#Sometimes I can hear it go past my window at night scratching away | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

boxofbonesfic · 6 months

Text

Title: The Endless

Kinktober Masterlist

Kink: Body Horror

Pairing: Dennis x Reader, Ransom x Reader

Wordcount: 6,011

Summary: The evil at the heart of Drysdale manor defies all explanation—and comprehension.

Warnings: Body Horror, Victorian Era, Eldritch Horror, Lovecraftian Horror, Dubcon, Noncon, Monsterfucking, Manipulation, Graphic descriptions of gore

A/N: here’s my super late second Kinktober entry! i’m sorry procrastination got the better of me this month, but i hope you all still enjoy my work. as always, comments, reblogs and feedback are always welcome. 💖 mind the warnings, and enjoy!

You are awake.

Cool air stirs the moth-eaten drapes hanging over the narrow window, and gooseflesh rises on your clammy, sweat-damp skin. Your hands tremble as you clutch the bedsheets, aching from the tightness of your grip while you stare into the dark.

Why are you awake?

Your bedroom is awash in gray twilight, illuminated only by a stripe of cold, clear moonlight that spills across the floor like water. The shadowy corners of your threadbare room offer no answers either, and you slowly unclench your shaking fists to place a hand over your heaving chest.

A dream? No. A nightmare.

Nothing of it remains now, only dim memories of pulsing warmth, of hungry hands and mouths. You swallow, your tongue sticking to the roof of your dry mouth. You have not slept easily in the manor since your arrival two weeks prior, and tonight is no different.

The wood flooring creaks underneath you as you make your way toward the window, intent on closing it. You pause with your hands on the windowpane, staring up through the glass. It is a cloudless night, the full moon hanging low above the treetops like a fat jewel. The sky around it is dark—there are no stars. No stars at all.

How can there be a moon, but no stars?

You do not remember opening the window before you went to sleep, and as it creaks shut, the servant’s bell rings insistently beside your bed. You turn toward the sound, your lips pressed into a thin line. It doesn’t stop ringing as you gather your robe up from the back of the chair by the desk in the corner, and tie it tightly around your waist. After a few tries, you get the oil lamp on the bedside table lit, and soft orange light blooms on the wick. The still shadows in the corners of the room now breathe and shift as the flame dances behind the glass.

The bell rings again.

The hallway is dark, the cool air still and stale. Your lamp casts long shadows on the walls, dimly illuminating the dusty, ill-kept portraits hanging there. As you pass, the grim faces of Drysdales past glower down at you, the corners of their lips seeming to curve in the firelight.

The light plays tricks sometimes, in the dark.

You can hear the wind outside, branches scratching against the worn, crumbling sides of the manor, like tapping fingers. The manor had been a grand place once, but try as you might, you cannot imagine it so. Few traces of that splendor remain in the empty rooms of decaying furniture and dead leaves. Much like its owner, the house is failing, curling in on itself in its old age, the water-logged walls sagging inward as if the house were holding its breath.

You ascend the stairs, careful not to put too much weight on the railing; the iron is pitted and rusting from the damp, and you are not fool enough to trust it. As you reach the landing, door at the end of the hall opens, spilling light into the gloom. Dennis stands in the doorway, fiddling with his spectacles.

“S-sorry to wake you,” he mumbles. It’s as if he’s trying to look anywhere but your face. When he does, his cheeks go pink, and he looks away again. “H-his chest is hurting again.”

You offer him a tired smile.

“You needn’t apologize to me for doing my job, Mr. Drysdale.” In the short weeks you have been at the manor, you have come to know Dennis Drysdale as a sweet, nervous man, and he has done little to dissuade you of that impression. He steps aside to allow you into the room, still stammering as he trails behind you.

“That may well be, b-but is after midnight. I-I’m perfectly capable of administering the injection myself, but he insisted. Grandfather can be quite…stubborn.” He murmurs the last part as he closes the door with a sharp click. The master suite is bright and warm in comparison to your room, a fire raging in the marble hearth, and the sconces lit.

“I truly am sorry for waking you.” Dennis catches your sleeve with the tips of his fingers. Suddenly, you are not cold at all, your body brimming with heat.

“It’s really no trouble. Consider it repayment—I did so enjoy seeing the grounds yesterday.” You had thanked him then, too; and his cheeks, already bitten red by the crisp autumn chill had gone even redder. You have found little to like about Drysdale manor, but Dennis’ company remains one of few instances of silver lining.

“P-perhaps I-I could show you more. I-inside, I mean.” His expression turns hopeful. “The music room i-is quite lovely.”

“I would quite like that.”

You wash your hands in the darkened washroom before removing the injection kit from the cabinet. The bed at the center of the room is a massive, four postered thing that like the rest of the manor, has seen better days. The intricate carvings on the canopy’s pillars are worn with age now, the gold leaf eroded by time and touch, and the red velvet curtains eaten through by moths.

Ransom Drysdale lies on the bed, his breath a wet rattle in his sluggishly moving chest. The old man smiles at you as you approach, and despite his age, his teeth are remarkably straight and white. Ransom’s thin, drawn skin stretches tightly across his skull, the bone pressing through so sharply you can’t believe the skin doesn’t split from the force. He reminds you of a baby bird, light and fragile. He beckons you with one frail hand.

“Good evening.”

“Mr. Drysdale,” you greet him. “Are you not feeling well?” His smile thins, and he gestures at himself.

“This body is almost ninety-five years old. I never feel well.” He watches you with remarkably sharp blue eyes as you put on gloves and prepare the long silver syringe, poking it through the rubbery covering stretched over the top of the bottle. Ransom offers you his right arm, fist clenched as you tie the rubber tourniquet. He doesn’t move as you slide the needle in.

“Don’t get old,” he advises as you put pressure on the pinprick, staunching the sluggish flow of his blood.

“I don’t think I can stop that,” you reply, wiping at the spot with an alcohol soaked pad before wrapping his thin arm in a bandage. “The Lord gives us each our time.” You clean the syringe off and store it back in the kit. Ransom’s dry laugh becomes a gurgling cough, and when he pulls his hand away from his mouth there is red staining his palm.

“The Lord?” He scoffs. “Come now, I thought you much more intelligent than that.” You cannot help your own lip from curling in disapproval.

“Of course I believe in God.” You snap closed the latch of the kit with more force than necessary. His smile widens at your words, and for a moment all you can see are those too-white, too-perfect teeth. There are so many, it’s like his mouth is wider than it should be.

“Ah, yes. You are a proper lady, after all.” Mockery drips from every syllable, and you cannot stop your own face from wrinkling with distaste. “Please, indulge an old man his eccentricities.” He pats the bedside with a frail hand. “I shall be asleep soon enough.” You glance at Dennis, who stands near the fireplace, doing his level best to not be noticed.

“You are an atheist?” You ask as you sit.

“Not by chance,” Ransom replies. “But by experience.” For a moment, there is no sound other than the crackling whisper of the fire. He stares at it, and the flames dance strangely in his eyes. “All my long life, I have seen little of the doings of God.”

“And what have you seen?” The wind howls outside, and the fire burns low, and the old man’s eyes seem to pierce through the very essence of your being.

“The malevolent dark.” Ransom licks his lips. “Once you have peeled back the veil and looked beneath, my Sweet, there is no way to sew back up the wound.” A chill rolls down your spine as if drawn by an icy finger. You look away. “How can one be God of godless things?” You want nothing more than to leave this room, for the elder Drysdale’s bright blue eyes to look anywhere but at you.

