung open in a short pant. you wanted to scream but he shoved his fingers deeper. your vision blurred with tears from the pain. your teeth grazed his skin and you had to stop yourself from biting in fear of what he might do.

"you feel...so tight...fuck."

before you knew it, xiao settled on a rhythm to fuck you at. your ass felt bruised from his speed and force. maybe you just got used to it and it was you telling yourself it felt good. xiao could feel the vibrations of your soft moans on his fingers. a string of saliva connected your tongue to his fingertips when he removed them.

"i'm gonna cum," you slur as he licked a stripe up his own fingers. he used his thumb to quickly wipe your tears away. then, he dropped his hand to rub at your clit. you squealed out his name.

"who's making you cum this hard? who's the only one who ever will?"

you cried out his name again when you cum. he quickly found your hand again. both your hand and your cunt squeezed around him. his breath stuttered. "fuck," he gasped at how much tighter you got. the last thing you expected was for him to lean down and steal a kiss from your sobbing lips. his cocked twitched as his cum filled you. you cupped his cheek, enjoying the brief intimacy he gave you.

he pulled out slowly, wanting to relish the feeling of your cunt forever. he stared at your trembling form. the aftershocks of your orgasm were still present. you must've been freezing without him hovering over you. he wiped his hair from his forehead. now you could only cry, you tried to cover your face with your hands.

xiao sighed, it wasn't annoyed. it sounded content. he pulled your hands away from your wet cheeks. he laid down on the other pillow beside you and pulled his blanket over both of you. your sobs quieted down. there was only the occasional hiccup from your lips. xiao pulled your head into his neck. one hand stayed around your waist and the other moved to hold your head.

"i'm gonna marry you, i have to."

[divinegrey]

NEXT TO ME / vi x f!reader

POP ROCKS & PUNCHES, part 8

this chapter is nothing but softness and care. i hope you all enjoy <3

masterlist here

prompt: you and vi see each other alone for the first time, safe and sound. lines are crossed hand in hand, and the love in your chest bursts at the seams.

words: 3737

warnings: nsfw content, fluff and comfort

The bathroom is half the size of the bedroom, and that’s saying something.

“Spare no expenses, huh?” You comment, resting on the marble counter and looking at the massive mirror. The shower is big enough to fit four people at the minimum.

“You should’ve seen Cupcake’s bathroom. Bigger than our old room below the Last Drop,” Vi comments from inside the shower. Her silhouette is blurred with the frosted glass lined with gold in ornate designs, and you hear her muttering to herself before the water starts running. She’s shaking the water from her hand when she steps out. “Figured out the knobs. Too many of them, should just be cold water and hot water.”

“Pilties like to complicate things, we both know that,” you say. You make a move to take off your bra but find yourself completely unable to, your ribs protesting too much. A hiss slips out of your mouth.

“Let me get that for you,” Vi says. You turn around and she unsnaps the buckle from behind. In a moment of quiet reverence, Vi smooths her rough hands over the taut muscles on your back, pushing the straps off your shoulders. You can’t help the exhale that comes out of your mouth or the way your body just leans further into her touch.

Getting your pants off is less of a hassle, and soon, you’re standing bare-naked in the bathroom of the Kiramman estate. Vi’s eyes are glued to the ceiling when you turn around.

“I’ll be right here if—” her eyes glance down for a fraction of a second before going right back up. She clears her throat. “If you need me.”

With a nod, you lean forward and get on your tippy-toes to press a kiss on Vi’s cheek before walking stiffly toward the shower. The enclosed glass case is steamy and the water is the perfect temperature. As soon as the steady stream hits your back, it’s an instant relief. You can’t see much of the other side of the bathroom through the fogged-up glass, but you manage to make out Vi sitting on the counter.

You realize you should probably avoid getting your stitches any more damp than they already are, but that’s a tall order for someone who can barely move their left arm up.

“Hey, Vi?”

Vi hops down from the counter and walks over, practically running to the door of the shower. She opens it a crack. “Yeah?”

“I don’t want to fuck up my stitches, could you come in and help me?” You ask, taking a step away from the shower spray and holding your arm at an angle to shield the wound from any water. You see the single eye visible through the shower door crack widen.

“Like, inside the shower? With you?”

“Yes,” you say, and Vi just opens the door and moves to step in, keeping her eyes up, but you stop her with a click of your tongue. “For fuck’s sake, take your clothes off, Vi, it’s okay. Nothing’s changed, I promise.”

With that, Vi moves away, pulling her clothes off behind the frosted glass. You wait the few minutes that she needs. When she steps in, you reach your hand out to her. She slides her fingers into yours, squeezing it for reassurance that you happily provide. You take in the slight tremor starting in her knuckles, the instinct to curl her fingers into a fist overwhelming clear.

She’s just as dirty as you are. You say nothing as you turn Vi into the water, the crystal liquid running over her skin. The tension leading her shoulders to practically be raised to ears begins to ease, her eyes shut. Her eyelashes are so long, you think, running your thumbs over her eyebrows to smooth out the hairs.

Her hand finds purchase on your hip. A constant tether to you. Always.

“You’ve got so much dirt on your face,” you say quietly. “Open your eyes, please?”

She looks at you, and her eyes are simply so beautiful underneath the warm lighting of the shower, paired with the rivulets of water caught in her eyelashes. The steel grey irises are gorgeous; you think she’d hate to have that word be used on her, but it’s nothing short of the truth.

“There you are,” you whisper. “I never did get the time to say how handsome you are, Vi.”

“I look like a mess.”

“That’s your whole thing. You look good when you’re messy. Back then and even now,” you joke, grabbing the bar of soap off a small shelf. You hold it out to her. “Now, mind helping me out?”

Vi takes the bar of soap and you spot the upward curl at the corners of her lips. You turn around to let her start washing your back. She’s careful in where she touches but does an excellent job of rubbing out any knots in your back when she finds them. You don’t really realize it until the moment it happens, but she’s close, her front to your back and if you close your eyes and pay attention, you feel the muscles in her chest flexing with her arms moving.

You tilt your head back, letting it rest on her shoulder. Vi’s hands skate around your hips with an unforeseen reverence that makes your entire body feel not only warm but tingly all over. Her fingers stop just short of the bullet hole scar on your stomach above your hip bone, but you bring your hand so her palm seals over it. You turn your head just enough to start laying open-mouthed kisses on her jawline. A part of you says slow down, you haven’t even discussed this yet and the other says make up for every second of lost time you didn’t get.

“Rocky…” Vi inhales sharply, her hands making a soap trail over your stomach (though she’s diligently avoiding the stitches). Your stomach tightens— not because you made it, but because that tingly feeling is getting stronger and hell, you’ve hooked up with people before, but even the best moments of those have never felt like this.

“I’m here,” you say. “I’m here.”

“You’re beautiful,” Vi says. Her fingers, long and calloused, run up your sternum. “Rocky, fuck, you’re so gorgeous. I was so fucking scared that I lost you.”

“You won’t lose me,” you say, pushing yourself back into Vi further. “You have me.”

“Promise?”

You turn around, putting your hands on Vi’s shoulders to stabilize yourself. She puts her forehead to yours and you whisper into her wet lips, “I promise.”

That seems to seal the deal for her. She makes the first move, surprising you pleasantly when she puts her lips onto yours and cradles the back of your head with her hand. Her entire body runs hot like a furnace, hotter than the water running down her back. You trail your hand up her spine, delighting in the soft noises of her response into your mouth. You haven’t realized it until now, but the thickness of the muscle covering her entire body just gives you so much more to hold onto.

Vi backs you into the glass, one hand on the wall. You almost pass out when she does a full-body roll into your body, your back flattening against the steamy glass. She gets curious; her mouth opens, her tongue wet as you mirror her actions. For all her bravado, Vi fumbles. That’s expected. Nobody’s good at kissing right off the bat.

Though unfortunately, you’re painfully aware of the stitches on your ribs.

“We have time for this later,” you say. You don’t fail to notice Vi’s heavy breathing into your mouth. “Let’s finish cleaning up and rebandaging my stitches, okay?”

“If this was some part of—” Vi inhales sharply, looking down between you two for a moment. “Of a plan to get me in the shower, then it fucking worked.”

“Maybe. You smelled horrible.”

“Asshole,” Vi mutters, leaning down to pick up the bar of soap she’d conveniently dropped. You’re tempted to make a joke about prison and soap bars, but it dies out on your mouth when you get an eyeful of her ass. Delightful.

The two of you manage not to get into any more mischief in the shower— god knows you’ve already wasted enough hot water— and towel up with towels softer than any other you’ve ever used in your entire life. You weigh stealing one as a blanket, but that probably isn’t the best choice, considering Mr. Kiramman did patch you up.

Vi is picking at her nails when you come out of the bathroom.

“Help me out?” You ask, wiggling a bandage in your hand. Vi shifts to the edge of the bed, looking far more comfortable than she had before in a simple white tank top and a pair of boyshorts that do well to accentuate the strength of her thighs. You push up the hem of your shirt, allowing Vi the access needed to smooth the adhesive over the dried and cleaned stitches. She does so, then unexpectedly lays a kiss over the wounded skin.

The gasp comes out of your mouth strangled. Vi looks up at you as a starving man would at the altar of his god. It feels so incredibly personal and intimate that you merely put your hands on her face, brushing her damp, combed hair out of her eyes so you can behold her in all of her glory. You would be lying if you said you weren’t obsessed with the width of her shoulders, the dark ink lines put into her skin making the cuts and curves of her muscle much more defined.

You put your hands on those shoulders, digging your thumb into the thick trapezius muscles. Vi’s mouth, previously paying respects to your stomach, lets out a deep noise from the back of her throat as she pulls you closer to her.

This softness is not unseen from her.

You remember times from your youth when you’d be the one pressing a rag to her bleeding brow or wiping the blood from her nose and cheeks after the fights she would get herself into. If anyone else tried, she’d push them away, grumbling that she’d do it herself. She’d never complain when you did it, though. Vi was always more prone to getting herself hurt than you were, but you always let her be the one to patch you up when you nicked yourself putting together tech.

It’s always been like that.

She looks at you the same way she looked at you then.

“What’re you thinking about, Vi?” you ask softly, gliding your thumb over her lips.

“I want you.”

At those three words, you pause. She’s holding you so tightly but so delicately, like you’re made of fragile glass. But in those steel grey irises, you see it. That want that she said is clear as day, despite the moonlight filtering through the open window. There’s a silvery glow about her.

“Vi… we have time, we don’t need to rush everything into one night,” you say, but you won’t deny it, the thought of Vi having her hands on you for more explicit purposes is creating a warm feeling in the bottom of your stomach. She already has her hands on your skin and is leaving goosebumps wherever her palms go.

“I—” Vi swallows.

“Take your time. We have time, Vi.”

“But what if we don’t?” Vi says sharply. Her words are stuttered. “What if— what if what happens tomorrow causes us to split again and— I can’t handle seeing you go again, Rocky, it hurt enough on the bridge, I just can’t—”

She puts her forehead on your sternum. Already, you know what you need to say.

“It hurt me too, Vi, but we have each other now.” You stroke her hair, brushing it back the way she used to do when you were teenagers, only now, her face is so much more sculpted and sharp than before. There are no more soft features; it’s rough and razor-sharp at every turn. You suppose you’re the same way. Living in the Undercity will do that. “If you want me, you can have me, Vi.”

“I want you,” Vi repeats, but it’s softer. Less needy.

“Lay back,” you tell her. Vi pushes herself onto the bed, following your instructions to the letter. You push your shirt back down and move beside her. You rest your head on your elbow. The energy is palpable within the air, something has shifted to create the static zapping the air between you and Vi.

You lean over her and press a kiss to her lips. It’s tender. Loving. You give her a few minutes to decide.

You’ll wait as long as Vi wants.

“Fuck,” Vi whispers into your mouth as you bite down on her bottom lip gently. You pull away, brushing aside a strand from her face.

“What do you need?”

“I need to—” Vi cuts herself off, raising a hand to her hair. “When I was in prison, I was in a solitary confinement cell a lot of the time. Mostly because I started fights to get down there so I could have, you know, alone time. It’d help take the edge off.”

“Ah,” you hum, pursing your lips together. You glance at the door. “Do you need me to…?”

“No! No, no, I’m not asking you to leave, I’m asking you to— to stay, if… if you want,” Vi’s face turns redder than her hair.

“You want me to stay while you get off?”

“I mean, when you put it like that…”

“No, Vi, that’s—” you laugh. “That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard. I do it too, you know. Helps me get all the energy out.”

“You can do it too, if you need to,” Vi says, tapping her fingers idly on her stomach.

You shake your head. “Nah, I want to watch.”

It should be weird. You’ve known each other since you were kids. Yet, as you watch Vi take a few centering breaths, then slide her hand down past the waistband of her boyshorts, it doesn’t feel strange at all. In fact, it feels like you were put here by divine fate to witness this. She pulls her shirt up with a hiss, her hand moving slowly underneath the underwear and you see the exposed planes of her stomach. There’s hardly any fat on her bones, all pure muscle and nothing else.

You want to touch those abs, trace your fingers along the v-line so badly. You force your hands to yourself, even as your throat goes dry with the whimper that slips out of Vi’s mouth, her eyes shut tightly. She didn’t say anything against you talking, did she?

“You look so handsome,” you whisper. Vi gasps, putting her mouth into her elbow to muffle a moan. “Fuck, Vi, you look so good. You always have, I’ve liked you since we were teenagers doing stupid fucking shit all the time.”

She keens, her stomach clenching deliciously as her upper half bows forward for a slight second. The next moan out of her mouth comes with a whispered fuck followed by your name. The sound of it replays in your mind like a broken record; you never want it to stop.

“You’re doing so good for me,” you tell her. That prompts the best reaction out of her that you’ve seen tonight— her eyes fly open and her head snaps to you as she lets out the most broken moan you’ve heard in your life. You’re not blind to the wet noises you hear coming from her shorts. Hell, you wish you could feel her, but that’s not what she needs right now.

When you shift, you feel the wetness between your own thighs.

“C’mon, Vi,” you whisper. Your mouth waters at the sight of her body turning towards you by instinct, shuffling as close as possible without touching you. Her eyes are dark with lust and arousal and your stomach feels like a pit of lava, drinking in the sight of her. “You can do it, keep making yourself feel good, okay? You’re doing so well, look at you.”

“P— Please, fuck, please, Rocky.” Vi moves her free hand under her shirt, pushing it all the way up to her collarbones. You let your eyes drop to her breasts, unable to tear your gaze from the way she pulls and twists her nipples. God, if it were any more possible to get turned on, you’re sure you would’ve hit that point already.

Vi grabs onto your arm, so quick you didn’t even see it coming. Her grip is iron-tight, a vice on your wrist as her hand in her underwear works herself faster and faster. She turns her head into you, muffling whatever noises slip out of her mouth into your neck. You can just feel your eyes rolling into the back of your head with every passing whimper and moan. You allow yourself to indulge however briefly, sliding your hand into her hair to massage her scalp.

“It’s okay, you’re safe, you’re with me, I’m never letting you go,” you whisper to her. That’s the tipping point; Vi’s entire body locks up, her mouth opening against your neck and you hiss when her teeth clamp down into your skin, but it's the best way for her to silence the otherwise very noisy moan she would’ve made.

As you watch her come down from her high, your own need to come becomes overwhelmingly clear in your foggy mind. Vi slips her hand out from her shorts with a soft sound. You reach down and grab her by the wrist. She makes a humming noise at first before pulling away to see you slide those long digits inside of your mouth. Her fingers are sticky sweet, a hint of bitterness that you find fucking delicious. You want more of it.

“Shit,” Vi mutters.

You lay on your back, muttering a quick, “My turn.”

You keep one of your hands interlocked with Vi’s as you reach down to take care of yourself. It’s no question that you’re soaked all because of the woman lying next to you; her presence alone kicks the heat up a notch and you think that all those years spent writhing in your bed alone with no one else might’ve been worth it to have Vi with you at this moment. The tension in your body melts like molten iron, hot and malleable. You squeeze her hand, just to check that she’s actually there and not some figment of your imagination.

“You’re amazing,” Vi says with nothing short of pure awe in her words. You keen, your fingers sliding over your most tender spots. You feel fucking fantastic but god damn it, you need more. You take the hand of hers that you’ve been holding and bring it down to your stomach. “Rocky, what—”

You ask, “Can I use your hand?”

Vi breathes out, a smile coming to her face, “Fuck, yeah, just— use it.”

With that, you put your hand on top of hers, sliding it down, down, down until it touches the hem of your underwear. You withdraw your other hand, the digits slick and shiny. Vi’s holding her breath in her chest as you push her hand further in. Your free hand clenches the sheets underneath you when you feel the roughness of Vi’s long fingers on your core for the first time.

Somehow, this is more personal than anything else you could’ve done with her. You turn your head to take her in and she’s staring at you with so much love and adoration that it’s practically bursting from the seams. She doesn’t once try to take control of the situation and you thank her so much for it.

Because having her fingers sliding over your core and dipping inside is so much better than your own hand. Sure, you might be guiding her, but it’s all the same to you. Vi turns, pressing kisses to your jaw and moaning softly into the shell of your ear. She’s just as turned on as you are. When you press Vi’s finger further into your silken heat, stretching you out deliciously, Vi curls her finger and you let out a moan muffled only by her lips on your own.

No words are needed.

You and Vi have always known each other inside and out, a well-oiled machine functioning to the line of perfection, even now when you’ve crossed the line between friendship and into something more. Vi can have you any way she wants and you’d be perfectly okay with that. You’d be more than okay with that because you know you’d have Vi the same way.

When you come with her fingers inside of you and her palm hot on your skin, you don’t hold it back.

“I love you.”

Your orgasm comes smashing into you right after the words leave your mouth. Vi holds you through it, pulling you to her skin as your body shakes out every single last bit of pleasure traveling down your nerves like pure electricity. It feels like fireworks have gone off inside of you and this is a thousand times better than any orgasm you’ve had in your life.

“I love you too,” Vi whispers back.

You exhale shakily into her skin, joy at the forefront, but your exhaustion comes creeping onto you like a bag of bricks smashed into your head. Not exactly subtle. Gently, you extract Vi’s hand out of your core. You watch with hazy eyes and warm skin as Vi puts her fingers into her mouth and licks them clean, the very same way you had done to hers just moments earlier.

There’s no doubt. No hesitation. Nothing between you and Vi except skin and the memories of who you were when you were kids. You wonder what younger you would think if she could see you now, cuddling in bed with Vi. You’d like to think that she’d be happy.

You know you’re happy.

In the quiet of the room, with nothing but the moon to keep you company, you curl into Vi’s arms, running your fingers through her hair until the clutches of exhaustion take over and pull you into a dreamless sleep.

~~~~~

A/N: i love them so much im crying

[becca-e-barnes]

Take Care of Everything

This is my first ever fic for a writing challenge omg I’m so excited! Huge congratulations to @balenciagabucky for hitting 3K followers!! That’s such a huge milestone and thank you for organising such a fun challenge! So excited to read the rest of the submissions 💗 @dulceslibrary

Pairing: Personal Assistant! Bucky Barnes x Lawyer! Reader

Word Count: 3.5k maybe?

Summary: There’s only one thing in your life that your PA doesn’t take care of

Warnings: Smut, praise kink, pet names, protected sex (go me for writing something safe sex for a change), court mention, lil fluff, mile high club

Minors, do not interact.

“Un-fucking-believable.” You couldn’t stop the roaring boil of the blood in your veins, storming out of the court room with your long black gown billowing behind you. Being one of the top barristers in the country brought it’s fair share of high profile cases but this one had got on every last nerve in your body and you were out of patience.

The case itself wasn’t the problem. The issues were straightforward enough and applying law to fact, at the most basic level, your client had done nothing wrong. It should have been essentially cut and dry. The problem was the opposing council and the lack of intervention from the judge.

The prosecution had torn your witness to shreds. You had tried to warn the poor woman beforehand, as you did with every client, but on the stand, she had just crumbled under such an intense and downright ignorant line of questioning.

It shouldn’t have even been allowed in the first place. The judge should have stepped in and clipped the opposing council’s wings but the damage was already done and now you would have to pick the pieces up when court resumed on Monday.

“How did it go?” Your personal assistant must have been leaning outside the courtroom door for who knows how long, his suit somehow as neat and pristine as always, despite the fact it was the end of the day.

“Fucking dreadful, Terry was an asshole to Andrea and she lost it. Should’ve known he’d pull shit like that, he’s always a cunt on Friday evenings.” You practically spat the words out, heels clicking on the floor as you made your way down the marble hall to collect your things and begin to put an end to this miserable week.

Part of you almost wanted to laugh at how Bucky had developed the skill of being able to keep up with your pace without even having to look up from his blackberry. That only came from years of practice.

“Terry loves playing with fire. Fuck him. If anyone can put him in his place on Monday, it’s you.” Bucky still hadn’t taken a second to pull his nose up from his phone, his steps landing in perfect time with yours until you reached the chamber at the end of the hall, throwing the heavy wooden door open in front of you. Bucky filtered in behind you of course, closing the door behind him before slipping his phone neatly into his pocket.

“Thought your doctor warned you about your blood pressure? You gotta calm down.” Bucky’s face showed he was genuinely concerned, his eyebrows knitted together in disdain but there was nothing new there. He had worked for you for years now and truth be told, he was damn good at his job, not to mention the fact he was the closest thing to a friend your busy schedule allowed you to have.

“I’ll calm down when I’m dead. We need to get to the airport if we’re going to make that flight for the convention.” You pulled your wig off, setting it neatly into the little wooden closet before removing your gown, hanging it up alongside the other worn ones from earlier in the week so they could all be dry cleaned and back in the closet for Monday.

“It’s a private jet honey, it can’t leave without you.” Bucky laughed softly, knowing you were worked up and hoping a little joke would ease the tension.

You had to admit, you were so thankful for Bucky. He was devoting the prime of his life to making sure you had everything you needed, your life only felt so seamless because Bucky made it that way. He didn’t just manage your calendar and fetch you coffee like any other PA, he lived and breathed you. He went everywhere with you, crashing in your spare room at least three nights a week because you had both worked yourselves to exhaustion. He never missed anything. He had a solution for every problem, nothing was too big for him to tackle and given the chance, you two could absolutely take over the world one day. You confided in him, and he in you, getting to know every tiny detail of his life in the past few years, right down to that fact that neither of you had seen your family or been on a date in months. Hell, he’d went as far as buying you a packet of batteries one Monday after a particularly long and stressful court hearing.

“Here, got you these.” He had smiled mischievously as he handed them over to you, chuckling a little at your confused expression. “For your vibrator. Looks like it’s gonna be a long week.” You took them gratefully, joking with him that you really would need them, tucking them into your handbag and damn were they appreciated. The following morning he had asked how you had got on and you could only laugh. You didn’t tell him how thoughts of him had come into your head right as you had gotten close. Similarly, you didn’t tell him how painfully intense your orgasm had been when you imagined him on the bed with you, watching you come apart against the plastic toy. You could just picture his hungry gaze, watching how your body gushed as you released, nipples pebbled from arousal and your lips parted, a single whimper of his name escaping you as you rode out your high.

No, that was a little secret you would keep to yourself. He didn’t need to know your dirtiest fantasies. He was an employee. An employee that often arrived at your bedroom door shirtless and smirking, holding a stack of freshly made pancakes on the mornings he stayed over at yours but an employee nonetheless.

—————————

The cab ride to the airport would have been silent if it hadn’t been for the gentle tapping of your thumbs and Bucky’s racing over your respective phone screens. You had at least two dozen emails left to reply to and your eyelids were beginning to get heavy, the body heat radiating from Bucky in the cab’s back seat making you drowsy. You took a second, squeezing your eyes shut to force away the tiredness before going back to typing relentlessly.

The trip to the airport was short, Bucky had competed the preflight checkin so you essentially stepped straight onto the plane, taking a seat by the window, with Bucky taking the one opposite you. Takeoff was smooth as always, your phones picked back up as soon as it was safe to do so. But with the glowing screen came a fresh wave of drowsiness, your eyelids threatening to close of their own accord.

“Shit, Buck did you pack my -“

“Glasses? Left side of your bag, under the tissues.” Bucky finished your sentence for you, not looking up from his phone.

“And my -“

“Eye drops? In your makeup bag.” There it was again. What surprised you most was that Bucky didn’t even need to see you to work out exactly what was wrong.

“Do you really just take care of everything?” You huffed out a little laugh, digging through your bag, finding both your glasses and eye drops exactly where he told you they would be.

“Everything but you.” He chuckled, finally setting his phone down.

“What do you mean ‘everything but me’? All you ever do is take care of me. You organise my shopping and dry cleaning for god’s sake.” The whole notion of Bucky doing anything but taking care of you was just insane because you sure as hell didn’t have time to do any of those things for yourself. That’s what you hired him for after all.

“I didn’t mean like that. I meant like really take care of you. You’re so damn up tight.” You knew by the little chuckle that accompanied his words that he meant it affectionately but it still made you slightly defensive.

“I’m not up tight.” You protested. Normally you would’ve let harmless comments like that slide but the combination of your shitty day and the fact you were so sleepy made it impossible to not seek out conflict. This was the life you were used to after all. A life of treating almost everyone you came across adversarially. It was second nature to you at this point, inside and outside the courtroom.

“Come on, you seem to forget I am your calendar. You think I don’t know you haven’t gotten any in months? You should get laid, that’s all I’m sayin’. Wouldn’t kill you to have an orgasm every once in a while.” The words roll off his tongue like it’s nothing and truth be told, if you were in better form, this would have been a perfectly normal conversation between the two of you. Neither of you were particularly shy when it came to talking about your hookups.

You hated how right he was. You hated that you hadn’t been touched in months and Bucky knew that. You hated that most days, you were too exhausted to bother tending to your own needs. And you hated the warmth spreading through your body at the thought of Bucky finally taking care of you.

“Don’t know Buck, an orgasm might actually kill me with my high blood pressure.” You needed this conversation to turn more light hearted and you needed it fast, before your head became so clouded with need that Bucky picked up on it.

“I mean, I handle everything else for you. Wouldn’t even mind if that became part of my remit.” You almost couldn’t believe how carefree and nonchalant this whole conversation seemed, Bucky hoping you missed how he cock twitched in his trousers. Of course you didn’t. You missed nothing.

“If what became part of your remit?” You quizzed firmly, trying not to give anything away but knowing your eyes had gone big and doe-like, entirely of their own accord. This was a dream come true.

“You. Actually taking care of you. However you need.” His stare was intense, watching you keenly to determine whether he had horrendously overstepped and was about to get fired.

“Why would you even want to?” Your voice carried every single ounce of confusion you were feeling, staring Bucky down with an intensity that mirrored his own in that moment.

“You’re far too smart to act dumb.” He replied softly, knowing it was all or nothing now. If he was getting fired, he might as well be honest. His head tilted downwards, drawing your attention to the bulge growing in his suit trousers. Years worth of need and longing bubbling over all at once.

“If you want this, tell me. If not, that’s fine. But it doesn’t need to be anything romantic. Can be just sex. Whatever you want.” He was doing his very best to stay calm, his brain finally catching up with his mouth and considering that he was now in way too deep to just apologise and about to get his ass handed to him at thousands of feet in the air by one of the best legal minds in the world.

You’d never wanted anything more in your life. It was almost like Bucky was dangling himself in front of you. A piece of meat before a lion that could be snatched away at any second. You weren’t going to give him the chance, professionalism be damned. You were out of your seat and onto his lap in a flash, your pencil skirt hiked up to allow you to bracket his legs in your own.

“Are you sure about this?” Your quizzed softly, giving him one last chance to back out before you lost all self control.

“Do I feel like I’m not sure?” His voice was almost a choked whisper, his hands landing on your hips to press you down against his stiff cock.

You’d never seen him like this before. Horny and needy and losing himself in the feeling of you on top of him after years of fantasies. He had tried to curb the fantasies but his body didn’t allow him to. You were all he could think of on those lonely nights, a hand wrapped around his cock, groans and whimpers escaping until he came over his hand, a cry of your name pulled from his lips. He thought you would never know. And now here he was, the woman of his dreams perched in his lap, asking to be taken care of. Even the filthiest parts of his brain couldn’t have come up with this.

He could never have dreamt how you moved forward so tentatively, your lips hardly even touching his. He was used to seeing you confident, in control, the calmest person under pressure and yet here you were, unsure of yourself for the first time, he imagined, in your life. You both kept your eyes open for a little while, your lips sliding together gently, getting a feel for one another, up until your teeth sank into the plush skin of his bottom lip and an actual groan left him, his eyelids fluttering shut. The sound could’ve made you quiver with need. It was so alarmingly sexy, knowing your huge, sexy PA could be taken apart with the smallest touches. Suddenly, this seemed to be as much, if not more, for Bucky’s benefit than your own.

“Thought this was for me, hm?” Somehow your condescending court voice was pushing him over the edge. You felt one of his hands come up, tangling in your hair while the other wrapped around your waist, pulling your core flush with his clothed cock. He kissed you with a burning intensity that made your head swim and your pussy throb, loving how he was taking control but still hurtling further into a breathless, needy state.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve thought about this. Didn’t think we’d be joining the mile high club.” He huffed out a little light laugh, using his grip on your waist to help you roll your hips over his growing erection.

“Couldn’t have been thinking about this for as long as I have.” You smiled softly, letting out a little gasp as his cock nudged you just right through your panties that you were sure had been soaked through already. His eyes went wide at your admission, his dick twitching deliciously underneath you.

“Fuck, that’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.” He whispered, making you laugh at how eager he was.

“I won’t be able to wait until we’re off this plane Bucky. You gonna fuck me right here?” You teased him softly, your faces so close, your tiny hands running down his pristine shirt, toying with the buttons. When you began to graze his chest gently with your nails, it was like a switch flipped inside Bucky. He thrust up against you with a growl loving the yelp you let out, one hand now squeezing your ass, the other massaging your breasts through your blouse.

“Gonna fuck all the stress out of you. Gonna have you leavin’ this plane leakin’ and cockdrunk.” Somehow you didn’t even doubt his words and you had to admit, it did sound quite appealing to give up the control for a while, just letting Bucky take over.

“Gimme all you’ve got Barnes. Gotta make it worth my while or this is gonna be the last time you get the chance.” You couldn’t help but tease him before instantly realising that might have been a mistake, his lips burning hot as they worked against your own, needy, insistent and as always, eager to please.

His mouth was relentless to the point that you found yourself practically dry humping his cock, your hands laced in his hair while his untucked your blouse from your skirt, greedily holding onto any skin he could reach. He tasted of peppermint and coffee, smelt like the expensive aftershave you were so fond of and felt like a man who’s only purpose in life was to make you cum until it hurt.

“Need you. ‘Nside me. Now.” You managed somehow to pant the words out between the fervent slide of his lips over yours, his tongue dipping in to taste you, never wanting this to end.

The feeling of your much smaller hands landing on his belt buckle made him look down but he could’ve cum then and there at the sight that met him. The front of his suit pants were slick with your mess, proof that he wasn’t just dreaming and you really were needing this just as badly as he was.

“You’re so fuckin’ ready for it aren’t you? Look at the mess you’ve made. Why didn’t we do this years ago?” He was groaning, shifting in his seat to help you get his trousers and boxers down. You couldn’t help how you gasped a little at the sheer size of him, his cock thick and long, the head slick with precum, proud veins running up his shaft. He looked Godly. Two firm pumps was all it took to have his head thrown back against the plush leather seat, cursing and bucking against your hand, aching for more.

“I’m sorry Buck, I can’t wait any longer.” You panted, his lips attached to your neck now, kissing, licking and sucking all his frustration into your skin. If there was a time for foreplay, that wasn’t it. Neither of you had the patience right now.

“Thank God, needa feel this pretty pussy.” He all but whispered as you lined him up at your soaking entrance.

“Shit Bucky, you got a condom?” You asked anxiously, stilling yourself at the last second.

“My bag, zip compartment at the front.” He replied quietly and sure enough, that’s exactly where you found a packet. Tearing the wrapper off, you slid it down his length earning another groan from the huge man who was practically shaking beneath you.

“You think of everything.” You giggled, finally beginning to slowly sink yourself down onto him. Your laugh quickly turned into a breathy moan, your breath mingling with Bucky’s and you noticed how he made a very similar noise. You pressed yourself down slowly, your body having to adjust to the stretch.

“So tight, fuck. Shit, never felt a tighter pussy in my life.” He whispered when you were finally seated on top of him. He pulled your skirt out of the way to appreciate just how connected your bodies were in that moment. His cock just seemed to fit perfectly, so snug you could’ve cried as you began to slowly work your hips against his.

“Oh my god Bucky you’re huge.” You should’ve been embarrassed by how high and needy your whine came out but right then and there, you didn’t care.

“It’s all yours sweetheart. Gonna fuck you so good you never need another cock again. Gonna ruin anyone else for you - fuck.” Under normal circumstances you would’ve chastised him for being so overconfident but feeling how his cock nudged your sweet spot perfectly, you thought he might actually be right.

“Gotta fuck you angel, can’t just sit here anymore, ‘s driving me crazy.” He just couldn’t keep himself still any longer, lust burning behind his eyes in a way you had never seen in him before. You lifted yourself up slowly, feeling his length slipping from you, your walls fighting to pull him deeper until you sank back down, taking the whole length at once. The strangled cry that left Bucky was incredible. You repeated your gentle rise and fall, setting a decent pace. Every sharp fall of your hips tore a needy gasp from both of you, the sweetest spot inside you throbbing from the almost constant onslaught. It was everything you craved. Bucky was grasping at every curve of your body, lost in the feeling of your soft skin and the grip of your silky walls and the smell of your shampoo as you rode him, building speed as your pleasure built in your lower belly. The wet sounds escaping where your bodies were joined was nothing short of obscene, only fuelling Bucky to meet each of your thrusts with his own.

“Oh my god, I -oh oh- I can’t, can’t take it Bucky please.” You groaned, manicured fingernails digging into his chest.

“I got you honey. ‘s okay. Gonna take such good care of you when we get to the hotel. Just want you to cum once for me now, okay? Take the edge off. You feel so good wrapped round me. You know what else I can feel? Your pretty pussy is leakin’. Feel you drippin’ down over my balls. Never felt anything so hot in my ‘ntire life.” His fingers fell to your clit, rubbing neatly as if he had been trained to do nothing else. You were on cloud nine, your high so close but not quite there yet.

“Bucky, gonna cum. Oh fuck!” You whined, your orgasm hitting you like a train. You came with a loud cry, eyes squeezed shut, rocking against him more than fucking so his cock stayed buried inside you.

“Shit, how did you get even fuckin’ tighter. ‘M so close.” He whispered against your neck, broken and needy. Your high had all but subsided, aftershocks still pleasantly coursing through you as you went back to letting your hips rise and fall so Bucky could finish. It only took four more well timed thrusts before he was cumming with a shout, pulling you flush against him as his balls emptied into the condom.

You were both spent and sweaty but more satisfied than you could remember being in months, your chest pressed to his as you both came down, craving a little extra affection. Bucky held you for a good few minutes until you felt his cock softening, knowing he really should get cleaned up. You let him slip from you, pulling your skirt down to take your original seat across from him again.

“Gimme a second.” He whispered, kissing your forehead before making his way to the little bathroom, returning a few minutes later looking just as put together as ever, apart from his telltale grin.

“Jesus, we should do that more often.” You smiled quietly when he returned, letting him settle in the chair beside you this time, the dividing arm rest pushed out of the way so you could cuddle as much as possible given the limited space.

“I can’t stop now honey. That pussy is addictive.” He smiled, happy to see you leaning so comfortably up against him but even happier when he heard your soft little snores.

Taglist:

@harrysthiccthighss @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @justatirednightowl @littlecanadianlani @babebr @sebsbrokentoe @badgirlwolfy

[midnight-dreamerness]

Home

summary: Chris goes on a mission and doesn't return.

pairing: Chris Redfield x Reader

warning: mentioned of death. Lots of angst tbh.

word count: 2k

~~~~

You knew what you signed up for when you said yes to going on a date. You knew there was a possibility that he wouldn’t come home. It was a risk you were willing to take to be loved by him. And he did. He did love you. More than anyone. He promised to marry you one day. He said he wanted to have children and settle down in a small town and live out the rest of his life with you, but there was something he had to do first.