“I am not a theologian, Mr. Drysdale,” you reply, swallowing thickly. “I am a nurse.”

“And is that all you are?” He asks, and you shrink at the hunger in his gaze. “Beneath?” The way he looks at you… Were he a younger man, you suspect he might have reached for your hand—or the hem of your dress. You stand, suddenly, your face uncomfortably warm and your stomach churning.

“I trust the pain has subsided?” The question comes out curtly, and Ransom laughs, his voice like dry reeds.

“Yes thank you.”

Though the hallway is as dark and unwelcoming as it was before, you still prefer the quiet dread over the fevered intensity of the elder Drysdale. Somehow, it takes longer to find your room again, the twisting, labyrinthine corridors more confusing in the dark. You set the lantern on the desk and untie your robe, hanging it neatly on the hook at the back of the door.

Once you have peeled back the veil and looked beneath, there is no way to sew up the wound.

As you turn toward the bed, there is a noise like rustling paper. Your chest seizes, and you feel your body clench as you turn toward the sound. For a moment you do not see it, squinting in the dim light of your little oil lantern. There by the door, the corner of the wallpaper has begun to peel. As you watch, it curls down another inch or two, gummy strands of old glue snapping as it falls. You move to fix it, standing on the tips of your toes to reach. But as you press yourself against the wall, it is not spongy, crumbling plaster you feel but warmth. Like skin.

You recoil, retching.

The faded vines painted on the yellowed wallpaper writhe like snakes as you stare, their leaves trembling. There is a buzzing in your skull, a vibration that makes it impossible to focus on the shifting patterns. You reach up again, and catch the edge of a loose strip under your fingernails. There is a wet, tearing sound as you pull at the wallpaper, your fingers slipping, slick now as you peel the paper back from the wall. Your eyes widen, and you drop the strip in your hand with a muffled shriek as you clap your hand to your mouth to stifle it.

There is no stone or plaster beneath the yellowed wallpaper—but instead there is raw, red flesh. Dark, purple veins ran through it, disappearing beneath the torn edges of the paper. It pulses wetly with the house’s heartbeat, and a lidless, red rimmed eye peers out at you from the gore, rolling as you reel back.

Warmth trickles from your nose, and you wipe at it with the back of your hand, a whimper escaping your lips as it comes away wet and red. The heartbeat grows louder and louder until it is all you can feel, trembling in your bones. It isn’t half as horrible as the voice, though, the voice that whispers into your bleeding ears like grinding glass—

You collapse to the floor, and as your vision narrows, and on your tongue you taste warm copper. Your body trembles violently, your limbs flailing. The full moon shines down on you through the window, the only light in the starless sky.

There is no way to sew up the wound.

—

You wake in near darkness to the sound of a knock. The little window at the foot of your bed reveals a darkening sky, its edges tinged with fast fading pink and orange. I slept all day? You quickly rinse your face in the bowl at your bedside, wincing as you wipe at the crusted blood by your nose. It comes away easily, and you rub it between your fingers until it dissipates in the water.

Another nightmare.

The wallpaper by the door is whole and unmarred, no signs of the horrific thing you’d seen beneath it. Perhaps you’d scratched yourself in your sleep? It is the only remaining possibility. The knock sounds again, and you call out over your shoulder.

“Coming!”

When you open the door, Dennis is on the other side.

“Oh good, you’re awake.” There is genuine relief on his features. “You were quite tired, earlier.” In his hands is a tea tray, and your face warms when you realize he’s brought it for you. You step aside to allow him entry. Dennis sets down the tea on the desk, and stands next to it awkwardly.

“I do not remember your earlier visit,” you say apologetically as shame settles like lead in your belly. “I was remiss in my duties today.”

“You were unwell.” Dennis waves off your concern, smiling gently at you. “The house still stands, and my grandfather remains as ill-tempered as ever. There is little you have missed.” Your laugh is unexpected, escaping your lips before you can stifle it. Dennis’ smile widens.

He is so handsome when he smiles. And he is, truly, without the worry and anxiety lining his face, he seems twenty years younger, standing there in your room.

“You are too kind.”

“Someone should be.” He holds your gaze a fraction of a second too long, and you feel your heart flutter in your chest. “Your, ah, your tea. We shouldn’t let it get cold.”

“Oh, n-no. Of course not.”

There are no chaperones here in the manor to ensure the two of you remain decent, but you leave the door open out of habit anyway, the sunset turning the hallway orange and purple. You drop two sugars into your cup, and then pour in the tea from the little porcelain pot.

“Have you always lived at Drysdale manor?” You ask, and Dennis shakes his head.

“Oh, no.” He looks down at his cup. “When my mother died, Ransom took me in.”

“I’m so sorry.” His smile turns sad. “And your father?”

“Died before I was born. He and Grandfather didn’t really… get along. I’d never met him until the funeral, actually. He raised me. Paid for my schooling…” Dennis pauses, looking wistfully at the bands of fading sunlight. “It is a debt I can never hope to repay.” He turns those soft blue eyes to you. “I know the manor is… less than pleasant.”

You cannot disagree. “You should not have to stay.”

“Grandfather will let me go, soon.” He says, though neither of you truly believe it. “He says the time is coming when this house will be mine to do with as I wish.”

“And what do you wish to do with it?” You ask, draining the last of your tea from your cup.

“Let it crumble into the sea.” Dennis finishes his cup, and places it back on the tray. “I am truly happy to see you better. You did not seem…yourself.”

You grimace. “My nights have not been particularly restful, Mr. Drysdale.” Reluctantly, you meet his gaze. “And the nights here are long.” Dennis looks at you with a grim smile.

“They are indeed.” He casts a pensive look at his teacup. “I should like to visit somewhere with long days.”

“Somewhere warm. Somewhere the sea isn’t quite so gray, and cold.” Dennis’ expression lightens as you sigh. “I do miss the sea.”

“I should like to see it. Your sea, I mean.” Dennis has seen even less of the world than you have, the majority of his experience limited to the manor and the sleepy township on the other side of the overgrown wood. To one side of the crumbling manor is the wood, and the other the sea. Here, it is as dark and cold as the manor that looms over it, angry waves crashing endlessly against the rocky bluffs.

“You are a young man, yet. There is plenty of time, if you do not mind me saying so, Mr—”

“Dennis. Please.” His fingers twitch on the desk, like he wants to touch you. “I should like to hear you call me by my name.” You hesitate, almost afraid of the familiarity.

“Dennis.” His smile is brighter than the setting sun.

“Thank you.”

—

The house is a cruel maze. Every turn you take brings you back the the master bedroom, the doors appearing insistently around every corner. You do not want to open them. You want anything but to open them. The doors glow with a sickly pale purple light, vibrating and pulsing excitedly like a beating heart. Around you, the hallway is brightly lit, the chandeliers above you sparkling as if they’d only just been dusted, the wood paneling polished to gleaming. You turn away, and the house creaks around you like it’s heaving a sigh.

You do not want to open the door, but the dream does, presenting it to you as you try to flee from it, the hallway stretching out in front of you with the doors at the end.

The handles are cold under your fingers, and you press down on the latch, throwing them open. Ransom waits for you on the other side. With every step you take toward him, he looks younger. He is handsome when you reach him, and though his eyes sweep down over your naked body, you feel no shame.