So he left. He had been gone for three months when Leon knocked on your door. You saw the look on his face and that’s all it took for your world to come crashing down.

You didn’t do much after that. You stayed inside, playing what Leon said over and over until you had cried yourself to sleep.

“There was a problem. He had to go back in, but…the place exploded. They never found a body. I’m sorry.”

You cried and cried and cried. For months that’s all you did. No one could come through to you, not even Claire, who was going through something similar. You hated that she was handling it better than you were.

Claire stayed with you, but it wasn’t long before she had to go back to work. You didn’t even say anything when she told you she was leaving, simply buried your head into Chris’s pillow. But when you heard the door shut, you cried harder.

She reminded you of him. Her stubbornness. Her attitude.

She wouldn’t let you wallow all day. She made you get up. Made you eat. Made you wash your hair even though it was the last thing you wanted to do. But that did stop you from dying inside. Your clothes started to hang off your body, it got even worse after she left. You sleep all the time but your eyes still help dark bags under them. You didn’t care. What was the point? You had no one anymore. You were a shell of the person you used to be. When he died, he took your heart with him.

Leon had taken it upon himself to make sure you were okay. He came ever so often, restocked the fridge, made sure everything was okay before he left again. But there was something about this visit that made him stay. He looked into Chris’s room, watching your unsteady breathing as you slept. Even asleep, you couldn’t function right without him, without Chris.

So when you woke up he told you he was moving in, to which you protested. You argued that you didn’t need anyone to take care of you, you could do it yourself.

“Look at what you're doing to yourself!” He argued, making you stand in front of your full length mirror. You glanced over yourself with teary eyes. Your skin was dull and your eyes lacked any sort of emotion but sadness. Your clothes looked two sizes too big and you could clearly see your cheek bones. You took in a breath and placed your hand over your mouth.

“Do you think Chris would want this for you?” Leon asked, cradling you in his arms. You shook your head as an answer and pulled him close. You missed him so much that it hurt. All you did was cry and sleep. Every little thing reminded you of him. This apartment reminded you of him. You knew deep down that you needed to leave to get better, but you were afraid you would forget him. And you didn’t want that. He was your first everything. And he was supposed to be your last, you hated that he wouldn’t get to be.

You decided a couple days later that you would be moving in with Leon. Just until you felt like you could make it on your own again. And it was great. You applied for a job, to get your mind off of things. Although you had been working at the BSAA at the time of Chris’s….. You decided it was best that you found another, one that would get your mind off of him instead of filling it with the memories you both had together.

You did find one, pretty quickly actually.

You stuffed the tip the lovely couple left you into the pocket of your apron and headed to the back with the empty plates and cups.

“Did you see the way that guy was staring at you?” Trisha, my new friend and coworker, says as she walks inside the back beside me. You groan at her eagerness and place the dirty dishes on the tray to be washed.

She giggles and walks with you back out Into the front where you start wiping down the front counter.

“Yes. I did notice, Trish.”

She begins to gush as to how cute you both would be and how perfect your children would look.

You avoided the conversation all together, the way he stared at you sent shivers down you alone and triggered memories you didn’t want to remember in that particular moment. Your heart began to ache again. Luckily, you got to head home early today.

You were ready to talk about what happened with Leon, who surprisingly had the day off.

“Why haven’t you told her?” Leon asked, setting the table for dinner. You shrugged and picked at your nails as you leaned up against the kitchen counter.

“She’s your friend. You need to tell her.”

“I don’t like talking about it.”

“We’re technically talking about it now.”

A huff leaves your lips and you fall into your seat at the table. You glance up at him for a moment. He stared down at you with his arms folded over his chest and a knowing look etched across his face. You look around the room, trying not to give into his stare. You notice another plate set and you ask him about it, to which he responded:

“First of all, don’t change the subject. Tell her. And second, Claire is coming over.”

You mumble under your breath and fold your arms, like a child. Leon chuckles.

“I love you. And I love that you’ve found someone you clicked with aside from the cat down the street.”

You go to protest but you're cut off by the sound of the door bell ringing. You get up and walk alongside Leon to answer the door, grumbling under your breath. Claire stood there, an unreadable expression on her face. You hadn’t taken notice of the tall man standing behind her. But when you did, your eyes began to fill with tears

“There’s something I need to-“

“Chris?”

His eyes meet yours for a short moment before he’s crashing into you. His arms wrapping around your waist tightly, afraid if he let you go he’d lose you all over again. You were in shock. Your body is frozen and not yet reacting to the feeling of him. It was familiar and warm. It was what you ached for when you woke up in the middle of the night. It was what you were missing when he was gone, when you thought he was dead.

“Princess?”

The nickname. It reached out and pulled you in. You reacted instantly, a sob leaving your lips and you grabbed him and held him tightly.

“I thought - I thought -“

“Shh. I know. I’m here now.”

You rest against his chest, his scent radiating over you, making you cry harder. He had come back to you. This had to be a dream, you were scared to death that it was.

“It’s been 7 months, Chris. Where were you?”

Leon glanced down at the sleeping girl as she snuggled into her returned lover. She fit so perfectly in his arms, he couldn’t lie. He was happy that she got him back.

“I had no choice but to stay away. There was…someone after me. I had to take care of the problem.”

“For 7 months? Do you realize how much that took a toll on her?”

Chris glared Leon down, who simply ran his hands over his face in frustration.

“She’s been a mess. Ask Claire.”

Claire adjusted herself comfortably but awkwardly in her chair. Her eyes trained on her shoes.

“Claire-“

“You weren’t here, Chris. We are so glad to have you back. But you should’ve called. Should’ve sent a letter. She was killing herself.”

Chris felt awful for what happened. He couldn’t let anyone know he was alive, it would’ve put them in danger. He hopes one day they’ll understand that. He knew you would.

He explained it to them. How everything went down, and why he had to do what he did to keep them/you alive.

“Tell me. How was she?”

Leon explained it to him as simply as he could. How she wouldn’t eat, didn’t go out, barely talked at all. Chris hugged her tighter to his chest as he soaked in everything. Every word that came from Leon’s mouth made him grimace.

“She’s taking pills to help her sleep at night. She’s even got a job down the street. Working at Sally’s.”

“We’ll I’m here now. And I don’t plan on going anywhere.”

It was the next day when you woke up. You jumped out of bed and looked around. You were alone. Tears entered your eyes as you had come to the conclusion that it was a dream. Chris wasn’t here. He didn’t come home. You sat down on the bed and sobbed, holding your hands to your chest.

“Baby? What’s wrong?”

Chris rushed towards you and bent down to meet your eyes. They widened and relief spread through your body like a wildfire. You wrapped your arms around his neck.

“God, I thought it was a dream.”

Chris chuckled under his breath and lifted you up by your thighs. He turned and sat on the bed and readjusted you so you were sitting comfortably on his lap. You squeal and giggled as he sat you down, smiling and pecking his lips.

“I’m sorry I was gone so long.”

You shake your head and peck his lips again.

“I'm glad you're here. Chris, I -“

“They told me everything. I’m done. I’m retiring. And I’m going to give you that life I promised you.”

Butterflies filled your stomach and you couldn’t help the tears that slid down your face. Excitement isn’t a big enough word to describe how you were feeling. You were so happy to have him back. It felt like years since he had been gone, not even gone. You thought he was dead, in your mind you were never getting him back. But here he is. He has you in his lap, his hands resting on the curve of your hips, fingers tracing soft shapes into your exposed skin. Your eyes locked on each other, basking in the moment that you wanted to last forever.

He was home.

He was home in your arms.

“Marry me?”

[drabbles-of-writing]

You’ll Be Okay

AO3

fourth owl fight attack! This one’s prompt was “Hunter and Luz being siblings” and I went a whole Direction with it

Summary: The Emperor was defeated. Amongst the ruins of a half-destroyed castle, Luz finds Hunter. While waiting for the others to find them, Hunter's shields finally fall apart. After all, at the end of the day, he was just a kid.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Luz found Hunter in the wreckage of the Emperor’s Castle, using his staff (the one that had Rascal perched atop, not the other, artificial staff. That one had been snapped in two) to support himself, his other hand clutching his side.

“There you are!” She breathed, rushing forward.

Hunter flinched at the noise and whirled around, lifting his staff to aim it before falling over at the lack of support. He hissed and curled up on the ground, eyes squeezed shut.

Luz faltered for a moment before continuing towards him, albeit much slower and cautiously now.

“Hunter?” She called, crouched down low.

He cracked open a wild, unfocused eye. It took a moment till it landed on her, and a few more until she could start to see him process who she was.

“Hey,” He croaked, slowly raising his head. “I was beginning to think I’d gotten rid of you for good.” He chuckled, before he was wracked with coughs and curled back in on himself.

“Oh please, you’ll have to try way harder than that.” Luz huffed, though the forced teasing in her tone didn’t work much. “Are you…okay?”

“Take a wild guess,” Hunter muttered, bracing one hand on the ground as the other stayed wrapped around his side.

And yeah, in hindsight, he really wasn’t. His white cloak was ratty and torn all over, the piece of under armor he often used barely hanging on by one strap. He was covered in gashes, bruises, grime, and who-knows-what. His breathing was ragged and raspy, and she figured that, yeah, when one is used as a living portal-booster they aren’t going to come out of it okay.

“Alright, fair, bad question.” Luz admitted, inching closer and placing a hand on his leg. “You need any help?”

“If I say no,” Hunter wheezed, eyeing her hand for a moment. “You’ll help me anyway.”

“Yeah,” Luz shrugged. “But it’s polite to ask.”

“Never stopped you before,” He rasped with the faintest of smiles, slowly leaning back until he was flat on the ground, staring up at the sky.

“Need a minute?” Luz asked, scooting until she was sitting right beside him.

“Or three,” Hunter agreed, shutting his eyes. “Everything kinda hurts.”

“Then rest, someone will find us eventually.” Luz assured. “I…may have run off to find you when I realized you weren’t with the others.” She admitted sheepishly, rubbing her neck.

“If they accuse me of kidnapping, I’ll break your shins.” Hunter threatened, though his tone never changed, and his eyes stayed shut.

“Understood,” Luz smiled, watching as Rascal transformed back into his usual self, chirping as he settled himself on Hunter’s stomach.

And the two remained silent for what felt like hours, though Luz was willing to bet it had been no more than ten minutes. She just looked out at the rubble around them, aching all over as a light wind breezed by. Had she not seen Hunter’s ear flicking periodically with the wind tickling it, she probably would’ve thought he’d died then. His breathing barely even disturbed Rascal, which she had to wonder if he was doing on purpose or not.

“When are you leaving?”

Luz blinked, turning her head down, finding Hunter had cracked open a single eye and was peering up at her.

“Huh?”

“The portal, you went through all this trouble to go back to the human realm, right?” He said. “So, when are you leaving?”

“Oh, uh,” Luz swallowed, shoving down the memory of standing before blinding car lights, reaching for a hand she phased right through. “I...I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Hunter repeated, giving her an incredulous look. “You went through all this trouble--”

“Okay, in my defense, this goes a little beyond getting the portal back, there were other reasons.” Luz said, waving her arms to the ruins around them.

“Still,” Hunter braced his arms under him, grunting with the effort as he pushed himself upright, disturbing Rascal. “Last I checked, the portal’s fine. How come you’re not making a beeline for it?”

“Uh, because I need to make sure my friends are okay?” Luz said, like this was the most obvious thing in the world, which, really, it should’ve been. “I’m not gonna leave right away. I need a day or two to make sure everyone's alright and figure out what they’re gonna do now.”

“Go back to normal?” Hunter raised a brow.

“An entire government was just dismantled, Hunter.” Luz deadpanned. “My fantasy books never really got to the part of explaining how they fixed a toppled tyrannical way of ruling, but knowing the Boiling Isles, I doubt this is gonna be easy.”

“Let the people good with politics handle that,” Hunter said casually, slumping back down on the ground and throwing an arm over his face. “They’re not gonna listen to a teenage human and her band of misfits for a new government, anyway.”

“Lilith might be good at figuring that out,” Luz hummed, ignoring him. “She has experience. Raine, too, technically.”

“If you put Lilith in charge, every witch and demon in the Isles will riot in the street.” 

“We’re not putting her in charge,” Luz stressed, appalled at the thought. “Just guiding people. See? This is why I need to stay for a little bit, I gotta know what's gonna happen!”

“Do you actually want to go back, or was this all a game of keepsies?” Hunter muttered.

“Of course I--I’m not arguing with you, you’re wounded.” Luz said stubbornly, crossing her arms.

“I'm not in that bad of shape."

“Really now,” Luz said drawled, reaching out a hand towards his chest before Hunter batted it away.

"You trying to hurt me more?" Hunter grumbled, rolling onto his side and wincing with the movement.

"I don't think you could get any more hurt if you tried." Luz deadpanned.

“I’ve had worse than this.” Hunter wheezed out, Rascal fluttering around him anxiously.

“Worse than a living portal puppet...thing?” Luz lifted a brow disbelievingly.

“...alright, fair,” Hunter sighed, a wheezing, noisy one as he shook his head. “This is probably the worst. New record.”

“I don’t want to know what the old record was.” Luz cringed as Hunter rolled onto his back once more, wincing with the movement. “You think the worst of it came from the portal, or being thrown around like a ragdoll by an eldritch abomination?”

“Portal thing,” Hunter said, eyes shut. “I’m used to…” He trailed off, mouth clicking shut as he refused to finish the sentence.

Used to Belos, Luz reasoned, was likely where he was going with that. She gazed at him sadly, his hands clenched into fists over his stomach now, Rascal nudging at his shoulder.

“He didn’t make it, right?” Hunter asked softly, and she didn’t ask him to clarify who.

“I don’t think so, we didn’t find anything.” Luz answered. “We could go check where we last saw him...if you’d like.”

“...later,” Hunter sighed, raising his hands to press the heels of them up against his eyes, fingers gripping his hair. “I don’t wanna think about it much right now.”

“I’m,” Luz started, fiddling with her sleeve. “I’m sorry, about all this.” She said, because she didn’t know what else she could say.

“No, you’re not.” Hunter scoffed bitterly. “You’re glad it’s over.”

“I am,” Luz agreed. “That doesn’t mean I’m still not sorry.”

“I’m not mad at you, I get it.” Hunter said, agonizingly gently. “I don’t need your pity.”

“I’m not--Dios,” Luz muttered as she ran a hand over her face. “Me olvidé de lo reprimido que estabas. You are my friend,” Luz shoved lightly at his shoulder, and he jerked and raised one hand away to give her an offended look. “And as your friend, should the stars align, I am sorry that this terrible situation happened to you, because I care about your well being.” She said, perhaps a few notches more aggressively than intended.

“...I’m your friend?” Hunter blinked, removing his other hand.

“Yes! Yes, you’re my friend! Are we seriously still on that page?” Luz demanded, almost yanking at her hair. She raised a hand when he opened his mouth to speak. “If you start protesting about all the times you were a jerk to me before you switched sides, I’m going to hit you.”

“...you have a very mean way of expressing concern.” Hunter settled on, voice small.

“Because you,” Luz poked at his forehead and got a growl in return. “Can’t get it through your thick head that other people can care about you. Newsflash, buddy. Eda’s already talking to Hooty about making another room for you.”

“She what--”

“So I’m sorry that the castle is destroyed, and I’m sorry that your uncle is gone, because you cared about him.” Luz continued before he could butt-in. “And about that whole...Grimwalker thing, which is a whole other pile of messed up things, but you get the point.” She waved her hands around. “You...you deserved better.” She finally finished, realizing she’d sat up at one point to face him, and now leaned back on her knees.

Hunter stared at her for a moment, opening and closing his mouth repeatedly. Rascal had crawled his way up and onto his shoulder now, looking between the two of them.

Eventually, the tension left his body, and he lay on his side, cheek pressed into the dirty, rocky ground. Rascal jolted, fluttering up onto his head.

“He was awful,” Hunter mumbled, like he was trying to convince someone.

“I know,” Luz sighed, looking down at him. “But you loved him.” She said, and Hunter didn’t dispute it. 

“...m’sorry,” Hunter got out, which sounded like a shuttering gasp, as though his throat was closing up.

“What for?” Luz tilted her head.

“You want the list?” Hunter managed, his snark falling short as he rapidly blinked his eyes. “I’d ask why you care at all, but you’re Luz.” He said, shaking his head slightly. “You’re too nice for your own good.”

“It worked out this time, didn’t it?” Luz said, offering a tiny smile as she held out a hand, just short of touching him.

He eyed her hand for a moment, then his gaze flicked across her face, searching. He must’ve seen something, because the little resolve he had left broke, and he reached for Luz’s hand and gripped onto it far more forcefully than needed.

She hoisted him upright, and barely had a moment to spare until he was grabbing onto her, hands fisted in the back of her shirt as he pressed his face into her shoulder. She froze for just a moment before she returned the hug, forcing herself not to protest against the tight grip along her back, definitely going to form nasty bruises later.

She saw that the white of his cloak was covered in dirt and blood all across his back, from injuries he must’ve sustained, though most of it looked dried now. She wondered if it hurt for him to lay on his back like that, and avoided disturbing those wounds as he trembled in her arms.

He shook with cries that were barely choked back, and she pressed the side of her face against his head. Rascal warbled sadly and nuzzled into his head from where he was perched in his hair.

Luz murmured words she couldn’t remember for the life of her, rubbing small circles across the uninjured parts of his back. He only pressed closer, clinging desperately like she’d vanish if he didn’t, and Luz had to put in effort to not fall back.

It might’ve been a few minutes, it might’ve been longer, but gradually, Hunter ran out of steam. His strained cries became muffled sniffles, slumping against Luz like dead weight.

“Sorry,” Hunter hiccupped again, voice muffled against her shoulder. “I think I got your cloak dirty.”

“It was already pretty messy.” Luz assured. “You wanna talk about it?”

“No,” Hunter muffled, hunching his shoulders. 

“Okay,” Luz said simply. “We’ve got time.”

“And ain’t that a new concept,” Hunter mumbled, raising his head slightly to instead rest his chin on top of Luz’s shoulder, and she could already feel him wiping at his face. “Having time. I didn’t think I’d make it past nineteen, if I was lucky.” He sniffled, voice hoarse and raspy.

“That…” Luz frowned. “Yeah, we’re gonna make you see someone for all of that.”

“Make me?” Hunter repeated, a faint, fading amusement to his tone.

“We have our ways.” Luz said with a hint of pride. “You’d be surprised.”

Hunter remained quiet for a moment, and Luz watched the old, ripped tapestries in the rubble wave when the wind went by them. She wondered if Eda would be stealing any of those as a trophy, and how long it’d take before Lilith took it away from her.

“Are you going to come back?” Hunter asked, quietly, curiously, without any hint of pleading in his tone, which she was quite impressed by. The subtle grip around her sides tightening just an inch gave him away, though.

“Of course,” Luz said, not needing clarification on what he had meant. “I couldn’t leave this place forever, not even if I wanted to.” She said, and prayed she wasn't lying.

“Yeah, you couldn’t.” Hunter snorted, slowly pulling back as he wiped up the last of his face, though it was still pretty damp as he faced Luz. “They’d be insufferable trying to get you back.” He said, frazzled hair hanging into his eyes.

“Oh, so you wouldn’t put in an effort, then?” Luz scoffed good-naturedly. “Can’t wait to get rid of me, huh?”

“Well now how am I supposed to respond to that?” Hunter demanded in a whine. “I say yes, and you start getting melodramatic and bringing up pointless random acts of kindness like I’m a liar. I say no, and you get all starry-eyed and unbearable.” He complained.

Luz laughed, despite it all. Hunter rolled his eyes and sat back, looking up at Rascal on his head like they were in on some joke she was missing. He chuckled along with her and shook his head, ears twitching down.

“You’re impossible,” He huffed, though he bore a smile.

“I know,” Luz grinned. “And what’s it say about you, still caring anyway?”

“Don’t push it.” Hunter warned, shoving her shoulder as he leaned further back, her only giggling in response.

A call sounded off in the distance, and they both snapped their heads in the direction of the sound. Hunter’s ears pricked high, the sudden shift in personality from relaxed to alert being another slightly alarming thing to put on Luz’s list of traits Hunter had. 

The call sounded again, and Luz could recognize the sound of Eda’s voice. She smiled and stood, untangling herself from Hunter as she peered out at the terrain, seeing a figure off in the distance, and if she squinted enough, she could see a few more not too far away.

“Over here!” Luz shouted, hands cupped around her mouth.

“Ow,” Hunter winced, rubbing at his ears.

“Oh, are they sensitive?” Luz worried, lowering her voice.

“Just a bit, I think I had a concussion earlier.” Hunter said, shaking his head to clear it.

“You’re seeing a healer,” Luz said firmly, looking back out to the figures in the distance. “Cover your ears.”

Hunter grumbled something about Luz being dramatic, covering his ears as Luz continued waving her hands and hollering to the others. It took a moment, but she saw one of them break away before the others followed suit, and Eda’s wild nest of hair could be recognizable from anywhere.

“Are you ready to make formal introductions?” Luz grinned down at Hunter, who slowly drew his hands away from his ears.

“Do I have to?” Hunter whined. “I could just live off the land, making a tent isn’t that hard. I know how to steal.”

“Nice try,” Luz lightly pushed at his head. “Unless you’ve got a proper living space, you’re staying in the Owl House.”

“I’m sixteen, no place in Bonesborough will give me an apartment unless I’m rich.” Hunter complained.

“Precisely,” Luz said simply, offering a hand to him. “Wanna try standing up?”

“I guess,” Hunter grumbled, taking her hand and letting her pull him to his feet.

He stumbled for a moment, hissing and favoring his right foot, and would’ve fallen right back over if Luz didn’t stop his fall with her body, hanging onto his arm to steady him.

“Yeah, that’s sprained. Or twisted, don’t really feel like checking.” Hunter gritted out, Rascal cheeping from his head before flying off, transforming into a staff that Hunter was quick to grab and then lean on, taking his weight off Luz.

“Viney can take a look at it, I’m pretty sure she came with us.” Luz said, grabbing Hunter’s hand and slinging it over her shoulder. “C’mon, let’s meet them halfway. You’re lighter than a sack of lumpy potatoes, it’s not hard to carry you.”

“I resent that,” Hunter growled, though he let her do as she wished. “You're just weirdly strong.”

“You live in the Boiling Isles, you're telling me you're not?” Luz scoffed, beginning to walk with Hunter, who used his staff occasionally to push aside heaps of rock or try and limp himself along.

“Well, I don’t exactly have a frame of reference.” Hunter drawled, looking up, his ears pinning back against his head when he could make out who was approaching in the distance. Luz could now see that King was sitting atop Eda’s shoulder, too.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Luz said, noting Hunter’s nerves suddenly spiking. “Are you ready to meet everyone, outside of, you know, portal mishaps?” 

Hunter swallowed, looking down at Luz with something that might’ve been fear swirling in his eyes. He searched her face, closing his eyes and taking in half a breath, anything more causing him to cough, exhaling as he opened his eyes again, facing off towards where the others were gathered, the fear replaced with determination.

“Yeah,” He said, clearing his throat when his voice started to shake. “Yeah, I think so.”

Luz smiled, bumping her body against his, and he looked at her with a smile of his own that might just have been hopeful.

She turned back to call a greeting to her friends as Eda was already scolding her for running off the moment she was in earshot, King wailing something about being worried. Hunter gave them his best crooked smile, despite his earlier claims, insisting she’d only come to drag him out of the rubble.

Yeah, Luz thought as she watched Eda and King pause and look Hunter over, easily slipping into mocking him for how beat up he looked, like nothing had ever gone sideways, and it was any other day in the Isles. They’d be okay.

[dreamwritesimagines]

Burn The Witch 1 - Decoy [Bucky Barnes x Reader]

A.N: Here we go my loves, the first chapter! ❤ I hope you like it, and please let me know what you think! ❤ Thank you! ❤❤❤

As always, I don’t own anything.

Word Count: 2200

Warnings: Mentions of blood, violence, death, manipulation, language.

Summary: Trouble has a way of following certain people.

Sometimes you wondered whether you would run away screaming when you were a child if you knew what kind of a person you would turn into.

It wasn’t exactly your fault though. For years and years, several people had put the blame on several different things. Eventually they would reach the same conclusion though; the psychiatrists, your superiors, the very few people you could call your family, they all agreed on one thing.

It wasn’t you, it was the abandonment.

The abandonment you went through when you were a teenager had somehow started this domino, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop this constant fall, not even you.

But as you would figure out soon, you were lucky. Instead of being consumed by your anger, you could direct it somewhere else. You were recruited and trained from a very young age, and somewhere along the way, you realized that if you wanted to survive you were going to have to sacrifice certain things.

Forgiveness was the first one to disappear. Guilt was another.

Then fear.

Then, love.

Ah well. Worse things happen in the world every day.

If anything it made your job easier.

You cracked your neck and opened the door to your apartment, the key sticking to your fingers because of the blood on your hands for a moment and you made a face as you shut the door, leaning back.

A very long shower and a bottle of wine sounded like a good idea.

You placed your gun on the table, took the dagger strapped to your thigh out of its holster and got the knives out of the heels of your shoes before flinging yourself onto your couch and turning the TV on.

“Also called Sokovia Accords 2.0 by the critics—“

“What the superheroes think about this remains a mystery—“

“The first time caused a huge rift between Captain America and Iron Man but nobody knows the new Captain America Sam Wilson’s comment on it—“

You didn’t get to change the channel again when your phone started vibrating in your pocket, making you sit up straight. You muted the TV, and checked the caller I.D before you answered.

“Hey there.”

“Hi, how’s Paris?” the cheerful voice of your best friend reached you, “Had enough croissants yet?”

A small smile pulled at your lips. After your only parental figure had left you to go God knew where, General had decided to adopt you and raise you like a daughter. His actual daughter Chloe had welcomed you with open arms, and you had been best friends since then.

Her being the top analyst of the division didn’t hurt either.

“Mm hm, because that’s all I’m doing. Eating croissants, visiting museums—”

“Killing and maiming targets...” she mused, finishing your sentence for you and you heaved a sigh.

“Somehow that last one isn’t included in the city guide,” you pointed out. “Chloe, you know this is a line for—“

“Official contact from General, yeah yeah,” she said, “In my defense, you didn’t pick up the phone an hour ago when I called you from my phone.”

“Do you know how hard it is to use touch screen when your hands are covered in blood?”

“What happened to your sniper rifle, did it fall into Seine?”

“It required close combat,” you said, “And the target swallowed the chip before I could get it, so I had to perform a spontaneous autopsy.”

“Just so you know, whenever you talk about your job I have to watch like a hundred cute videos after I hang up.”

“Happens.” you said, “How’s everything?”

“You missed us already?”

You grinned, “Maybe.”

“Good, because dad wants you back. He’ll contact you any day now.”

Your head snapped up and you stood up from the couch, “Really?”

“Duh. Have you seen how negotiations for these new Accords are going? It’s going to be a mess and we need you here.”

“The second one hasn’t passed officially.”

“Well no, but you know how my father thinks.” she said and you tilted your head.

“Are we sure it’s General who wants me there and not you?”

“Okay, that was one prank ages ago and I didn’t hear the end of it!” she protested, “Don’t you trust me at all?”

“Nope.”

“You know, I’m being the perfect friend and calling you to give you some good news but if you’re going to be like this, my news can wait until you get here.”

You pulled your brows together, “What news?”

“What do I get in return?”

“My endless gratitude,” you deadpanned, “Come on. What news?”

“You can’t tell anyone yet but I think you’re getting a promotion.”

Your breath got caught in your throat, “You’re joking.”

“Don’t forget about me when you become a handler, you hear me?” She let out a laugh, I need friends in high places.”

“Your dad runs the division Chloe. It doesn’t get any higher than that.”

“That doesn’t count!”  

You pressed a hand over your chest, “Just— what kind of a promotion are we talking about?”

“I mean I snooped around his files and casually committed treason.” she said, “But even I don’t know yet. They must be still making the adjustments.”

You opened your mouth to reply but then your phone vibrated again and you lowered it to check the message on the screen.

It was simple but again, all his texts were simple and to the point.

From: General

Time to come back. Jet leaves in 2 hours.

Here goes my shower and wine night.

“Chloe?” you said, walking to the sink to wash your hands so that you could start packing, “You want anything from here? I’m coming home.”

                                              ***

The best thing about being on the move all the time was that you could pack in minutes and the division would take care of the things you had left behind.

Apartments, belongings-

Not that you carried any belongings with you, or bought any more than necessary. It would’ve made you form a bond, which was less than ideal for any spy.

You suppressed the yawn splitting your face and made your way to General’s office. This jet-lag was going to make your life pretty difficult in the following 24 hours, and you were painfully aware of it, but it wasn’t like you could just ask for some time to rest.

That could wait. Your job was more important.

“General?” you knocked on the half open door and he raised his head to look at you before motioning you to enter the room.

“Y/N,” he said, “Close the door please. It’s good to have you back.”

“Thank you sir.”

“Take a seat,” he said and you cleared your throat, then perched on the edge of the chair.

“I’ve heard you eliminated the threat and got rid of our target quite fast,” he said, “And we have the chip now.”

You nodded silently, pushing your hair behind your ear.

“Well, that shows me you’re ready for the next step,” he said “No reason to beat around the bush, you’re getting a promotion.”

Pride burst through your system but you tried to control your expression to stop the grin threatening to pull at your lips.

“Thank you sir.”

“Here are the details for your next mission,” he said, handing you a file that was stamped as Top Secret and you flipped the page to find information about your next identity.

Alias: Shrike

“Shrike,” you murmured to yourself, turning the pages, “Like the bird?”

“Mm hm. I assume you’ve heard about the Accords issue?”

You looked up, “Only a little,” you said, “The first one was a disaster and the government had to drop it after The Blip due to the public’s reaction, resurrected people insisted that the superheroes were the ones who saved them, not the government. Then the government said they would go over the details and change it in a way that would benefit both the public and the superheroes, but I haven’t seen the new version.”

“There were some adjustments but to be honest with you, it’s the same deal. We can’t have superheroes running wild with no orders,” he said, “I need you on both fronts, one with terminating specific targets, and one with….well, you’ll see.”

You flipped the page and blinked a couple of times, your stomach dropping.

You were good, but you weren’t that good.

“You- you’re sending me after Captain America, sir?”

“Ah no,” he said, “Don’t worry. Wilson doesn’t have a past we can use against him, and trust me, we checked. The guy is an actual hero but we need a bad guy.”

You turned the page and shut your eyes for a moment.

Bucky Barnes.

Right. You should’ve known.

The government wanted and needed Captain America on their side, but Bucky Barnes could fall for all they cared.

“Sir I appreciate your trust in my abilities but not even an army could take down the Winter Soldier the last time—” you started but General shook his head.

“Y/N, you’re not going to kill him,” he said, “That’s the second front I was talking about. We need you to get close to him, to form a personal bond and gather intel we can use in the future.”

You gawked at him, “I’m sorry?”

“Barnes is the perfect candidate. He can help us with necessary information to prove to the public that superheroes need to answer to someone; us. Besides if it all goes bad, we can just say he was a threat. With that kind of past no one would think he was innocent to begin with.”

Your head was spinning. Scratch that, the whole room was spinning.

You were good at finding and terminating targets, not forming personal bonds or playing this

“When you say get close to him….” You trailed off, your voice way too weak and he smiled slightly.

“You’re an attractive woman, I’m sure you’ll have no problem with that.”

That. That was your promotion.

Not an operations officer, not a handler, but a lover who also happened to kill people.

They were going to use you as a honey trap for him.

“Sir, I don’t think-“ you started, but he held up a hand.

“Before you say no,” he said, “Let me remind you that this will benefit your career greatly, and you will have your own team. Show us you can handle it, and the position you want will be within your reach, you have my word. You want to be a handler, don’t you?”

You dragged your fingernails on the file, deep in thought.

“Barnes is one of the many dangerous people we may need to stop one day, and the only way to do it is to keep him under control and learn everything he knows until we’re ready to take him in.”

“But if these new Accords don’t pass—“ you started but he shook his head.

“Even if they don’t, and that’s a big if,” he said, “He’s still a valuable asset to have. We all have to perform certain missions, Y/N. Even if we don’t particularly like them. You will thank me in the future, when your career flourishes.”

Your blinked a couple of times, a bitterness appearing in your mouth.

“Of course,” you managed to say, “You’re— you’re right sir. It’s a good plan. I accept the position.”

“Great!” he clapped his hands together, “We have a target for you for tomorrow night, there’s this gallery opening. He needs to be eliminated, I think you can handle that? Start planning how it will go with Barnes as well, we can’t lose any time.”

You pursed your lips together and closed the file, “Of course.”

“Congratulations.” he leaned in slightly, “Your dad would be so proud of you if he could see you now.”

You tried to swallow the lump in your throat, but it felt like it was getting bigger and bigger.

“I don’t need his approval,” you rasped out and walked to the door, but stopped when you heard him speak.

“Shrike,” he used your alias for the first time and you looked over your shoulder.

“Yes?”

“I don’t have to remind you that this mission is top secret. If he figures out who you are, or what you’re up to…” he clicked his tongue, “Kill him.”

You paused for a moment, then tilted your head and smiled at him.

“As you wish, sir.” you managed to say, then walked out of his office as if someone was chasing you. You made your way straight to the bathroom and slammed the file on the marble counter, then pulled out the small picture sticking out from the corner. It was an old black and white picture of him with Steve Rogers, probably taken in the 40s, both of them smiling. 

When you lowered the picture to attach it back to the paper, your eyes caught the tiny print under his aliases.

Confirmed Kills: Exact number unknown (Credited with 100+ assassinations)

You were in way, way over your head now.

“Oh, fuck.”

                                  Chapter 2

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Twenty-Seven

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: working a full time job + part time job tutoring english + applying for scholarships + still having free time left is a lot harder than i thought it would be. which is my way of saying this chapter should've been done a week ago lol.

i call this my goodbye chapter b/c goodbyes are made.