“Nothing great can be had without sacrifice.” The knife he presses into your hands is of the clearest, blackest glass. The symbols carved on the hilt vibrate in your skull painfully. Your body moves without your direction, turning towards the fireplace. Dennis stands in front of it—naked too.

“Cut.”

You do.

You have to put the symbols somewhere—they can’t stay in your head, they’re too big. It hurts to have them there, and you need to put them somewhere, anywhere. So you put them on Dennis’ skin, carving them lovingly into his chest. He doesn’t scream.

“Cut.”

You do.

The knife slides in like butter, and Dennis’ skin parts as easily as the wallpaper. What pours out of him isn’t blood, thick like tar, like pulled taffy, pooling at your feet.

You sit up, a scream threatening to burst from your throat. Like last night, the only light is that of the moon, painting shapes on your wall through the window. Shaking, you reach for the matches, lighting the wick of your oil lantern with clumsy fingers.

The dream has done more than unnerve you. Warning t you bells ring in your mind’s ear, calling for you to run, run—and you want to. You look down at your hands—there is blood under your fingernails.

I have to find Dennis.

The thought consumes you, driving you as you tie your robe around your nightgown with shaking hands and sweaty palms. The darkness in the hallway is oppressive, bearing down on your little lantern with weight that leaves you staggering. On the wall, the portraits whisper to one another, just out of reach of the dim firelight. You wipe at the blood beginning to leak from your right nostril, and the droplets that have already dried there flake off onto the back of your hand.

“Dennis!” Your voice is muffled by the dark, swallowed by it—not even the echo returns to your ears.

Slowly, you ascend the stairs.

With each step, the discomfort weighing in your stomach like lead grows heavier and heavier. Something terrible awaits you upstairs, you just know it—and yet you cannot stop.

The air at the landing is thick and warm, and you gag as you breathe it in. You hold your lamp aloft, praying that it will illuminate the bespectacled face of your host—it does not. There is a gurgling moan, muffled by the closed door, and you shiver when you hear it.

“D-Dennis?”

Pale light leaks out from underneath the door of the master bedroom, and terrified tears gather in your eyes as you approach it. There’s a dull thud, and a wet crunch, and the light pulses like a heartbeat. With a shaking hand, you push against the door.

A scream rips itself from your throat.

The putrid mass of flesh almost hurts to look at, looming in the dimly lit chamber. It is as though Ransom has been unmade, reduced to a trembling puddle of skin and hands and teeth that cling to Dennis’ writhing body like a leech. Its form is a grotesque patchwork of twisted flesh and horror, malformed limbs, distorted faces that writhed and contorted with sickening fluidity. Its skin—if it could even be called that—was a pulsating, mottled mess of sickly colors; patches of ashen gray and bruised purples that oozed dark, foul blood.

Everywhere it touches, it sticks fast like glue, the flesh flowing together seamlessly, like they’re one single being.

Blood trickles from both your nostrils, flowing down over your lips as your brain rattles uncomfortably in your skull. Something like a mouth opens wide, revealing rows and rows of teeth while bulbous unblinking eyes stare at you from his misshapen form. It speaks, and warm blood leaks from your ears at the sound of its voice.

“Godless-ess-ess things-ngs-gs.” The mouths do not speak in unison, each stepping on the tail of the other as they rush to get the words out. The Ransom-thing pulls Dennis’ mouth open, and his gurgled moan of pain is cut short as it reaches inside. His throat bulges obscenely as the fist travels down it, and the wet choking noises are all you can hear as Dennis turns tearful, bloodshot eyes to you. That horrible light grows warm enough to burn, the skin of your cheeks blistering and splitting open in the wake of its brilliance.

How can it shine so bright and be so dark?

The world bends, ripping open like paper as the room runs like watercolor paint, with only darkness behind. It’s like he said. You cannot make the words come out of your mouth as your eyes begin to roll, your jaw locking. You taste fresh blood as your teeth sink into your lip, your whine of strangled in your tight throat. Malevolent dark. Blood is dripping from both of your nostrils, leaking warm copper all over your lips and chin. Your head feels full to bursting, like everything inside is going to leak out of your ears, and you are falling—

And you go willingly into nothing.

—

The sunlight streaming through your window is the brightest its been since you arrived. It is the warmth on your face that wakes you first, and then the terror lances through you, fresh as ever. The same four walls greet your wide eyes as you stare disbelievingly around the room. Your mouth tastes like stale blood, and you find the source as your tongue touches the sore patch on your lip where your teeth had broken through the skin.

You wash yourself as quickly as you are able before venturing out into the uncharacteristically bright hallway. Perhaps it is the angle of the sun through the window on this particular morning, but the worn carpet seems brighter, its pale red restored to bright crimson. The portraits on the wall have lost their gaunt, fragile quality. Indeed, you can see their rosy cheeks, as if their sallow complexion was shed with the heavy dark.

As you arrive at the second floor landing, you spy Dennis in the doorway of the master suite.

“Dennis!” You rush toward him, your heart in your throat as you recall your blood-soaked nightmares. For what else could they be? He looks surprised to see you, pausing with his hand on the door handle.

“Good morning,” He replies, his expression grim “I was—I was just going to call for you.” You pause in your preliminary inspection of his features,

He looks at the ground. “He died last night.”

“What? He—he died?” Your shock makes you take a step back, searching Dennis’ features for the lie. There is none.

You look past him into the bedroom. Ransom’s frail body is indeed there on the bed, his skeletal chest still. You wait for a moment, to see if those mad blue eyes will open again, but the do not. Dizzily, you lean against the doorframe, one hand on your thundering heart. The memory is there, as sharp and clear as crystal. Tearing flesh and sinew, the thick taste of blood in the air—

“I-I should check his pulse.” You grimace at the thought of approaching the bed, but you do not know what else to do. “To be sure.” Dennis shakes his head.

“You-you don’t understand,” he says sadly. “I-I was here when grandfather took his last breath.” Dennis’ blue eyes shine with unshed tears, and you suspect he might have cried before you’d gotten there. “I have already sent for the vicar—h-he should be here tomorrow.” You have no desire to approach the bed, nor Ransom’s body. He moves forward to close the door, forcing you back out into the hall. “You… you need not stay longer than necessary. I—I shall of course ensure you are fully compensated for your time.”

“My time?” You pause, shaking your head. “I—are you alright?” He seems fine, his skin pale but unblemished. There are no teethmarks, no missing fingers, no melting, gelatinous flesh. Instead, he smiles at you, that soft, gentle smile.

“I was sure you would be packing your bags already. Not… asking how I am.” He reaches for your hand, passing his thumb softy over your knuckles as your cheeks prick with heat as he shakes his head. Your stomach flutters at his words. With a sharp intake of breath, you sink your teeth into your lip, tasting warm copper as it aligns with the delicate bite mark you’d left behind just last night. Dennis drops your hand, as if suddenly aware of the impropriety of having held it in the first place.

“I—I’ve no right to ask, but… Will you stay? Until the vicar arrives?”

“Of course!” You exclaim. In truth, you do desire to leave the manor—more than almost anything—but you’ve little desire to leave Dennis alone in this dismal, terrible place. He clasps his hands behind his back, like he’s trying to keep from touching you.

“Thank you. For all you’ve done for my family.” His reluctant to say it leaves him floundering for, a moment, his mouth working silently. “And for me.” Your throat tightens, your tongue floundering uselessly in your mouth.

“Y-you’re welcome.”

—

It feels as if you’ve wandered into a dream as you pack up your things, emptying the dark wardrobe in the corner of all your personal effects. Your face heats as you recall the warmth of his hand, the softness of his smile. Were you back in the city, were you both unfettered by duty and class—perhaps Dennis might have courted you. And if you had parents to approve of the match, certainly they would.

Another life, perhaps.

As you finish tucking the last of your belongings into your bags, a light knock comes at the door.

“May I come in?”

You look down at yourself hurriedly, smoothing nervous hands over your dress.

“Yes.” The door opens slowly, and Dennis smiles bashfully on the other side.

“I thought perhaps we, er, we might have dinner. Together.” He looks down. ��T-the cook always goes home just before dusk, and I, well…” Dennis doesn’t have to say it. He doesn’t want to be alone. You don’t either.

“I would like that.”

You’ve not eaten in the dining room before—indeed you’d never been in it at all except in passing when you had very first arrived. Now, however, it seems almost warm, the sconces lit, a fire raging in the massive hearth as the dying sunlight fades from the wide, tall windows. He greets you with a nervous smile.

“Please—sit.” He pulls out your chair for you, and then takes the seat to your left. The dining room is well lit, the cobwebs cleaned from the rafters. The low chandelier is polished to gleaming, and you wonder at the state of the manor. Dennis uncovers the plates, setting aside the dish covers. There is rabbit on your plate, with fresh asparagus in cream—by far the most appetizing meal you have had since coming to Drysdale manor.

“Oh, Dennis…” It feels like he’s done this for you. “This is lovely.”

Dennis’ rings tap softly against your wine glass as he fills it. Funny. You hadn’t noticed him wearing them before, though you cannot be sure. You pluck the proffered glass from his fingers, and take a sip. It’s light, fruity.

His expression fills with warmth as he looks at you.

“I-I admit, I h-have come to quite enjoy your company.” He says softly. “Would it be bold to assume y-you feel the same?” Your throat tightens, and you look down at your plate, your face warming.

“Bold, yes. Quite bold.” You clench your hands together under the table where he cannot see. “But not untrue.” You smile at him. Dennis is as easy to talk to as ever—perhaps even moreso, now, without the specter of his grandfather’s disapproval hanging over him. The food is delicious, and you find yourself ravenous for it, eating with gusto.

“If it is not too grim to ask, what will you do now?”

“What do you mean?” Dennis cocks his head at you.

“Well, I—you said your grandfather would be letting you go, soon,” you reply, dabbing at the corners of your mouth with a napkin. “I thought you might travel.”

Dennis chuckles. “Why would I do that? I’ve everything I need right here.” I would let it crumble into the sea. He reaches for your hand, and you let him hold it. “In fact, I… I thought I might ask you to stay with me. Here, at the manor.” You cannot help the look of distaste that flickers across your face, and Dennis laughs. “I know, I know. But it’s mine, now, you see? We can do whatever we like within these walls.”

“Firstly, we shall take down those horrid portraits,” you reply, and he laughs.

“See? You’ll make an excellent lady of the house yet.”

There is a weight to his words that brings prickling heat to your cheeks.

He sweeps away the plates, uncaring when one of them tips onto the floor, spilling half eaten food onto the rug. Dennis pulls you close and you gasp, your palms flat against his chest. You don’t push him away, though, no, your fingers tangle in his lapels, clinging to him desperately as he stares longingly down into your eyes.

Dennis kisses you then, softly brushing his lips against your own. You can taste the hunger on his skin.

“You care for me,” the words are hushed. “And I you.” You grip the edge of the table behind you so hard you feel the blood drain from your knuckles. His mouth is fierce against yours, his teeth tugging at your bottom lip until you gasp. The swift pecks you have been given pale in comparison to the way Dennis seems to want to consume you, the hungry way he drinks down each weak little mewl you make.

When you imagined Dennis’ hands on your body, you had thought perhaps that his fingers would tremble as they undid the buttons of your dress—but instead they are sure, steady. He parts the layers of fabric until your cheeks burn with the indecency of it all, but you cannot bring yourself to ask him to stop. Instead, it is your voice that trembles as you mumble against his mouth.

“T-the servants, someone will see—”

“They don’t stay after dark,” Dennis pushes the two halves of your dress from your shoulders and it pools at your hips as he scoots your hips backward until you are seated firmly on the table. “You know that.” His soft blue eyes are hard and ravenous, now as he looks at you. Your cotton under-dress offers little decency, the dark circles of your nipples poking up through the fabric. Dennis drags his thumb across one of them, glorying in your muted whine.

Your head spins, buoyed by the sweet wine still on your tongue. God in heaven, you want—you want to touch him too, and you do, cupping his face as he devours you. That is what he’s doing, you realize as Dennis’ teeth tug hard at your lower lip. He drinks down each breathy cry as if he has been desperate for them all this time, and you gasp as he drags his mouth down your jaw, nipping at your throat before pulling away to admire the indecent bruise you know is forming at your throat.

“D-Dennis—!” His gaze does not waver, as if you had not called his name. He fills every moment, so that no space remains for your uncertainties. “W-wait, we should—”

“We should have each other as we desire.” Eagerly, Dennis drinks in every inch of exposed skin as he pulls aside your collar, licking his lips. He takes his time to with each button, undoing them one by one until he reaches bare skin. “Don’t you think, my Sweet?” He looses the tie at his throat, dragging a thumb across your parted lips as he works loose the buttons on his own shirt. You falter as you reach for him, your brows drawing together in confusion.

You aren’t sure why his words have given you pause, why they set warning bells ringing in the recesses of your mind. You think of your dream again, that horrible, hungry flesh, and for an instant, Dennis’ lips taste of copper. He gropes at your bare breasts, breathing heavily against your mouth as he moans. You push at his chest, suddenly finding him heavier than you’d thought he’d be, and so much more solid.

“Dennis, Dennis wait—” There is annoyance on his face when he pulls away, an emotion you’ve not yet seen him express, not with you.

“For what?” He snaps, his eyes hard. “The vicar, so that I may place a useless trinket on your finger?” He holds your hand up, dragging his lips along the back of it. “Oh, but you’re a proper lady, aren’t you, Sweet?”A proper lady. Dennis nips at your fingers with sharp teeth. “I promise I’ll keep you,” he says, grinning darkly as you stare at him. “Forever.”

Dennis peels away the last vestiges of your clothing, leaving you bare before him.

“Beautiful.” You’ve had no touch other than your own, and your eyes go wide as Dennis’ cups your warm center with a groan. He slides his fingers along the seam of your lips, parting them to reveal your slick folds. He smiles. “Not such a proper lady, then.”

Perhaps it is the way he says it, the way he turns his head just so, the smile on his lips turning just a tiny bit cruel. The knowledge passes from your mind and leaves your lips in an instant, his true name falling from your tongue in shock and horror.

“Ransom?”

The smile widens, curling at the edges of his lips and spreading until it is so wide it threatens to split his skull in two—

“Dennis!”