***

As Nesta brings the last of her things into the cabin, Azriel takes the last of his stuff out.

Standing beside Cassian, Nesta watches Azriel shut the trunk over the final box of his belongings. With all the extra stuff he stole from the cabin, it almost seemed like everything wouldn’t fit into his tiny car, but here he is. Ready to go.

He dusts off his leather jacket and approaches her and Cassian. “This is goodbye,” he says, coming to a stop before them.

Nesta once thought this would be the happiest day of her life, second to her wedding day. She should have predicted that her rightful joy would be extinguished by sentimentality.

Cassian claps Azriel on the shoulder, the two brothers having already said their goodbyes in private. Still, Nesta can see a little sorrow in Cassian’s eyes, as if he also got too used to having Az around all the time.

Azriel, the dick, reveals nothing through his eyes. Neither does Nesta.

The two of them look at each other awkwardly for a moment, and then he comes in to hug her. Nesta hugs him back, arms crossing around his broad back, but it has the same stiffness as two Barbie dolls being made to kiss each other.

When Azriel tries to pull away, Nesta clutches him to her with surprising strength. “I know about the picture,” she says lowly in his ear.

“Too late to take it back now.” She might feel him smile on top of her hair.

Nesta lets go of Azriel swiftly, having had enough physical contact with him to last a year. “Drive safe, so Elain can find you in one piece,” she orders.

Azriel grimaces at that, reminded of what waits for him in Velaris. Whatever Elain decides to give him, it’ll probably be deserved.

“I’ll get going then.” Az starts backing away, and Nesta hears Cassian sniffle. She looks toward her boyfriend in concern, but he circles his huge arms around her shoulders and pulls her back to his chest before she can catch him getting teary-eyed.

They watch Azriel get in his car and drive away. Nesta waves until the car disappears fully into the thickness of the surrounding trees, waves until her arms are too tired to keep going.

Once Az is gone, she turns in Cassian’s embrace and jumps up into his arms. Her legs hook around his hips and his hands fit themselves under her thighs. She smiles and tells him, “Let’s go home.”

Ten minutes later, they find themselves sitting in the silence of the kitchen. It’s the quiet of a house adjusting to a missing person, and Azriel’s absence is tangible.

Cassian is the first to break the silence. “Do you think he’s past city limits by now?” he asks as he stirs his coffee.

“No.” Nesta turns the page of her book, focused on reading. “Not if he stopped by Gwyn’s before leaving.”

She hears Cassian stop stirring. “What does that mean?” he says.

Nesta looks up at him and shrugs. “It means he probably wants to say goodbye to her.”

***

“One charge of assault, one for battery, and one huge lawsuit against my company,” Rhys reads aloud from the file in front of him.

Cassian waves a hand in dismissal. “Just make it go away like you always do.”

Rhysand’s near-violet eyes narrow with barely restrained rage. “Cassian. You shattered an employee’s hand.”

“Hey, O’Connell.” Cassian strolled up to him early last Monday morning. The underground parking lot was near empty at this hour, since most workers wouldn’t come in until nine. “How was the rest of your weekend?”

O’Connell looked up from getting his bag out of his car, clearly surprised to see Cassian willingly make small talk with him. “It was good,” he answered lightly. “You left Velaris early, though.”

“Yeah, about that.” Cassian came to a stop by O’Connell’s car and held out his hand, catching the car door before it could be shut. “I had to take my girlfriend home.”

O’Connell looked confused, but nodded along. “That’s nice. Can you—?” He gestured at the car door, indicating to Cassian to let go.

Cassian didn’t. “What hand did you use?”

“Excuse me?”

“When you touched her,” Cassian clarified. “What hand did you use when you touched her?”

O’Connell’s look of confusion morphed into one of contempt. “What the hell are you talking about, man?”

“Nesta Archeron.” Cassian straightened up, hand tightening over the top of the car door. “Your old college friend.” Realization dawned across O’Connell’s face, but he still hadn’t answered Cassian’s question.

“If you don’t tell me now, I’ll have to take my pick.” Cassian clicked his tongue in disappointment. “You’re left-handed, aren’t you?” He snatched up O’Connell’s left hand, and in a flash O’Connell was pressed up against the car, his hand pinned to the doorframe.

“Hey, wait, what are you—” O’Connell protested.

The sound of a car door slamming shut on a hand was louder than Cassian expected. It was the crunch of bones and muscle followed by immediate screaming.

“It could have been worse,” Cassian said flatly over O’Connell’s cries of pain. “It could have been your tongue, since you like talking shit so much.”

Cassian blinks out of the memory. “So what if I did?” he shrugs in response to Rhys.

“You are a member of my inner circle,” Rhysand fumes. “Keith O’Connell is a respected figure in our industry and a higher up from Vanserra and Co., and the head of our Milan outpost, but you saw fit to take out justice on him without asking me first.”

“You had nothing to do with it.”

“That is not up to you!” Rhysand jabs a finger at Cassian. “What will our shareholders think when they hear about this? What will the board members say?”

Cassian is starting to get irritated now. “They won’t find out, because you won’t tell them,” he says firmly. “We both know you’ve covered up worse things to fit your agenda, but it’s a problem if I don’t want a creepy bastard working under my jurisdiction?”

Having learned most of his business tricks from his father, Rhys is no perfectly clean CEO himself. He would’ve done far worse to O’Connell if it was Feyre in Nesta’s place, and he would have ended it all with a speech about how abusers and their sympathizers have no place at Night Court Inc.

The thought only inflames Cassian more; maybe he’s still riding off the anger of O’Connell making Nesta cry.

Tempering his feelings, he tells Rhys, “When you’re done shutting O’Connell up,” because Rhys would do it no matter how angry he pretended to be, “make sure Nesta never finds out about this.”

Rhys sits back in his chair, a bitter smirk pulling at his mouth. “Afraid she’ll be horrified of what a brute her sweet boyfriend is?”

Cassian nearly snorts at the image of Nesta recoiling at a broken hand. She’d probably call him weak for not shoving O’Connell into a ravine. “No,” he answers tiredly. “It’s not violence that offends her, but if she finds out it was in her name… I don’t want to put that on her shoulders.” Which is a shame, because in any other situation Nesta would love to hear about the unfortunate circumstances that led to O’Connell quitting his job.

Rhys lets loose a long sigh. “Damn, you both scare me.” After a few moments, he asks, “Now what are we going to do about Milan?”

***

Life after moving in with Cassian passes by quickly, and before Nesta knows it, she’s completed her second year of law school.

As for the boys who were some of her first friends and drinking companions, back when Nesta barely knew the definition of a friend—today they complete their final year of law school.

Nesta fans herself with the pamphlet she was handed at the beginning of the graduation ceremony, trying to stop the harsh morning sun from melting the makeup off her face. The audience is packed like sardines onto one huge field, and the announcer on stage hasn’t even reached the last names that start with D. Eris, Justinian, and Isaac are all near the bottom of the alphabet.

“Do we really need to be here today?” Nesta murmurs to Emerie, squirming in her metal foldout chair.

Sitting at her right, Emerie throws her a scolding look. “Don’t be like that. We’re never going to see these guys again.”

Nesta sincerely doubts that, considering how none of the guys are moving more than a few hours away. But her uterus is raising hell right now, even though her new meds have put a stop to her periods. Paired with the ache in her back from these terrible chairs, she’s about to call it quits and go straight home.

“Nesta!”

She whips her head to the left, finding Elain striding through the row of chairs to reach the empty seat beside her.

Like watching the Red Sea part, everyone in the row pulls their feet back and makes themselves as small as possible so Elain can have a clear walkway.

Nesta moves the purse she used to save Elain’s seat aside, and Elain drops her butt onto the little foldout chair like it’s a throne.

“A little warm for an outdoor ceremony, don’t you think?” Elain fans her face.

“You didn’t have to come all the way here, you know,” Nesta says.

“Eris made me. I haven’t talked to him since I broke up with his brother, but I think he wants to look like he has a lot of friends here.”

“Yeah, that checks out,” Emerie mutters from Nesta’s other side.

Elain seems to take notice of Emerie for the first time, and her Southern charm turns on like a switch. “Oh my, I don’t think we’ve met.”

Elain introduces herself and Emerie does the same, smiling and nodding politely, and Nesta can’t even decide if she likes this crossover because she’s too busy massaging her aching abdomen.

A string of “Excuse me, sorry!”s go up in the row they’re sitting in, and a moment later a familiar face plops down on the chair to Emerie’s right.

Gwyn leans over Emerie and holds a bottle of Advil out to Nesta. “This is all I could find in my car, babe.”

Nesta releases a sigh of relief and snatches the bottle. “It’s perfect, thank you.”

Elain’s gaze moves to the medicine, then to Gwyn. “You must be Gwyn.” She offers a smile. “I’m Nesta’s sister, Elain.”

Gwyn’s eyes widen imperceptibly, and Nesta realizes she should have warned Gwyn that Elain would be here.

Going off how Gwyn’s been acting the last few weeks, Nesta can only assume that she influenced Azriel’s final decision to move away, whether directly or indirectly. Nesta doesn’t even know much about what happened between the two of them during their weird sex deal, considering that she and Gwyn promised to never discuss such horrible things with each other.

All Nesta knows is that Azriel is Gwyn’s closest male friend, and close friends that have also slept together probably don’t want to bump into each other’s exes without warning.

“Are you here to see Eris graduate, too?” Elain asks.

Gwyn looks like a deer caught in headlights. “Who? Oh—no, I’m just here so we can drive to brunch together after.” Her voice gets quieter with each word, and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Nice to meet you,” she adds in a murmur, her face a furious shade of red. She quickly looks forward at the stage as if the graduation ceremony is the most fascinating thing ever.

Elain doesn’t note the odd behavior, instead refocusing on the Advil pills that Nesta pops into her mouth and swallows dry. “Are you still hurting?” Elain says, furrowing her thin brows. “I thought you got that problem fixed.”

Nesta tries not to snort as she accepts the bottle of water that Emerie wordlessly passes her. “You can’t ‘fix’ endometriosis, Elain. That’s not how it works.”

“Oh. Well how was I supposed to know that?”

Nesta slides unamused hooded eyes to her sister. Before she can retort anything, Emerie elbows her hard. “Look, it’s Isaac!”

She refocuses on the ceremony, cheering and clapping half-heartedly as Isaac takes the stage. It’s not that she doesn’t care about her study buddies; it’s just that she feels like shit right now.

Justinian follows suit a few minutes later, grinning and waving when he spies Emerie cheering for him. Gwyn is distracted on her phone through all of it.

The Advil has finally started to kick in when Nesta murmurs to Elain, “How is Azriel adjusting to being back in the city?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Elain answers innocently. “I haven’t seen much of him since he returned.”

“Just spill it,” Nesta says. “Azriel wouldn’t tell me anything, so I’m assuming he’s humiliated about it.”

Elain sighs, delicately pushing her hair behind her shoulder. “He came to me to talk. I heard him out, and then we went back to his apartment for coffee, and then I took my fabric scissors and cut out the crotch from all his pants.”

Nesta raises a brow. “All of them?”

“All of them.”

Nesta shrugs, turning back to face the stage. “It’s good enough. I could have done worse.”

“Then it’s a good thing you’re not me, isn’t it?” Elain snips.

Nesta won’t say it, but she supposes she is a little happy for Elain. In fact, she thinks this might be the first time Elain has stood up for herself instead of letting Nesta handle it.

After the ceremony is over, Emerie goes off to congratulate Isaac and Justinian. Gwyn follows so she can get away from Elain, and Nesta, being sweaty and overstimulated and more than ready to leave, settles for waving her arms and grinning at the boys from across the field.

She’s about to say goodbye to Elain and make a beeline for the parking lot when she spots a head of shining red hair approaching her. No—make that two heads.

Eris looked unbearably snooty as he received his degree, likely smug with the fact that he has a comfortable job at a family friend’s corporate law firm lined up for him after he passes the Bar. Nesta admits that she’s a little disappointed in him: after all his talk of working hard and being the smartest person in the room, he ended up riding his father’s coattails to a disgustingly high salary. But maybe that is hard work for him, considering that there was such a ruckus in the Vanserra family when he chose to go into law instead of business.

As for Lucien… Well, Nesta really has no idea what the kid does, but she knows he looks good, better than the last time she saw him. An early summer tan makes him glow in comparison to his brother, while lean forearms are revealed under the rolled up sleeves of his dress shirt. He looks comfortable in a way he wasn’t at Thanksgiving all those months ago.

Even with his ex standing just a few feet away.

“Elain,” Lucien greets her with a foxlike smile.

Elain rolls her eyes in response and turns to Eris. “Congratulations on graduating, hun. Now that we’re even, kindly delete my number from your phone and never call me again.”

Even? Nesta raises a brow, wondering what that could possibly mean.

“I take it this is goodbye?” Eris tells her.

“I’m already leaving,” Elain says sweetly. She blows a kiss at Eris, then Nesta. “Feel better soon,” she chirps at her, before striding away in her pastel pink heels.

Very jealous of Elain getting to escape before she can, Nesta calls after her, “Hot date to catch?” She’s wearing the signature perfume she usually does when meeting with a man.

Elain tosses over her shoulder, “Something like that.” Her purse swings as she disappears around a corner to the parking lot.

Nesta watches her go with envy, and when she turns back she finds Eris already looking at her. Meanwhile, Lucien still has his eyes glued to the spot where Elain disappeared.

“You feel sick?” Eris asks her.

“No thank you, I have a boyfriend,” Nesta replies on instinct.

Eris scoffs once in indignation, then twice. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he says with disbelief. “I can care about my friends, you know.”

“You want her,” Lucien mutters.

Nesta’s eyes snap to Lucien, who seems to be acknowledging her presence for the first time today. “And what do you want?” She tilts her head at him, intrigued at having a new playmate. He’s less predictable than Eris, at the very least.

Lucien looks at her and offers a sheepish smile. “Nothing you can give me.”

Eris rolls his eyes at the both of them, clearly regretting bringing his brother along with him. “I’m already bored of this conversation,” he laments. “I’m out; the D.A. is here and I want to say hi. Find me when you’re done, punk.” Eris bonks Lucien on the head with his rolled up diploma and starts walking away, only pausing to extend a mocking bow to Nesta. “We’re not over yet, Archeron,” he calls as he leaves.

Now it’s Nesta’s and Lucien’s turn to roll their eyes.

With only the two of them left, Nesta feels obliged to ask awkwardly, “So… how’ve you been?”

Lucien’s gaze slides to her. “I didn’t know you were Elain’s sister,” he says.

She huffs a laugh. “I didn’t know you were her ex at first, either. Does it matter?”

Lucien’s mouth turns down in thought, but he doesn’t answer her question. “I’m doing good,” he says in response to her former question instead. “I’ve been living the nomad life, traveling around with friends, roadtripping in a van.”

But would you come home for Elain? Nesta can’t help but wonder.

She didn’t know Lucien had dated Elain until after her first meeting with him, but even then it had been something of a throwaway detail. Elain dates lots of guys, and falls in love with even more of them. She seemed to barely remember Lucien’s name when Nesta first brought it up in front of her.

But for some inexplicable reason, Nesta genuinely likes Lucien. A part of her recognizes something similar in a part of him, and it makes her sad to imagine him being stuck on a girl who won’t think about him twice.

“Take my advice,” Nesta tells him bluntly, “and move on if you haven’t yet. Staring after Elain when she already broke up with you will get you nowhere.” Elain isn’t the type to ever look back, and she never falls for the same man twice.

Lucien just looks at Nesta with a blank face. “I broke up with her,” he says.

Nesta’s mouth falls open.

“And,” he adds, “I was staring at her ass.” He starts walking backwards to his brother, giving Nesta an innocent grin as he leaves. “It was nice meeting again. See you in another six months.”

Nesta is dumbfounded watching him go, not knowing what to do with this new knowledge. As far as she knows, no one has ever broken up with Elain except for Azriel—and that ended in Az losing all of his pants.

It only occurs to Nesta that she shouldn’t have let Lucien get away with that ass comment when Emerie and Gwyn suddenly appear at her side, each of them interlocking an arm with hers. “You feeling better?” Emerie inquires cheerfully. “Ready to go?”

Nesta nods slowly, forcefully putting Lucien Vanserra and his too-sly demeanor out of her mind. He isn’t her problem right now. Summer is already here with a vengeance, and she’ll only have so much free time with the people she loves most. So she chooses to focus only on them.

Tugging her friends closer and squeezing their arms, Nesta asks, “Where are we eating?”

***

a/n: this needs sooo much more editing lol i could have done a lot more with this chapter if i wasn’t constantly tired and pressed for free time. sorry y’all :/

tagging: @hellasblessed @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @wannawriteyouabook @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2 @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes@readiajin @nessiantrashh @live-the-fangirl-life @ifinallygavein @xoblivisci @sjmships @jungtaekwoonie-is-life @lysandra-tiara @lanyjoy-13 @post-it-notes33 @loosingdreams @fromthelibraryofemilyj @18moneytoad @dontgetsalmonella @champanheandluxxury @togreblog @arinbelle @ladygabrielli1997 @meridainthedisneyland @moodymelanist @pixieelea @teagoddess99 @mystic-bibliophile

[sundaysundaes]

Drunk Antics

Mark Lee X Reader, ft. Johnny | Smut, Fluff | 5.8k | College AU

Summary: After being caught having sex with your previously virgin boyfriend, you thought Mark and your brother Johnny would never get along. That is until your boy comes back to your room in the drunkest state he’s ever been after a short trip to the bar with his Johnny-hyung, asking you to try new tricks he’s learned from the Master of Sex.