“He’s not here, Love,” Ransom’s mouth has too many teeth in it. “I ate him all to pieces.” His eyes are empty black holes when he looks at you, that horrible purple light leaking from his mouth. Warmth leaks from your nose as you push fruitlessly at his chest. “They always did say the resemblance was uncanny,” he says, clucking his tongue at you. “Don’t you think so, Sweet?”

You scream.

#cevans fanfiction #cevans fandom #chris evans fic #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #ransom x reader #ransom x you #horror #darkfic #dubcon #ransom drysdale x OFC #monsterfucking #dark!fic #dark mc #eldritch horror #boxofbonesfic #kinktober 2023 #kinktober

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angelyuji · 11 months

Text

peeping peter

yandere!peter parker x reader

peter decides that he's had enough waiting :)

tw // kidnapping, non-consensual picture taking, stalking, shitty friend activties, peter is a perv!

dark content ahead! 18+

“peter! hey!” you rush over, pushing past the many fast-paced new yorkers.

“(y/n)!” peter perks up, holding two coffees and a camera slung around his shoulder. the weather was frosty, people were preparing for an awful winter storm over the weekend, and you had promised to meet peter for coffee after work.

“ahh, oh my gosh, thank you so much.” you almost moan as the coffee warms you up.

“you took your time getting here,” he laughs, he takes his camera out to take pictures of bystanders before turning it to you. “pose, please.” you freeze, coffee cup against your mouth. “perfect.” he looks at it for a couple seconds before turning it to you.

you smile, “peter parker, you are the only one capable of taking good pictures of me.” he shrugs, but you see the embarrassment creep up his face. you walk together, catching each other up. both of you end up walking through a park. aside from the quiet clicking of peter’s camera and the chirps of the birds, there was a comfortable silence between the two of you. soon you’re both in front of your apartment.

“thanks for coming, (y/n).” he smiles.

“it was nice catching up with you, pete.” you hug peter and he blushes again. “we should do this again sometime, once work settles down.” you smile.

“i’ll-i’ll send you the pictures later.” he turns away, putting his camera in his bag. you bite your cheek, stopping your laugh. the both of you part and the rest of your day progresses as normal.

at night, you’re awoken by a sound. something like clicking.

“it’s probably just some dumb kids.” you assure yourself, rolling over. your eyes close, but you sit up after hearing the clicks once more. you sit up, annoyed. you look towards your window, contemplating yelling at whoever’s on the roof, but see someone standing there. your eyes go wide, your breathing stops. their hands press against the glass of the window. the room turns cold and you can’t move. their hands start to, carefully slide open the window. right then, your body turns back on and you jump out of bed, sprinting to the door. you hear the window slam open and you start screaming. you get to the front door and unlock the deadbolts, but before you could open it. a hand slams against the door, cornering you. you face the door, shaking, too afraid to face the trespasser. their arms cage you against the door.

“(y/n).” the hairs on your neck stands as you hear the voice. “do you know who i am?” his voice was dark, almost teasing. you turn, careful not to brush against the arms trapping you.

“spiderman?” you recognize the masked man. you let out a breath, slumping against the door. “spiderman, oh my gosh, i thought you were some pervert.” you laugh nervously, ignoring the fact that the hero broke into your home after watching you from your window. he doesn’t respond, only using a hand to stroke your cheek. you frown, weirded out. “spiderman?”

“i love you.” your blood runs cold. you swallow.

“what- what are you talking about?’ spiderman chuckles. your body feels numb.

“i’ve loved you for so long, but i was going to keep it inside you know?” you try to move his arms, but he wouldn’t budge. “but, i don’t think i can hold back anymore.” you feel your throat close up, as your situation sets in. “the pictures aren’t enough for me anymore.” he shakes his head.

“p-pictures?” you respond, meekly. he wraps a hand around your throat and slams you against your door, you feel the wind get knocked out of you. you start screaming, praying someone will hear, scratching and kicking wherever you can. spiderman doesn’t seem fazed by your panic.

he shushes you, “don’t worry, (y/n), you’ll be okay. just give in.” his hand around your throat tightens. your vision goes dark as you start losing air. you’re fighting your body as it tries to give up. his grip tightens once more and you pass out.

when you wake up, your hands strapped to a bed. you try to look down and see that you’re wearing the same t-shirt and shorts you had slept in. sunlight streams in and you recognize the posters and clothing.

“peter?” you rasp, your throat sore. you start to remember everything that had happened before you lost consciousness. you close your eyes as tears start to well up.

“you’re awake!” you open your eyes and peter’s bright smile enters your view. “i didn’t know when you’d wake up… i was worried i had…” he looks away. “but everything’s fine.” he smiles and crouches down next to you. he places a glass of water on the nightstand next to you.

“peter… you’re spiderman?” you choke out. he jumps up and helps you sit up, loosening the straps a little. he places the glass to your lips and you, gladly drink, spilling water on your t-shirt. he pulls the glass away once you had finished. you clear your throat. “why did you fucking KID-” peter claps a hand over your mouth.

“i’m not hurting you, (y/n), i love you!” peter pleads, but you only feel disgust. you most show it on your face, because peter stands, hurt. “i’ll show you. i’ll show you how much i love you.” peter goes to the desk at the corner of the room and digs through his dresser. he pulls out a thick binder. he drops it onto your lap and signals you to move. you’re forced to shimmy to the side and he sits beside you, pressing himself to your side. he opens the binder and your eyes go wide. all of the pictures were of you. “i’ve known you were the one since the moment we met. i saved every picture i’ve taken of you.” he smiles, laughing slightly. you look over at him, horrified. “look, these are the ones i took of you the day we met.” you look and realize that these are ones he’s taken of you at the park, but farther down were pictures of you in your home. he flips through and you see glimpses of pictures of you sleeping, getting dressed, taking a shower. you feel bile rise up your throat.

“how could you, peter?” tears are running down your face, “we were friends, how could you DO THIS TO ME.” you scream and peter slams the binder closed. you start screaming again, hoping his neighbors would hear, but peter stares at you. he gets up, shaking his head.

unimpressed, he rolls his eyes, “no one will hear you, (y/n), stop your tantrum.” you sob and peter sighs. he grabs his binder and puts it back on his nightstand. “i’ll be back later to give you something to eat.” he opens the door, but pauses, “by the way, you don’t have to worry about working anymore.” he smiles and shuts the door. you scream, sobbing. you can feel yourself get nauseous once more and you turn to the edge. you throw up, sobbing. you fall back, struggling against the binds. you give up once everything starts to hurt and cry yourself to sleep.

you’re woken up by peter picking you up. “silly girl, crying so hard you throw up.” he quietly chuckles. you keep your eyes closed, making a plan that once the door is open, you could startle him and escape. you smell the vomit on your shirt.

when peter opens the door, he whispers to you, “i know you’re awake, baby, don’t try anything stupid.” you open your eyes, and he laughs. “i’m spiderman, (y/n). i know how your heartbeat sounds when you’re sleeping.” you look away, scanning the home, you see the front door right next to the kitchen. he takes you into the bathroom. he puts you down onto your feet. “feel free to leave your clothes at the door, i won’t come in when you’re showering. i’ll replace the old clothes with some new ones.” he closes the door behind him, leaving you alone. you wait a couple of minutes before peeking outside, you see peter in the kitchen. he looks up and waves to you, smiling. you slam the door closed, panicking.