Sort of a continuation from Our First Time but can be read separately.

Warnings: Smut, oral sex, drunk unprotected sex. For the sake of the very little plot there is, Mark is intoxicated in this fic so his consent may be unclear. Please don’t read this fic if this makes you feel uncomfortable. I also don’t approve nor allow taking advantage of your romantic partner while they are under the influence of alcohol.

“You forgot that you borrowed his AirPods?!” Your boyfriend is shrieking in whispers, doe eyes shaking in fear and horror as he kneels on your bed, trying to shamelessly hog every inch of your blanket to cover his body.

Mark is so drowning in panic that he doesn’t even notice that you, in fact, are still naked. “I was going to use them before to work on my assignment,” you try to reason, “but then you came so I kind of forgot about them.”

“Kind of?!” He screeches. “I agreed to have sex with you because I thought you were sure that he had his AirPods on!”

You stare at him flatly. “You’re making me feel like I just took advantage of you.”

“I am feeling like you just took advantage of me!”

“You just lost your virginity, I think you have to thank me instead.”

“Babe,” Mark grabs both of your shoulders, staring with wide eyes as if there’s a ghost lurking behind your back but he’s trying his best to calm you down (though he’s pretty much shitting his own pants). “You should’ve remembered that you took his AirPods. He heard us.”

“Mark,” you imitate his tone mockingly, taking a hold of his shoulders in the same manner. “It would’ve been super weird if I thought about my brother when I have my hot boyfriend rubbing his dick against my ass.”

Distracted, a sheepish smile forms on his face. “You think I’m hot?” But he shakes himself awake on the next second, going back to yanking out his hair with both hands. “No, wait—what am I going to do—your brother heard us having sex—I can’t—”

“I heard my brother having sex all the time.” You shrug nonchalantly. “Sometimes even when he’s alone in his room, which is gross.”

“THAT’S NOT THE POINT—”

“Guys?” Johnny’s knocks on the door are becoming more impatient. “I swear to God, if you two go back to sucking each other off, I’m going to throw Mark under the bus and run him over myself.“

Mark’s eyes nearly pop out of his head. “Did you hear that?!”

You roll your eyes in response, reaching out to the table beside your bed and snatch Johnny’s AirPods from inside the drawer. “Here,” you hand it over to Mark.

Your boyfriend reacts as if you just handed him a bowl of hot lava and he fumbles with his hands, shoving the AirPods back to you with so much horror in his eyes. “Why are you giving me this—no—no—”

“Mark, honey.” You gently smile, pushing the thing back in the most motherly way you can manage. “I’m covered in cum—your cum, in case you forgot—and you’re hogging all the blanket—“

“No—”

“Also, I’m sweaty and gross. Can you please be a man for once and let me take my shower? You can still join me afterward.”

“Babe!” You can tell he’s about to throw up out of fear but he’s just so cute, you can’t help but keep teasing him about it. “This is not fair—he’s going to kill me! And what do you mean ‘for once’, am I—“

“Okay, guys, any day now.” Your brother, Johnny, calls again from the other side of the door. “If one of you don’t come out and hand me back my AirPods in the next ten seconds, I am literally going to call the police.”

Mark nearly jumps out of his own skin. “What?!”

“Oh, shut up, Johnny,” you shout back, mouthing calming words to your boyfriend who looks like he’s seconds away from fainting. “You’re not going to do that and we both know it!”

“But I am going to call our Mom.”

“That he might do,” you say, wincing a little at Mark. “Okay, I’m going to take a shower.” You lean forward to give him a peck on his cheek. “Good luck, babe.” And you sprint off to the bathroom inside your room, all while holding out your best not to cackle loudly.

“Where are you going—Baby, get back here!” You can hear Mark protesting in whispers, but you just send him flying kisses and a wink, and shut the bathroom door behind you.

Mark’s soul is leaving his body, he can feel it. And that’s okay, because Johnny is going to kill him anyway. But when the older man really starts to count to ten, Mark jumps out of the bed, tripping approximately three times as he tries his best to dress himself back in his own clothes while muttering the words “shit” and “fuck” repetitively under his breath.

When he’s sure he looks less fucked than before, Mark opens the door, breathing hard as if he just did the worst workout in his life.

“H-hey,” Mark starts, attempting to throw his best look-at-me-I’m-a-good-boy-who-did-not-just-fuck-your-sister-when-you-were-around smile at the other man. “How’s it going, man?” His voice breaks in the middle of his line and he winces as he tries to calculate the least painful death options he can commit.

Johnny unenthusiastically gazes back at him. “What are you doing?”

“I’m… smiling at you?”

“Don’t. You look like a serial killer.”

“S-sorry, I’m—“ Mark’s eyes start searching everywhere but Johnny’s eyes as he feels his own feet turning into jelly. “I guess I’m nervous.”

“Nervous? Why?” Johnny places his hands inside the pocket of his jeans, looking way too intimidating for your boyfriend to handle. “Because you just had sex with my sister while I’m in the house?”

Mark’s jaw is almost dislocating from his face from how wide he opens his mouth. “I—I, umm—“ He clears his throat, wiping a bead of sweat off his forehead. “S-so, you really heard us, huh?” He tries to laugh it off, which he soon regrets from the way Johnny’s eyes are throwing daggers at him.

“Yeah, well,” Johnny shrugs, “My ears don’t have on-and-off buttons that I can switch whenever I want. I used to have my AirPods to do that job, but she borrowed them to help her concentrate while doing her assignment.” He gives out a sly grin, almost mockingly. “Little did I know that her assignment was you.”

If he didn’t feel like dying before, Mark is sure as hell feeling it now. “I’m so sorry—I swear, she told me you had them—I also thought you were downstairs—“

“Yeah, I do go upstairs from time to time, you know, ‘cause my room is over there,” he dully replies, nudging his head to the end of the corridor, where his room is located next to yours.

Mark’s entire body shudders in horror. “Dude, I didn’t know—I thought that was a storage room—oh God—”

“Don’t call me dude. I’m not your dude.”

“Fuck—sorry, you’re right—I’m—“ He’s hyperventilating by this point. “Is there any place in this house where I can kill myself?”

“You can try jumping off my balcony,” Johnny answers in the most casual way that Mark begins to question whether he’s really being serious about it.

“G-great, I’ll put that in my options,” is all Mark has to say. “Thanks.”

“Sure thing, bud.” Johnny yawns, offering one hand to the other man which Mark stupidly enough stares in confusion before he takes a hold of it and gives it a sweaty handshake. Johnny switches his gaze from Mark’s face to their hands before he brings back to stare at him straight in the eyes and says, “My AirPods, you idiot.”

“FUCK—“ Mark is so embarrassed that he stumbles on his feet, knocks the side of his head against the door frame, and does a silent scream when the pain jolts to his entire body.

“Man, I wish I had my phone ready to record all of that,” Johnny comments.

Mark is too much in pain to recognize his mumbling. He fumbles with the AirPods in his hand, shoving them to Johnny’s chest. “Shit, I don’t know why I thought you wanted a handshake—here—oh my God—I’m so sorry—“

Even Johnny seems a little bit amused at his antics by this point. “Thanks,” he says, tucking the AirPods inside the pocket of his jeans. “You have some time to spare?”

Mark gulps. “Are you going to kill me?”

“Not until the end of the day.” Johnny says, and Mark laughs a little bit too loud and a little bit too hard and by the way Johnny smiles, he still can’t tell whether he’s joking or not. “Come on, let’s go have a drink.”

“Umm I-I don’t think I should—“

“Not a request, Mark.”

“Yes sir, on my way!” And he knocks himself once again against the door frame as he rushes forward to follow his steps.

“Also, Mark?”

“Yes?”

“Your shirt’s inside out.”

***

“Mark?” Your voice is answered by the silence of your room. You’re feeling a little bit dizzy from the hot shower you just took. You took a bit long in the bathroom, waiting for Mark to come and join you with a cute pout on his lips and tears in his eyes (that’s how you imagined him to be anyway) but your boyfriend, it turns out, was not even in your room. You put on your clothes—a knitted navy blue sweater with sleeves a little bit too long for your arms and a simple pair of jeans—and head downstairs, searching your house but nobody comes to answer. Sighing, you go back to your room and try to call his cellphone but immediately feel disappointed when his ringtone comes from under the bed.

“Great, he forgot his cellphone,” you mutter to yourself, picking his phone up and throws it on the bed. “Did he really run home without telling me?” The image of Mark panicking and running away from your house like his life depends on it sure does look like it’s something he does out of shame. But judging by how great your previous sex activity was, you figure that he’s probably going to go back to you sooner or later. He also has his phone to retrieve anyway.

So it’s time for you to actually get some work done. There’s no other reason for you to run away from your goddamn thesis and the day is getting late. After having some ramyun for dinner, you finally begin working on your assignment.

It’s hard to start, but a few minutes after you get your head to it, you start losing track of time. You’re finally done with your work (most of it anyway), already closing your laptop and place it back on your backpack, when your door abruptly swings open, showing your boyfriend’s face with the biggest grin on his face.

“Baby, I’m home,” he says in a sing-song voice, a bit slurry and a little high pitched. Before you can say anything—too busy trying to figure out how high he is judging from the dopey look on his face—Mark is giggling and walks closer to you. “You know,” he says, placing a hand on your desk and leaning close enough for you to know that he reeks of alcohol. “I just had the greatest day of my life today. And it’s all because. of. you.” He pokes your nose repetitively between every word.

“Mark—“

“Are you hungry? I’m hungry. Do you want some pancakes, because man, I’d love some pancakes—“

“What, are you drunk?” The answer is obvious but you ask anyway.

“No, I’m Mark.” He grins, chuckling at his lousy joke.

“You are so drunk.”

“And you,” he snickers, pinching one of your cheeks, “are so cute~”

You swat his hand away. “Where have you been?”

“I went to a bar with your brother,” he giggles again, playfully massaging your shoulders. “He’s so coooool~”

“What?!”

“Yeah, he’s, like, so tall and, like, so fit.” You can’t believe you’re hearing your boyfriend fangirling over your brother. “And he knows a lot of stuff—like, a lot a lot.”

You certainly have to kick Johnny in the shins after this. “How—why—I thought you were—“

“Babe, you’re rambling.”

You can’t believe you’re turning into him, so you clear your throat and try again. “How drunk are you exactly?”

“Drunk enough to know that this,” he stops to pick up the fishbowl you placed on the bedside table—where Marky the Goldfish is sleeping with its eyes open—and lifts it up to his face, “water cannot be drunk but drunk enough to contemplate about doing it.”

You make a face. “Leave Marky alone.”

“Why did you name it after me?”

“Because it’s dumb. Like you.”

“Huh, can’t really argue with that.” He snorts, placing the fishbowl back to the table and tripping on his feet as he does so—spilling some water from the side but thank God, your fish is safe and alive, though probably also a little bit drunk because of that sudden… turbulence.

“Oops,” he giggles, “Sorry, Marky.” He doesn’t look regretful in the slightest. You stare at him in silence, unconsciously judging him with all you have and usually, he would start becoming nervous and fumbling with his words but now, he just looks at you like you’re the best thing that ever happened to him and rushes forward.

“Man, I love you.” He tackles you into a hug, almost sending you toppling down your chair, “I love you so much. Have I said that today?”

This is certainly not the way you imagined your first confession to be like, especially coming from Mark who’s usually shy and too childish to admit his feelings. “No, you haven’t,” you retort. “Ever.”

“What, really?” His eyes are perfectly round and wide, actually surprised about it. “Shit, I’m sorry. Come here.” He pulls you up to your feet, cradling you into his arms, hands flailing all over your body before they finally rest on your waist. “I can’t believe we had sex and I didn’t even tell you that. I’m so sorry.” He leans back, putting some space between you so he can stare directly into your eyes. “I love you. I’ve always been for a while. I’m so in love with you that I can barely concentrate whenever you’re around.”

You wish he wasn’t drunk out of his mind because those words, those lines, could have been so romantic but even though he looks romantic, you’re not sure whether he’s being one hundred percent conscious about it.

“Okay, let’s talk about this again when you’re sober.” You tap his cheek with one hand and pinch it when he whines. “Have you even taken a shower yet?”

“Yeah, this morning.” He smiles dreamily at you, kissing the inside of your palm. You can’t believe how bold and greasy he becomes when he’s drunk. “And yesterday. And the day before that. And—”

“Okaaaay.” You shut him up by placing your hand above his mouth, which he licks like a little puppy, earning a surprised yelp from you. “Mark!”

“Babe!” He imitates before throwing himself to the bed, laughing at your face. “Come here, join me in my bed.”

“That’s my bed.”

“Isn’t that what I said?”

You exhale loudly, rolling your eyes. “I don’t think you can go home at this state. Your mom would kill me.”

“But I’m already home,” he says, crawling toward you until he kneels at the edge of the bed, face to face with you. “Home is wherever the heart is, right? And my heart is with you.”

You curse yourself inwardly for having your heart flutter at his embarrassing line and you hate yourself even more when he notices you’re blushing.

“Whatever. Just take a shower and get some sleep.” You walk back to your desk, flipping around the pages of your textbook. “I still have two chapters to read.”

You can hear your boyfriend huffing behind you, but try your best to ignore him. It��s an impossible feat, it turns out, when Mark sneaks up behind you, circling his arms around your shoulders and peppers few kisses down the side of your neck.

“Mark—“

“You smell so good.” He inhales deeply, burying his nose in the strands of your hair. Standing up, you turn around to face him so you can protest and push him away but the look on his face makes you freeze.

“You’re so cute,” he says, running his hand up from the curve of your neck to cup your cheek. “And You’re so pretty. And hot. You’re so…” He begins staring at your lips, eyes unfocused. “Hot.”

You can tell it’s coming but when he kisses you, almost hungrily, it feels like he’s snatching your breath away. “Mark, wait—”

“Not waiting,” he murmurs against your lips, pulling your hand over his shoulder so you’re forced to lean your entire weight against his chest. Mark’s calloused hands travel down your body, wrapping both against the back of your thighs and lifts them up so you can wrap your legs around his waist. You follow his lead though still not entirely convinced that you should continue this.

Mark kicks your sliding chair away with one leg and places you down on your desk. He roughly pushes all your papers and textbooks to the end of the table, making enough space where you can sit facing him, with your legs tangling around his waist.

You have spent a decent amount of time kissing Mark over the months you’ve been dating, but only now that you have the chance to kiss him when he’s drunk and you’re aware just how much you’ve been missing.

The drunk version of Mark Lee unexpectedly kisses much more slowly compared to the sober version of Mark Lee, and if you thought fast, passionate kisses were hot, then these slow, deep kisses are sending actual shivers down your spine.

Mark has his right hand cupping your cheek, rubbing comforting circles on your skin with his thumb, while his other one is around your waist, slipping his fingers underneath the hem of your sweater. He angles your head to the side, and his parting lips fit like a perfect puzzle piece with yours. There’s a shy trace of his tongue along your bottom lip, as he nibbles at it slowly and he lets out this small moan as he does it as if it’s something he’s been wanting to do for years and just finally able to do it now.

He tastes like alcohol and you’re not particularly fond of it but the more he kisses you, the more you think it doesn’t matter because he still somewhat tastes like how Mark usually does and you always love the way he tastes on your tongue.

He drags your chin down with his thumb, tasting you a little bit deeper and as he presses his hips against yours, his breathing becomes ragged and you just realize that you probably have a kink for all of this stuff because holy mother of God, this is just so hot.

“Mark,” you sigh as he moves away to kiss your ear, warm lips pressing against your earlobe. He hums in a low, breathy voice that you’ve never heard him do and it makes your stomach flip. “Mark, you’re drunk.” It’s more like a reminder to yourself because you know that as the sober one, you have to put a stop to this but what can you do when he has his tongue tracing against your skin and his soft moans vibrating through your ears?

“Baby,” he whispers, pulling away a little so you can see his eyes and fuck, it’s the biggest mistake you’ve made today—bigger than forgetting that you borrowed Johnny’s AirPods. His eyes are half-lidded, utterly filled with lust and the way he licks his bottom lip as he stares at you has you breathless. He leans closer, as if he’s about to kiss you again, and whispers, “Don’t you want me?”

You remember that you said the same thing earlier to him that day and it makes you think how karma is a fucking bitch. You secretly wonder whether you have the same effect on him because Mark is being so irresistible right now and he successfully makes you throw all of your reasoning to the back of your head.

“Fuck this,” you claim under your breath, pulling him down to you by the neck and crush your mouth together. You can feel your boyfriend smiling into the kiss, and the sounds of your wet kisses make your heartbeat go crazy.

“Take off your shirt,” you command, already grabbing the end of his shirt and struggling as you try to pull it over his head. Mark helps, chuckling a little bit and when it’s off, he has his lips against your neck again. His teeth are prickling against your skin, sucking it until it’s bruised and you have to remind yourself to be angry about it later—because you have classes tomorrow and what if anyone sees that nasty hickey on your neck?—but right now, you just want him to mark you over and over again.

Mark starts to unbutton your jeans, pulling the zipper down and you use your free hand and legs to shake your pants off. It’s not easy, and you almost kick your boyfriend in the face while doing so, but he laughs it off and kisses you again. You can tell how hard he is when he presses himself against you, and you’re eager to put him out of his misery but he suddenly pulls away, saying, “Wait, let me do this first,” and he kneels on the floor, his face right between your legs.

You can feel your breath hitched when he runs his fingers on the inside part of your thighs, his lips follow soon after. He slips his fingers around the edge of your panties and pulls them down. You suddenly feel so exposed to the way he’s looking at you so you pull the end of your sweater down, trying to cover your thighs as much as you can.

“Why are you so shy?” Mark says, taking your hand away and pressing his lips against your palm. His eyes never leave yours and they twinkle in the most teasing way. “You weren’t shy about this before.”

“Stop looking at it too much,” you reply nervously, can’t help but to blush about it. “I feel weird.”

Mark chuckles, airily and soft. “Sorry, I just didn’t have the chance to really see you before,” he explains, one hand unconsciously rubbing your thigh, trying to calm you down. “Can I eat you out?”

Sober Mark will definitely not say anything like this—hell, sober Mark will probably faint just thinking about saying stuff like this—which is why you’re becoming even more nervous and excited at the same time.

“Baby?” Mark calls, smiling softly. “I kind of asked you a question.”

Fuck me. “Yes,” you breathe out, and you realize he was just messing with you before but who the fuck cares right now.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, Mark, please.” You can hear yourself whining and you hate yourself for it, but desperate times call for desperate measures. “Please eat me out, Mark.”

He smiles in the sexiest way that you don’t think it’s possible—like seriously, who is this guy?—biting his lower lip as he does so and if he keeps doing that, you figure he doesn’t even have to eat you out to make you come undone.

He presses his lips near your heat, whispering, “Good girl,” before he places his mouth on the exact spot you want him to be.

“Fuck,” you hiss, biting your own lip as you see his head move between your legs. Mark has his eyes closed, repeating what he has learned earlier that day and does the thing you like the most. When he locks his eyes with yours, you almost choke out a sob.

“Mark,” you try to keep your voice down in whispers but Mark is so good that it feels much easier to work on your goddamn stupid thesis rather than holding back your moan.

“Mmm.” The way he moans at the back of his throat as if he’s having the best time of his life makes you weak and you press your thighs together without knowing. Mark places his hands on each side of your thighs and spreads your legs wide apart, allowing himself to be even closer and making you feel way more exposed. You have to grip your desk with both hands to keep yourself from falling.

“Okay, no, stop—“ You find yourself breathing hard, pushing him back by the shoulder and he raises a questioning eyebrow.

“Was it not good?” He asks and you curse inwardly.

“Mark,” You grab him by the silver necklace he has around his neck, pulling him up so you’re face-to-face. “I’m about to come, what do you think?”

“Really?” He looks impressed with himself. “Then, why did you stop me?”

You tangle your legs around his waist, bringing him close and grind your hips against his. “You know why.”

Mark’s thin lips part in a silent moan, whispering, “Fuck,” under his breath but he tries to keep his composure. “No, I don’t,” he says, teasing you though he doesn’t look like he’s able to hold himself back long. “Babe, I literally just lost my virginity a few hours ago. You have to tell me what you want.”

“Mark.”

“Babe.”

You scowl at him and scowl harder when he has this shit-eating grin on his face, and if your eyes could throw daggers, he’d be in so much pain right now. But Mark is making a sound between a giggle and a snort, which is rather cute but you still kick him in the stomach for playing with you at a time like this. “Mark, come on! I want you to fuck me!”

He takes a hold of your thigh, leaning down to place kisses under your ear. “And where do you want me to fuck you, exactly?” He whispers, purposely making an mmm sound as he sucks on your earlobe. “Should we move to the bed?”

“No, fuck, just do it here.” You unbuckle his belt, pushing his jeans and boxer down to around his thighs, low enough for you to stroke his member and position it toward your entrance. “Mark, just put your cock inside me.”

It seems like he’s beginning to lose his mind over how desperate you are actually begging him. You guide him toward you, making sure he’s not doing anything wrong and when he pushes inside, you just have to bite on his shoulder to muffle your moan.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groans, eyes closing shut as he grips on your thighs, nails sinking into the skin almost painfully. “I couldn’t remember whether you were you this tight before but—oh God—”

His movements are still a bit sloppy, but soon he finds the pace you both like and maintains it. When he sees you throwing your head back in pleasure, he grins to himself and lifts your sweater up to your chest. You help him take it off, unclasping your bra with so much effort as he continues pounding into you.

He’s so consumed by the sight of your breasts bouncing up and down matching his thrusts until he can’t take it anymore. “Babe, can I go a little bit rough?”

“Wha—fuck!” It’s your luck that you don’t slam your head against the wall from the sudden force Mark is thrusting into you. He has his mouth on your breast, moving his hips much quicker than before,  and moaning your name several times under his breath. The desk is clearly making a sound as it bumps against the wall but you don’t care—your parents are out of town and Johnny already heard you two before anyway. You can just apologize to him tomorrow.

Mark suddenly changes position, lifting one of your legs up in the air while keeping the other down so he can slide in deeper. “Johnny-hyung told me to try this,” he says with a smirk on his face. He’s breathing quite hard, just like you. He kisses the side of your ankle once before he lays your leg on his shoulder. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

When he moves his hips again, with so much force that you have to hold on to the table, you’re pretty much just screaming his name. Mark’s bangs are sticking to his skin as beads of sweat start to form on his temple, and he pushes his hair back with one hand, chanting your name like a prayer and recording every expression you make in his mind.

You can handle his movements but you’re sure the skin around your waist is going to bruise tomorrow from how hard he’s holding you. You’re getting distracted by the way the muscles on his abs flex with every movement that it catches you off guard when he suddenly says, “I love you,” between his soft moans. You shudder at his words, leaning forward to wrap your fingers around his arm, begging for support. “Mark, you’re not fair—“ The rest of your sentence dies when he hits the spot that makes you see stars.

It’s a little bit embarrassing for you, the much more experienced one, to come undone before he does but Mark doesn’t stop, even if you beg him to. “Hold on to me,” he says, smashing his lips against yours and adding, “Just a little bit more, baby,” between kisses.

When he’s finished, your back and legs are aching so much that he has to carry you onto the bed. Mark shakes his pants off before he slides under the blanket next to you. He asks whether you want to shower and you shake your head. “Tomorrow. I can barely stand right now, to be honest,” you comment which earns a light chuckle from him.

You both sigh out loud, staring at the ceiling and trying the process what the fuck just happened.

“Mark?”

“Yeah, babe?”

“I know it’s bad for your health, but do you think you can get drunk more often?”

He giggles at that, turning to his side so he can face you. He looks so sleepy and you let him caress your face with his fingers with the little energy he has left. “Thank you for today,” he says, smiling dreamily. He leans closer to press your temples together, rubbing the tip of his nose to yours in a childish manner before he kisses you softly. He drifts off to sleep soon after.

When you wake up the next morning, still naked and gross from the night before, you realize that yes, small purplish bruises are forming on the skin of your thighs, waist and for sure, your neck. You look to your right, seeing your boyfriend still sleeping soundly with his stomach pressed against your bed and his lips slightly parted. You don’t have the heart to wake him up, but your parents can come home anytime soon and they cannot catch the two of you looking like this.

“Mark,” you softly call, placing a hand on his cheek and rubbing his skin with your thumb. “Mark, wake up.”

He groans, turning his face away from you. You tap his shoulder, run a hand through his dark locks and still nothing. Huffing, you gather the very little energy you have—without coffee in the morning, you’re pretty much nothing—to turn his body around and crawl on top of him.

“Wha—” Mark’s eyes are half-open but don’t stay so for long when he notices how you’re basically straddling his bare abs with your naked body. He panics so much that he begins to flail all over the place and end up falling from the bed and knocking you off his lap in the process.

You break into a train of laughter, pulling some blanket to cover your body. “Guess sober Mark is back.”

“Why are you naked?!” He shrieks, head peeping out from under the bed, and he shrieks louder when he notices that he’s also in his birthday suit. “Why am I naked?!”

“You seriously don’t remember?”

Mark takes a few seconds to himself, trying to process everything that his blurry memories can give and his jaw falls slack on his face when he realizes that, “We had sex!”

“Yeah, we did. Twice.” You giggle, nudging your head toward your desk which is literally in chaos—papers scattered everywhere, books falling to the floor, pens unaligned.

Mark follows your gaze and gapes harder. “Shit, yeah, on that desk—I remember—wait, but how?! Why—” He looks like he’s physically hurting trying to remember every detail, and probably that’s his hangover talking.

“Want some aspirin?”

He pouts rather cutely. “Yes, please.” When you step down from the bed, leaving your blanket behind, Mark blushes and immediately turns his face away, unconsciously letting out a girly yelp as he does so.

“Umm, babe?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re naked.”

You stifle down a laugh. “Yes, I noticed. And so are you.”

Mark covers his bottom half with a pillow, face flushed. “C-can you put some clothes on?”

You were planning to, but seeing him react like this makes you re-think your decision. “Mark, we literally had sex twice yesterday.”

“I know, don’t say it!” He hides his face behind his palm. “It’s still embarrassing for me.”

“You certainly weren’t embarrassed last night,” you tease, “You even asked whether you could eat me out—”

“GAH!” He has both hands covering his ears, turning his entire body around to hide his face but the way his ears are going red is contradicting his action.

“Mark, look at me.”

“No way in hell!”

Smirking to yourself, you slowly walk to his spot, not covering even an inch of yourself. When you call him again, softer this time, Mark makes a mistake and throws you a glance. He’s no longer able to take his gaze off you after that.

You spread your legs, sitting on the pillow he has on his lap and wrapping both legs around his waist. Pressing your chest to his, you lean close to his ear. “Wanna go for another round?”

Mark gulps.

***

[delimeful]

you cant go back (2)

warnings: fear, miscommunication, guilt, mentions of theoretical gore/injury, dehumanization, referring to a person as 'it', general angst

-

For the fourth day in a row, Lady Macbeth had spurned him.

Roman frowned, pulling the strap of his messenger bag over his head and tossing it over the back of a kitchen chair.

Lady was old, smug, and occasionally very cranky, but she wasn’t deaf like Ophelia-- she always came prancing over once she heard his keys rattling in the lock, delighted at the opportunity to smear cat hair all over his pants and get her claws stuck in his shoelaces.

Yet here he stood, catless.

For the past few days, too, she hadn’t been in the house at all when he got home. He’d been downright worried that first day, uneasy until she strolled back in at dusk.

They had an expansive backyard that their younger cats took delight in frolicking in, but their second-oldest cat was a rare visitor to the outdoors. Lady was first and foremost a homebody, and she preferred a warm body to sit on. Their squishy heat-generating human bodies were the only reason she hadn’t assassinated them all in their sleep by now, according to--

Roman cut the thought off sharply, feeling familiar grief pit up in his throat. He shook his head, the motion harsh enough to make his neck twinge. There was no time for standing about and pondering! He had a cat to locate!

A determined jut to his chin, he grabbed what supplies he would need for this perilous journey-- cat treats, a catnip toy, even a tempting cardboard box-- and strode confidently out the backdoor.

For the next half-hour, he wandered around the acres of their property, greeting each of the goats and chickens by name as he checked all the most common cat hidey-holes.

He’d almost given up by the time he stumbled across the old barn, pant legs covered in burrs and the beginnings of a sunburn across the back of his neck. Whatever delightful cat secrets Lady was so busy with, surely he could discover them when it wasn’t the middle of summer.

Just before he could turn around, though, he noticed that one of the doors was just slightly ajar.

Roman felt his brow gradually scrunch up the longer he stared at it. It had been locked up after the last of the old supplies had been moved from it, hadn’t it? The last big storm had proved it wasn’t weather-worthy, his dad had plans to take it apart for timber, ones that had seemingly been forgotten after… afterwards.

Petty inconveniences of getting there forgotten, Roman crept closer on light feet, grip tight on the catnip mouse in his hand. The wind died down at an eerily perfect moment, and he strained to hear beyond those old wooden walls.

Not everything is a grand conspiracy, a voice in his head reminded him, sounding suspiciously similar to Specs, it could simply be someone without housing that took the opportunity for shelter provided by the abandoned barn.

Roman sidled halfway through the ajar door, and froze at the sight of an upright humanoid figure only a few meters away. Something about it wasn't right, instantly putting him on edge. He kept staring, waiting for his eyes to adjust.

(“I’m telling you, these lights were strange even by my standards! Almost… alien.” An unsettling grin that was a beat late.)

The figure’s head was dropped forward, but he could tell even from this distance that it wasn’t human, with shiny purple-grey segmented skin and legs with knees facing the wrong way. It had spiky shoulder joints, but its arms seemed to be tucked behind it.

(Roman had shoved him off the couch, sour about being taken in by one of his tales, and he hadn’t brought it up again.)

Most alarming of all, there were four long, spindly limbs stretched out into the air behind it, seemingly spawning from its back. The legs were spider-like in nature, but shiny instead of hairy, and each one ended in a sharp point. As he watched, he could see the limbs shifting slowly, pairs of them lifting and falling in odd synchrony with the creature’s slow breathing.

(Roman had been freaked out, and his brother had dropped the subject. He should’ve asked, he should have known something was wrong--)

“Miaow.” A plaintive voice called, nearly startling Roman out of his skin.

He tore his gaze away from the (alien) mystery intruder, and felt his jaw drop as he took in Lady Macbeth’s current position. Loafing on the feet of an insidious intruder?!

For shame, he mouthed silently at her.

Lady blinked slowly and continued to purr, unbothered by his accusatory stare. One of those spider limbs shifted again, making Roman swallow nervously. He really didn’t want to see what sort of automatic reaction an extraterrestrial’s stabby-arms would have to finding a cat in its space.

He waved the catnip mouse enticingly. Lady gave him the bland look of a cat who had preferred those expensive feather toys for as long as he had known her. Roman resisted the urge to facepalm.

The insanely dangerous method it was, then.

Putting all his sneaking skills to use, he sidled further into the barn, dropping into a crouch and beginning to creep across the dirt floor as slowly as possible. Each step was carefully placed, almost entirely silent, and whenever those freaky appendages twitched, he froze in place for a full thirty seconds.

The alien’s head remained lax (asleep?) as he drew closer, but Lady refused to entertain his desperate motions for her to leave her ill-chosen bed. At this rate, he’d have to pick her up off of it, and hope that she didn’t complain too much on the way out.

He shifted his weight forwards, and suddenly all four of the arms were still, almost taut in the air. Only a couple feet away, the alien’s head bobbed slightly. His time was up.

Clenching his teeth, Roman made a gamble.

He tossed the little mouse toy directly at the space above the alien’s head and dove for Lady.

There was a whistle, like a whip or an arrow sliding through the air, and Roman made the mistake of glancing up as soon as he had his hands securely around Lady’s body.

All four of the spider limbs had jabbed into the same point, skewering the toy from several different angles. The alien was certainly awake now, and it had four times as many eyes as any one person could reasonably need. Between one heartbeat and the next, those huge dark irises went from staring at the poor mutilated toy to staring at Roman.

Terror shot through him and he gave up on subtlety, throwing himself back as hard as he could and hoping that he made it out of range.

He landed on his back with a whomp that knocked the wind out of him, and flinched as that terrifying whistling sound split the air again, ending in a muted thump. He was so wired with adrenaline that he couldn’t tell if he’d been hit or not. Locked in his arms, Lady writhed and complained loudly.

“Not going anywhere,” Roman wheezed, “you little fiend, con-- consorting with the enemy.”

There were several more whistle-thumps, which was either very good or very bad for him. He rolled to his side, pushing himself up on an elbow and taking stock of himself, braced for the worst.

The alien was still standing there against the central support beam of the barn. Half a foot from Roman’s leg, it's very sharp extra arms had left holes pierced in the hard-packed dirt of the barn’s floor.

“But no holes in me,” Roman cheered weakly, and then shifted Lady to the crook of one arm and flipped the alien off. “Nice try, Space Invader.”

The alien made a deep clicking rumble, but stopped trying to impale him. Instead, it moved to hold all those limbs high up in the air menacingly, ready to stab down at any point. The remains of the toy mouse sat near its feet, cotton innards spilling everywhere like a grim warning.

Roman got to his own feet, wincing at the feeling of Lady’s claws poking into his ribs as she attempted to kick her way to freedom. He took a moment to stare once he was back upright.

The alien’s skin plates had gone completely pitch-black, only the slightest hints of purple between the plates to prove that there’d ever been any color to it at all. Roman was abruptly glad that he hadn’t encountered it in the dark of night.

Its eyes were just as dark, with only the slightest difference in shades of black to indicate the difference between iris and sclera. Despite his artistic eye for color differences, even Roman couldn’t tell where its pupils were. If it even had pupils.

It also was still stuck in one place, despite its legs seeming totally operational. Roman slowly shuffled to the side of it, making sure to keep a few good steps clear of stabbing range, and found that it did in fact have normal arms and hands.

Well. Mostly normal. There were five fingers, but they were all way too long and ended in thick, claw-like points. He thought they also maybe had one or two too many joints.

More to the point, the alien couldn’t do anything with these arms because they were bound together at the wrists and tied tightly to the central support beam of the barn. It was stuck there, and going by the aggressive rumbling it was doing, it knew it.

Roman pulled out his phone and managed to take a shaky video of the alien, circling around it to both get a better angle and prompt it to threateningly twitch those back limbs some more. He knew his sci fi tropes, including the one where the alien mysteriously disappears the moment the plucky protagonist tries to tell anyone about the danger. He wasn’t going to be called crazy again.

Once he was content with the amount of evidence he had, he made the trek back to the house at a near-sprint, the cat in his arms protesting all the way. He burst through the back door, letting the screen fall shut behind him, and finally allowed Lady to walk on the power of her own four paws. She beelined for the screen door, stood up on her hind legs, and rattled it expectantly.

“Absolutely not,” Roman told her firmly, nudging her away. “I don’t know what it is with you and courting death via Xenomorph, but you are henceforth banned from the outdoors.”

If angry little kitty looks could kill, Roman would be as dead as King Duncan.

Shaking his head, he went over to the ancient landline phone in their kitchen, lifted the phone from its cradle, and paused.