‘spiderman…peter is…spiderman.’ you feel the waves of nausea come back. “i’m fucked.” you mutter to yourself. you can’t talk, breathe, or fucking piss without peter knowing. you want to throw up, scream, and sob all at the same time. you splash yourself with water from the sink and slap your cheeks with your hands. ‘get it together, (y/n). you gotta get out.’ you shake your head and strip down. you carefully open the door to toss your clothes out the door. you quickly close the door again and lock it. you shower quickly, not wanting to be naked and vulnerable for long. but as you were finishing up, you recognized the hair and skin products lined up on the sink. you feel your knees buckle and hold yourself steady on the counter. peter had been watching you for a long time, every single product in the bathroom were the exact products you used. every time you start to dissociate from your situation, you’re brought back to reality. you close your eyes tight, fighting back your tears. ‘i have to get out. there’s no point in crying.’ peter knocks on the door, bringing you out of your thoughts.

“your new clothes are out here, okay, (y/n)?” peter doesn’t say anything more as he walks away. you peek your head out and snatch up the clothes before he turns to look at you. he gave you a pair of shorts and a t-shirt.

“what the hell?” you wipe your eyes, confused. you open the door and call out for him. “peter? w-where’s the rest?”

“rest? rest of what? i gave you my shorts and one of my t-shirts.” he tilts his head, similar to a puppy. you bite back your disdain.

“like a bra, or some underwear, i don’t know.” you press your lips together.

“ah,” he pouts, “i’m sorry, (y/n), i didn’t think to grab your underwear. i have a couple around here, but they have to be washed.” he smiles. ‘oh my god, he’s fucking crazy.’ your eyebrows raise, but you don’t say anything. you close the door and pull on peter’s clothing. you still feel vulnerable with the clothes on, you can smell peter on you. you brush your hair with your fingers, thinking about what to do next. ‘he won’t let me leave now, but if i go along with everything, with his insane delusions. he’ll trust me. with his trust, i’ll be more able to escape.’ you hum, realizing what you’ll have to do. you open the door, uncomfortable in your new clothes. peter brightens when he sees you. “you look beautiful!” he looks at you with adoration, but your skin prickles at his leering. you don’t say anything, only sitting down at the table near his kitchen. he places a plate down and fills it up with food. “i made this for you. it took me a couple tries to get the recipe right, but i think it’s perfect now.” he pushes a fork towards you. you pick it up and start eating, much to your dismay, it tasted good.

you swallow and clear your throat, “it’s- it’s good.” you force a smile on your face. he sighs, seeming relieved.

“good, good. i’ll make this more often for you.” he sits down across from you, stretching his legs out to knock against yours. you force yourself to not move. after a few minutes of silence, peter decides to talk, “are you feeling better?”

you pause, “yeah-yes, i’m feeling a lot better. i’m-i’m thinking more clearly too.” you look up at him, peter’s mouth twists into a smile. you put your fork down. “i-um. i’ve thought a lot about your confession.” he straightens, hearing your tone. peter stays silent, waiting for you to continue. “can you… can you show me the pictures again?” peter presses his lips together, fighting back a grin. he immediately jumps up and runs to the bedroom. you look to the front door, maybe 30 feet away from you. you hold back, knowing better than running from spiderman so soon. you resolve to wait until he trusts you enough to leave you alone in the apartment. peter comes back, “here.” he places it down. you watch peter as you open the binder. you barely register the pictures, focused on keeping a neutral face.

“it’s… nice.” you spit out. peter smiles, softly, oblivious to your blatant lies.

“you like the pictures now?” he shines.

“ye-yeah! i’m very…flattered. i’ve never had someone be so… devoted to me.” you force another smile. “i’m just s-so happy that you’ve finally told me.”

“i’m so glad you’ve come around, (y/n).” he gets up and gets you up. your eyes go wide.

“peter, wait-” peter picks you by the waist and plops you down on the table. you wince as your butt hits the table. “peter, w-what are you doing?” he cups your face in his hands.

“you love me? you really, truly mean it?” peter comes up close to you, your noses almost touching.

“i didn’t-” you stop, seeing his face drop, and he moves away. ‘fuck. i need to do something.’ quickly thinking, you grab him by the face and pull him back. “i love you, peter. every picture, every dirty thought you’ve ever had of me,” you lean in close to his ear to whisper, “turns me on.” you pull away, feeling disgusted with yourself. you feel tears streaming down you face, but peter seems to pay no mind. he swallows, one of his arms drop from your waist to your thighs. fear itches your skin as goosebumps rise all over your skin. you fight the urge to push peter away as his hand trail to your inner thigh.

“i love you, my angel.” he rests his head in the crook of your neck, leaving small kisses along your shoulder. “i’ll keep you safe, sweetheart. i-i’ve had a lot of regrets, things i wish i could’ve changed. but with you, things will change. i will keep you safe.”

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turtlecleric · 2 months

Text

Bay!Mikey x reader, hurt/comfort, cw: implied past assault, sunshine boy crying

---

When Mikey crawls through your window, one look at his face tells you that something is wrong. You lean forward on the couch, brow furrowed as you take in his miserable expression.

“Mikey? What is it, babe?”

He doesn't answer, but he does cross the room to kneel in front of you. Mikey wraps his arms around your waist, hiding his face in your stomach. You can feel him shaking, can hear him struggling to keep his breath steady. His hands fist into the fabric of your shirt, and you freeze when you hear him sniff.

He's crying.

A spike of panic has your pulse quickening. You try to swallow it down, knowing that getting caught up in your own anxiety isn't going to help, but he's still trembling, still holding you so tightly. Like if he lets you go you'll disappear. The tiny hitches in his breath make your chest ache, and you brush one hand over his head and the other along the top of his shell. Gentle caresses, light scratches in an attempt to soothe.

“Mikey?” No response. “Honey, please tell me what's wrong.”

His breath shudders on his next inhale, and he says something into your stomach that you don't quite catch. Before you can ask, he's talking again, the muffled cadence telling you that he's repeating something over and over. After a few repetitions, you work out what he's saying.

I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm so sorry

Confusion mixes with your panic, stilling your hands. “For what, Mike?”

He shakes his head and sniffs, pulling back enough that you can see his agonized expression. He stares up at you for a long moment, his piercing blue eyes shining with tears, before he drops his head into your lap and lets out a pathetic chirp. Then he finally speaks into the air, and the cracks in his voice are like glass in your ribs.

“I was- was too late. I'm so sorry. If I had been quicker, you- they wouldn't have- I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, angel, I'm sorry I couldn't stop it.”

Your eyes widen. Oh.

For a moment you can't believe, after all this time, that he's still this distraught over what happened the night you two met. But then you remember that this is Mikey. And the shock falls away to frustration that you hadn't even considered that he might still be caught up on it.

Now you wonder how many times he's felt like this and hidden himself away from you to deal with his guilt alone.

“Mikey.” Another sniff. You push a bit of sternness into your voice. “Michelangelo. Look at me.”

He takes a slow, unsteady breath before raising his head again. The look he gives you, like he's waiting for you to… condemn him? Blame him? You don't know, but you can't stand to see that expression on his face any longer.

“You saved my life. I'm here, I'm safe, and I'm okay. Because of you.”

His eyes squeeze shut, more tears spilling down his cheeks. You move your hands to cup the sides of his face, swiping your thumbs through the tear tracks. Mikey takes another shuddering breath, and you see a bit of tension just barely ease from his shoulders. When he speaks again, you get the feeling he's talking to himself more than you.