Who was he going to call?

He’d had some half-conceived notion of calling his parents, or that infuriating police officer, or even just 911. What would he even say? ‘Hello operator, my emergency is that I have an alien in my barn, I promise this isn’t a prank’? Even the dial tone wouldn’t believe that.

And what if they did get someone out here to verify that there was a real alien? There was little doubt in his mind that law enforcement and then the government would quickly step in, whisking the evil version of E.T. away into some distant Area 51 lab. Roman would never see it-- or get any answers from it-- ever again.

He hung the phone up with a solid click, and turned to face the kitchen.

If he was going to interrogate a hostile alien, he needed to arm himself.

---

Shockingly, when he returned to the barn, the alien was still there.

He had crept up quietly again, hoping to catch it unawares, but this time it had been staring unerringly at him from the moment he peeked through the door, those smaller, rounder eyes wide open under its main ones.

He pushed the door open further with a dramatic flourish, pretending like he hadn’t been sneaking at all.

“Alien scourge,” Roman greeted, wincing at the crack in his voice. He cleared his throat, ignoring the way the alien’s dark gaze sent chills down his spine. “I don’t know how you ended up here, but I do know that you’re going to give me the information that I need.”

He pointed the end of his weapon of choice for emphasis, and the alien recoiled with a hiss, quickly jabbing out at it with those back arms.

Just as he’d hoped, however, putting vegetable oil on the already-slick plastic handle of the kitchen broom had made it basically impossible for those single-pronged limbs to stab or grab it. He grinned triumphantly, poking the alien with the end of it. The playing field had officially been evened.

“Now, unless you want me to introduce you to the Earth concept of piñatas, you better tell me what you’re here for.”

The alien was entirely silent, watching him with those shiny, pitch-black eyes. Behind it, its spider arms were vibrating with tension, probably in preparation to stab out the moment he slipped up.

“I’m serious,” Roman warned, poking it a little harder and getting exactly nothing for his efforts, not even a glare. “I know what I saw that night, and there’s no way it’s a coincidence that now you’re here. It was an abduction."

He paused for effect, and the alien let out a series of clicks and low, warped sounds that sounded like meaningless nonsense.

"I don't speak alien." Roman frowned. "Tell me what happened. Why were you-- or, your-- your brethren or your shipmates or whatever, why were they taking people? Where did they take them?”

The alien made what sounded like the same exact series of noises. Roman groaned in frustration.

“In-- In English! You understand what I’m saying, don’t you? If aliens are real and have the technology to infiltrate Earth without being detected, they have to have some way of communicating! An insta-translator or telepathy or math nonsense or something!” He threw his arms out in frustration, making the alien twitch.

He paced back and forth for a moment, before coming to a stop in front of the alien again and leveling it with an accusatory stare. “You’re faking it. I don’t believe that you can’t understand me.”

The alien just kept staring at him, flat plates where its mouth should have been, not a single expression visible on its face. It was about as convinced by Roman’s argument as everyone else in his life, which was to say, not at all. He felt a surge of white-hot anger, and levered the broom at its neck threateningly.

“Tell me, right now!” he demanded, stinging tears building up at the corner of his eyes. “Tell me where my brother is!”

He shoved the broom further forwards, and the alien snapped its limbs forwards and knocked it away, startling him into stumbling back. It hissed at him again, stabbing at the ground like a warning. He scowled, swiping at his face with a sleeve, and swung the broom handle at it sharply.

The swing went wide, more than a foot from touching any of it, but the alien showed the closest thing to emotion he’d seen so far, half of its eyes flinching closed in anticipation. Roman felt a sickening twist in his gut, some odd mix of guilt, anger, and vindication, and he turned away sharply.

Not for the first time, he wished he’d been the one that had been taken.

Remus wouldn’t care if the stupid cops didn’t listen to him, if their parents didn’t believe him, if the whole town thought he was insane. He would know how to convince an alien to talk, would threaten to-- to crush its extra eyes or cut off limbs or do something Roman was too squeamish to even think up.

If it was Remus, it wouldn’t matter if he didn’t know what to do. He’d at least do something.

He wouldn’t be going through the motions of life like everything was the same.

Pretending had always been Roman’s specialty, after all.

Roman cast a furious glare over his shoulder at the alien, resentful that it was still staring at him even as he was in the middle of a breakdown, and tossed the broom into the corner.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said, swallowing back the thickness in his voice, “and every day after that until you tell me.”

Threat delivered, he stormed out of the barn and slammed the doors shut behind him.

[alwaysmarveling]

My Amazing Little Chef

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Warnings: It gets suggestive for all of 2 seconds (but goes absolutely nowhere)

Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: You and Nat are going to have a cooking class one way or another

“Nat, c’mon, we’re going to be late!” you yelled down the hallway, shrugging a denim jacket over your shoulders.

“You always say that,” your girlfriend half-scoffed, half-whined as she slid down the hallway.

“Because we’re always late.” You tossed her her own jacket. “And be careful when you do that, you’re going to slip.”

“You’re taking all the fun out of socks, mom,” Natasha smirked. “Besides, I would never slip. Think about who you’re talking to, babe. And I don’t need a jacket,” she dismissed, throwing the piece of clothing on the couch.

“Nat,” you deadpanned, standing up after putting on your shoes, “You say this every time, and then every time you complain on the way home that you’re cold.”

“Not every time,” the redhead pouted. She gracefully slipped on one shoe while balancing on the other leg. “I only do it when it’s outrageously cold. So it’s justified.” You couldn’t help but smile at her protruding bottom lip, kissing away her pout.

“Well, it wouldn’t be ‘outrageously cold’ if you just brought a jacket like I told you to.” Natasha eyed you warily as she put on her other shoe, upset to see you grabbing the piece of clothing back from the couch. “You don’t have to wear it now, just bring it. Please? For me?” You flashed her puppy dog eyes that you knew she couldn’t resist, holding back a smirk when you could see her not-so-hard resolve crumbling.

“Fine,” she sighed.

“Yay!” you squealed, and Nat couldn’t help but grin at the little jump you did subconsciously. “Now, let’s go.”

---

“See, this is why we should’ve never moved out of the Avengers tower. Out of all days for the car to break down, this had to be it?” You rubbed your forehead as the two of you reentered your house.

“I’m sorry, babe, I know how much you were looking forward to this.” Natasha frowned as she thought about her bike, which was currently sitting somewhere in the Avengers tower so Tony could give it some “much needed upgrades.”

“Yeah,” you sighed, peeling off the denim jacket and tossing it on the same couch Natasha had thrown hers less than fifteen minutes earlier. “I just thought it’d be something fun we could do together.” Your girlfriend picked up your jacket, hanging up yours and hers in the closet before stepping closer to you to squeeze your shoulders.

“Anything I do with you is fun, malyshka,” she reassured you, pecking you on the cheek. “On the bright side, they said we could go to another cooking class whenever we want, so we can always go another day. And one of us already knows how to cook, so we won’t die of hunger,” she teased, squeezing your hips.

“Yeah, but the second I go on a mission, you’re screwed, babe.”

“You’d leave me to starve?” Nat pouted. You turned around, a full smile now on your face.

“Of course not,” you whispered, your noses now less than a centimeter away from each other. You pressed your lips to hers, allowing yourself to melt into the kiss until you heard the former assassin’s stomach growl. “Someone’s hungry,” you giggled. “And I did just say I wouldn’t let you starve…”

“You did,” Natasha murmured, trying to meet your lips again. You gave in but pulled away too quickly for her liking. “Where are you going?” You tugged on her hands, pulling her towards the kitchen. “Where are we going?”

“We are going to have this cooking class whether the car wants to work or not. C’mon, we’ll make dinner together.” You pulled a cabinet open, flipping through various recipes.

“Hm, I do like doing things with you.” Natasha tapped her chin, pretending to think over your decision.

“Shut up, you dork,” you laughed. “Go wash your hands. How do you feel about pad thai?” you suggested after pulling out the recipe, shuffling through various cabinets and pulling out all the ingredients you needed. You’d made it a couple times before, and it could be fun to make together. Plus, pad thai wasn’t hard to make—which, let’s be honest, was essential if Natasha was involved—and it was definitely a tasty option.

“Oo, you do love me.” You snorted, the corners of your lips curling up slightly.

“Let’s just hope this turns out well.”

“I’ve got the pizza place on speed dial if it doesn’t.”

“You won’t need to call them if you just listen to me,” you sang over your shoulder, thinking back to the last time the two of you had tried to cook together. You’d turned away for two seconds, during which Natasha had added baking powder instead of flour to the pizza dough. She’d insisted she’d done it correctly when you pointed out the discrepancy in ingredients. Needless to say, the pizza you ate that night was not one that was baked in your kitchen.

“Oh, be quiet, you,” Nat chuckled, smacking your ass playfully as you walked by her. You squealed, and your girlfriend couldn’t help but giggle at your reaction.

“Are my ears failing me, or did the Black Widow just giggle?”

“Y/N L/N, I swear to god, I will kill you. We are in a kitchen. With knives. I can do it.” You let out a fake gasp as you finished washing your hands, turning off the sink.

“You know where the knives are? I didn’t know you’ve been around here enough to know that!”

“Babe,” Nat whined. “You’re being mean.” You smirked at the pout that had taken over her face.

“Alright, alright. I won’t tease you anymore. Besides, something tells me that you don’t need any knives to kill me.” Natasha hummed, kissing your lips long enough for you to taste the cherry chapstick coating her lips.

“That something would be correct.”

“Softie,” you whispered before slipping away from her. “Now,” you started before she could whine again, let’s begin. So, first, you want to break that up-”

“What even is that?” Your girlfriend stared at the solid brick, her brows scrunched in confusion and mouth slightly gaping.

“It’s tamarind pulp.”

“Tamarind- wh- why do we even have this?”

“For pad thai. You can use it to make other stuff too, Natty,” you explained.

“Yeah, but it looks so…”

“So… what? Trust me, love, regardless of how you think it looks, it’ll taste good. Just break that up, yeah?”

“Okay…” Natasha gave you one last glance before following your instructions. You turned around to get some water before she could notice you smiling at the adorable look of confusion on her face.

Ten minutes and some more ingredients and mixing later, the sauce was done.

“Look, detka, I did it!” You laughed at her reaction, pressing your lips gently to her cheek in response.

“Yes, you did. But we still have a long way to- Nat, what are you doing?”

“Don’t we need to taste test it?” she asked, her mouth still wrapped around her fingers.

“I mean, I guess, but- Natty!”

“What?” she questioned, looking at you from underneath her lashes as she dipped her fingers back into the sauce. “It’s good, and I made it. Therefore, I deserve a reward.”

“You’re going to eat all the sauce before we even make the actual dish,” you whined.

“Okay, but, babe. Just taste it, it’s so good.” She stuck her fingers into your mouth before you could protest, giving you a look until you swirled your tongue around her digits, gathering up all the sauce that coated them. You sucked on her fingers with a wink before letting them go.

“You happy now?” Natasha nodded slightly.

“But wasn’t it good? That’s why I need to have more.” You grabbed her wrist before she could dip it back into the sauce.

“No more. I’m hungry, and I’d like to have my dinner the way it’s supposed to be. And no more sticking your grubby little fingers into the food.”

“Fine,” Nat sighed dramatically. “But maybe a little dessert before dinner wouldn’t hurt, would it?” she murmured, her lips now less than an inch away from your ear. “I was thinking, ba-”

“Uh oh. I’m going to stop you right there. It’s never a good thing when you’re thinking.” Natasha opened her mouth to defend herself, but you started talking before she could. “Cooking class, Nat. You’re learning how to cook. That’s it.”

“But why do I need to learn how to cook when I’ve got the best meal I could ever ask for right in front of me?” Her arms snaked around your waist only for you to hit them lightly until she let go. Face burning, you had to admit you wouldn’t mind giving in, but you had a mission of sorts to finish: make dinner with Nat without anything extraordinarily bad happening. “You don’t want me?” the spy whispered, not willing to give up so easily. Before you could respond, the room filled with the sound of her stomach growling once again.

“I always want you,” you chuckled, “But I think you want this pad thai more than you’re letting on. Can we go back to cooking now? Please?”

“I suppose,” Natasha gave in. “But you owe me.”

“I guess I’m okay with that,” you winked at her. “Now, you need to wash your hands again before you get saliva everywhere, and I’m going to cut this chicken.” Your girlfriend gave you one last kiss before obliging.

“Just be careful, baby,” she started as you picked up the knife. “I don’t need you accidentally cutting yourself.”

“I won’t, Nat,” you rolled your eyes. You had just started to cut into the meat when you heard a rushing sound and a high-pitched hum from Natasha.

“What the-”

“Huh?” You looked up from the cutting board and were rewarded by a searing pain on your middle finger.

“Ow!”

“Are you okay?” Natasha turned the water off immediately before rushing to you, hands cupping yours. “Y/N, I literally just told you not to hurt yourself.”

“I’m sorry, I got distracted! The sink made that weird noise, and I’m clumsy. I just...”

“It was just the water pressure being all weird again, hon. Look,” Nat tsked. “You sliced the skin right off. Go wash that off while I grab a bandaid,” the redhead ordered. “And I’ll be doing the rest of the cutting tonight.”

“Nat, I’m fine. I can-”

“I don’t want to hear anything more from you. You cut yourself literally ten seconds after you said you wouldn’t. No more knife privileges for you tonight. Or maybe ever.”

“Natty,” you whined, this time it being your turn to pout. “I’m in pain, and you’re my girlfriend. I don’t need you chastising me, I need you comforting me.” You finished up washing your hands and met the woman at the counter. 

“Well, if you hurt yourself, I’m going to do both,” she muttered, concentrating on wrapping the bandaid around your still-bleeding appendage. When she finished, she lifted your hand gently, brushing her lips over the covered wound, her eyes never leaving yours. “Better?”

“Much.”

“Good. Now tell me how I’m supposed to cut this.”

“I guess, you’d say, what can me feel this way?” My girl...” Natasha sang along with the music as she tossed the food in the wok.

“Natty, be careful, you goof!” you giggled. Your girlfriend simply shook her head at you as she continued to sing, her hips swaying to the beat.

“My girl, my girl, my girl,” she winked. “Talkin’ ‘bout my girl, my girl!”

“Baby,” you laughed, “Pay attention to the food before it burns. You can sing later.” You turned down the volume of the speaker before Nat could get too carried away. “Okay, keep stirring the food in the wok,” you ordered. “I’ll be back in a second. Please don’t burn the house down before I get back.” You stepped away from your girlfriend for a second to grab some plates, chopped peanuts, bean sprouts, and the chicken you had cooked earlier.

“I’m not going to burn the house down,” Nat countered.

“I’m sensing some deja vu,” you warned, your back turned to your girlfriend. She simply rolled her eyes in response, taking her eyes off the wok to watch you and pushing some of the noodles out of the wok in the process.

When you turned back around seconds later, you sighed. “Natty, be careful. Look at the wok.” Upon seeing the now displaced noodles, the redhead let out a small breath as her shoulders dropped. “It’s okay, babe,” you reassured her, setting down everything before kissing her shoulder. “I would say you’ve done pretty well tonight. This is just a little slip-up. And look, no fire!”

“Yeah, no fire.”

“It’ll all be worth it when we get to eat. Speaking of which, this is almost done. You wanna go set the table, and I’ll finish this up?”

“Okay,” your girlfriend smiled. “Thank you, dorogaya.” Natasha pecked your cheek before going to grab the silverware.

“Couldn’t have done it without you, love,” you grinned, humming as you plated the dish. The sound of footsteps approached you from behind, and sure enough, Natasha wrapped her arms around your torso seconds later.

“Wow, that looks amazing. It smells even better.”

“You did that.” You brought one of your hands down and squeezed hers.

“I did do that, didn’t I? I did that,” Natasha said aloud, causing you to laugh. When you turned around, your heart melted at the look of pride on her face.

“My amazing little chef,” you praised, kissing her briefly. “Hey, Nat.” A smile grew on your lips as you got lost in your thoughts for a moment. “Do you think Tony can cook? Because if he can, do you think Pepper calls him her ‘iron chef’?” Natasha groaned at your joke.

“You’re way too cheesy, detka. And let’s keep the discussion on us. I do not need to be thinking about Tony’s love life.” Before you could turn back around to grab the food, Natasha pulled you back in for another kiss.

“Okay, okay,” you laughed when she finally let you go. “Are we going to stand here all day, or do you plan on letting us eat soon? Because I personally would like to do more than just stare at the food we made.”

“I guess we can eat,” Nat smirked as you brought the plates to the table.

---

“Hey,” you murmured, turning your face to look up at Natasha. She continued to run her fingers through your hair but shifted her gaze from her book to you. “Thanks for tonight. I had a lot of fun.”

“So did I,” Nat smiled. “Thank you for teaching me how to cook, printsessa.” You hummed for a moment before responding.

“I don’t know if I taught you how to cook. You still have a lot to learn, my young one.”

“Says the one who cut herself.”

“It was an accident! I was worried about you,” you protested. “I do hope we can go to that cooking class soon, though. Being your teacher is exhausting. No wonder Steve gets so aggravated with you during training.”

“Well, sorry,” your girlfriend scoffed, hitting your shoulder lightly. You dismissed her with a light kiss to the palm of her hand.

“It was really cute seeing you all excited and proud, though. I’d give anything to see you like that again.” Nat blushed, and you kept going. “Absolutely adorable, babe. You should’ve seen yourself.”

“Shut up and kiss me,” she finally interrupted you. “You taste like pad thai,” Nat chuckled.

“But it’s good though?”

“Mm, very good,” the redhead agreed, going back to her book.

“Like I said, it’s all thanks to my amazing little chef.”