“You're safe,” he whispers. “You're… okay.”

His lip wobbles, and you feel the need to comfort. To fix. You press a kiss onto his forehead, and when you pull back, his eyes are open again. He's staring at you like… like you're some precious thing. Like he's in awe.

“What brought this on, love?” you murmur.

His eyes fall away from yours, and you see his throat bob as he swallows. “Just… have dreams about it sometimes. I…” He sighs, shaking his head a bit. The dark expression that crosses his face makes you frown. “I shouldn't have bothered you with this. It's selfish when you're the one that…”

When he trails off, you see his eyes getting faraway. You gently pull his head back up, ducking your head to catch his gaze. When his eyes focus on yours, you speak. “I'm glad you came to me, Mikey. I want you to come to me when you're upset. Just like I can come to you, right?”

He blinks. Blinks again. Then his expression softens, and his lips pull into an unsure smile. You lean down to peck quick kisses across his face until he giggles, and the sound eases the knot of concern that's been twisting in your belly. When you pull back again, his smile is bright despite the tears still clinging to his lashes. You smile back at him, letting out a surprised sound when he surges forward to hug you closer.

“I love you, angel,” he says quietly.

“I know.” The haughty tone makes him laugh, just like you knew it would, and it has the last of your anxiety melting away. Your next words are earnest, honey sweet in your mouth, and your chest swells with something too big to name. “I love you too, Mikey.”

Hours later, he's sleeping peacefully next to you. And you think to yourself, not for the first time, that you're so, so lucky.

---

Tag list: @yorshie @luckycharms1701 @khayalli @thejudiciousneurotic @thelaundrybitch @mxalmighty

#turtlecleric scrolls #bay!mikey

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skulla-rxcks · 1 year

Text

🧸CHAPTER ONE} I like you more than a roommate

Next chapter

Paring: roommate!Hyunjin X fem reader

Rating: mature (eventually explicit)

Genre: friends to lovers, fluff, eventual smut

Chapter Warnings/things: storms

!THIS IS PURE FICTION, NOTHING IN THIS IS REAL ITS JUST A STORY!

Your roommate Hyunjin is slowly catching feelings for you. You get more clingy to him as he helps you through your needs and issues, he loves you but doesn’t know how to show it.

A/n: I’ve been working on this for a bit and I can’t be bothered finishing majority of this chapter since I wanna get it out.

P.s: I haven’t edited this chapter and probably won’t bc I can’t be bothered, also no TWS for this chapter.

I sit back, focusing on the sound of my paint brush sweeping across the canvas, creating a beautiful image of a mermaid in a lagoon. I haven’t slept all night due to working on this painting, though I did steal this plain canvas from my roommate, he probably wouldn’t mind.

“I’m back! Dance practice was really tiring.. my shoulder hurts..” And there he is. My roommate himself, Hyunjin. I laugh slightly, moving away from my art to greet him. “Couldn’t you just take a break from dancing? Have sometime to yourself maybe, you know.. I’m always here if you feel like hanging out. it’s break after all. “

He looks at me, tilting his head to the side and scratching his neck. “I’m down for hanging out. I’m pretty sure today was our last dance session anyways" i gasp in joy after hearing that he'll finally have time to rest. "Yay! I guess we can do some art stuff then, I’ll show you what I've been doing" a warm smile forms on my face as i take his hand in mine, leading him over to the painting I’m currently working on.

“Wow.. the background blends so nicely!” He gasps, rubbing my shoulder with pride.

I feel my cheeks flush slightly, but smile.

"It’s nothing much. Just my usual style, I’m not sure if I like how the water looks or not"

Hyunjin 's hand stays on my shoulder for a few seconds longer before he parts his lips to speak again. “The water looks incredible, i would say I could do better but i can’t.”

My face heats up once again after listening to his pitiful, yet comfortable comments being thrown at me.

I walk out of our art closet, (which is basically a small closet we made into a mini art studio) and gently place my painting on the windowsill. The breeze is slightly cold, i close the window to keep warm. Shivering, I grab one of Hyunjin’s hoodies and slide it over my shirt, it’s a bit baggy but whatever. “What are you drawing?” I ask as i sit beside him again, hugging my knees to my chest due to the sudden change of the weather.

“Just someone” he mumbles. My eyes can’t help but look at how pretty he is when concentrating; hair tied back, eyebrows slightly frowned. I notice his face looking pale, i shuffle closer, lightly touching his cheek with my knuckle. “Your cold.. give me a minute.” I stand up, making my way to the kitchen and turning the kettle on. I get out two mugs, pouring in warm milk, coco, sugar and adding some marshmallows for each one. Two hot chocolates coming up!u

I waddle back into the room slowly stumbling as I hold the drinks that are filled to the brim.

“Here you go!” I giggle, handing him one of the hot chocolates, receiving a hug in response.

“Ah thanks .. I’m gonna get into bed, it’s gonna storm later. You can join me if you’d like, I know you don’t like storms.” He groans, chucking his sketchbook on the ground and pulling the covers over him. My eyes watch his movements, he sips his drink and puts it on a small table next to his bed.

I get in my own bed, admiring his features from a far.

A few hours past, he’s asleep already. I sigh, staring at the ceiling. It’s already raining and the storm is gliding over to us, *buzz.. buzz* the light starts flickering as the power goes out.

“N-no..please don’t do this to me tonight.. n-no.. no..” i clench my sheets and cry softly.

“J-Jinnieee.. w-wake up, it’s scary..”

I sob louder, shaking from the cold and my fears.

“Jinnie…” I lay down under the sheets with him

“Hm?.. Hey Shh, you’re okay. Come here.” Hyunjin moves closer to me, hugging me tightly as my tears soak through his shirt. “The storm is outside. You’re safe in here with me. It’s not gonna get us”

“B-but what if it d-“ My words are cut off as my head pushes into his chest, before I know it he’s leaving soft kisses on my head while continuing to soothe me. “I… I..” I let my eyes look at his lips for a sec then back to his eyes. My arms tighten around him as i cry myself to sleep.

#stray kids smut #~skulla rxcks #skz fluff #skz hyunjin #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fic #skz fic #hyunjin smut #hyunjin fanfic

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negansbackdoorwhore · 1 year

Text

The Cell Pt. 1

Warnings: angst, fluff, swearing

“Don’t tell me. You’re back again?” It was late at night and everyone was asleep. Except for Negan and her. The girl who would visit everyday and talk until someone told her to get back to work. At least twice a day and once in a while there would three visits. Negan never minded it since it got lonely and how staring at the same walls was boring.

“Yeah. It’s me.” She says as she snuck into the dark area and the moon light hit past his small window.

“Well, what is it now?” He asked while sitting up on his bed and looking through the bars. His elbows rested on his knees as he looked at her. She stood before him again, she looked more nervous this time.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just, I think I’ve given all the advice I have. And all the bitching I could spew about being stuck here. So what else is there?” His hand scratched his bearded cheek and watched her come closer to the bars.

“Well I just like talking to you.” She said and raised a hand to hold onto one of the cold bars.

“Yeah? Or are you just tugging my nuts to hear whatever bullshit those assholes want to know?” He saw the immediate panic at how her hand visibly tightened around the metal.

“No way. I would never do that and I…” Negan started to giggle and stood up from his bed.

“Just fucking with you. I know you’re not like that, if you were I’d be more passive with you.” She relaxed and let out a breath.

“But I’m still curious, why are you always here? Why do you keep wasting your time by coming down here?” Negan stared at her while her fingers started to play along the bar.

“I don’t think it’s a waste of time. I like you, I like you a lot.”

He eyes widened and immediately started laughing. Partially because of how sudden it came out and how it seemed to be a lie. His hand ran down his face and he looked toward the window.

“You think you can just play with me because you’re bored?” She stood a bit taken back from his words.

“Y/N. Do you seriously have nothing better to do?”

“What do you mean? I come here because I like you and want to spend time with you.” His hands were on his hips and he looked toward her. She stood still but he felt as if he was looking a barking dog with their tail held low. She stood her ground and felt so nervous. He stepped toward the bars and watched her tighten up.

“So, you care about me in that kind of way.”

“Yes.” She spoke up and flinched when he leaned to rest his elbows on the bars.

“Do you have any idea what the people will think if they find that shit out? They will hate you, not as much as they hate me but still.” He licked his lips and looked at her up and down.

“I don’t care about that. I care about you.”

“Why would you want someone like me? I know they probably told you about all the things I’ve done. All the people I hurt…” His head going down as hs felt the pain of living with the shit I did.

“I just can’t believe you have those feelings for me. I can’t believe it, how am I supposed to know that you’re telling the truth.”

“Sometimes you just don’t know.” She said above a whisper.

“Prove it.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me Y/N. Prove to me that you actually feel this way about me.” She hesitated and Negan scoffed at her changing her demeanor.

“Guess it was bullshit afterall.” He sighed and moved away from the bars to lean on the cold wall. “Just when I thought there was some excitement.”

She shook her head and started to fiddle with her pocket. Negan noticed and his eyes widened to see her pulling out a key. He watched her unlock the cell door to take one step inside.

“Holy shit. Aren’t you fucking brave. How did you know I won’t just run off or something?”

“I don’t. But I’m willing to prove my feelings for you.”

He started to laugh as he just couldn’t believe what was happening. Especially with the options given before him, does he run or stay.

“I’m just not understanding why you want me. Someone who’s fucked up and has done so many fucked up things.” He sat back down on his bed as his mind ran with all the memories.

“The thing is that, you can do so much better than me.”

“I don’t want anyone else.” She says and holds her ground.

“I’ve always felt so grateful because of the way you treated me and how I enjoyed every little conversation we’ve shared.” Negan steps closer and is only mere inches from her.

“Grateful, for you. Only you.” He says as he reached to hold her face between his hands. He then leaned down to kiss her lips. She was startled at first but made no move to pull away. He savored this moment as he slowly took control. For one because she deserved it and second was because he’s missed the touch of a woman. Her hands held onto the fabric of his shirt as he held her close.

“I still think you’re crazy for this.” He mentioned and gently nuzzled his nose into your neck. He was holding onto your waist and your arms held on his shoulders.

“Can I be yours?” He chuckled and placed a chaste kiss on your neck.

“Only if you let me be yours in return.”

Taglist

@defiantsolitarygirl

@ashleysboomstick

@negansmithsupremacy

@peachifemme

@neganswoman

@hail-yourselves

@igotmajordaddyissues

#negan x reader #jeffrey dean morgan x reader #jeffrey dean morgan #negan #negan fic #negan smith x reader

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sweetestberryofthebunch · 1 year

Text

The one where Jan finds the good in a bad situation (or it finds her)

It was raining. Colourless, cold water drops peppered against the high window of the dining hall in a never ending choir of splattering, mixing in with the chatter around Jan, even through her headphones. The depressing weather pretty much summed up her own feelings too. Colourless, uninspired. The glaring of her phone screen didn’t help either. Since the weekend, her phone had slowly started to calm down again, but every now and then she still got a notification, tagged in a story or repost of that one video. So far, no one had talked to her directly about it, but Jan wasn’t an idiot. She knew why the girls in her theatre class all stuck their heads together to speak in hushed tones, immediately stopping when Jan walked past. She knew why the guys in her dance class stared at her, even more noticeable than before, but never ever approached her. However, that wasn’t even the worst thing on her mind today.

Right there, on her phone, screen brightness turned up so high it felt like she was being ridiculed by it, was her last message to Jackie, from just two days ago.

Hi Jackie, I‘m sorry but I haven’t been feeling too well lately, I fear I might be getting sick. Don’t want you to catch something from me, can we cancel today’s session?

And the simple

Sure, get well soon x

That she had received as an answer.

Jan groaned, burying her face in her hands. She was such an idiot. Jackie had no idea how she felt about her, she had no idea Jan liked her even the slightest bit. And yet, somehow Jan was incapable of looking her in the eye after her kiss with Nicky. She hadn’t even cheated, they were nothing more but study buddies! But then why was it so hard to sleep, why was she this glued to her phone, trying her hardest to immediately banish every clip, every screenshot that came up of the moment as soon as she saw it.

It wasn’t even that she was ashamed of it, or that she hadn’t liked the kiss … late at night, when Jan laid awake between Rosé and Lagoona, who had both dozed off hours ago already, despite insisting that they wanted to help Jan sleep, she had realised it. Or rather, accepted it. She enjoyed kissing Nicky. She had had a good time and yes, sometimes she thought of doing it again. Maybe more often than she was yet ready to admit …

But she also missed Jackie, even though she couldn’t bare to look at her right now, too ashamed of whatever image the older student must have of her now. How was she going to survive the Club tonight, with both of them present? She hadn’t even managed to say more than an awkward hello to Nicky in the hallway the other day, and she hadn’t spoken to Jackie at all since she had cancelled on her … This was a disaster!

„Uhm, hey Jan“, a deep voice brought her back to reality. Looking up, Jan found David, some guy in her year that she didn’t have any classes with lean over her. The only time she had ever interacted with him had been orientation, so she furrowed her brows as she glanced up at him in question. What the hell did he want from her?

His voice was low, as if he didn’t want anyone around to hear what he was saying. His eyes kept glancing around and Jan immediately felt uncomfortable. Especially when he leaned closer to basically whisper in her ear. „So“, he mumbled, fingers tapping on the wood where he was supporting his own weight with his arms, far too close into Jan‘s space for her liking. „You know my girlfriend Dahlia, right? You’re in anthro together…“

Jan nodded slowly, pretty sure she had seen the dark haired, tatted up girl just this morning.

„Yeah so …“, David scratched the back of his head, glancing around once more, „She’s not been too … satisfied with me.“

„Ew!“, Jan gasped out loud, trying to jerk away from him, but hitting the back of her chair instead, „Why would you say that?“

„Shhht!“, he hissed. And then, without a warning, he reached out to grab Jan by the wrist, pulling her right back towards him. She could smell sweat and cologne, pretty much her two least favourite things in the world.

„Listen“, suddenly, his voice got stern, a little too intense for Jan‘s liking. She felt the hairs on her arms rise, despite the warm sweater she was wearing. „I know you fuck with girls, okay? And I have a nice place. I live in the Windmill, we have like, the nicest bathroom. Our bath tub can blow bubbles and it could totally fit all three of us-“

„No!“, Jan used her free hand to push him out of her face, the other one fighting his iron grip. Unsuccessfully.

David groaned, throwing his free hand up in frustration. „Come on Jan!“, his fingers tightened around her arm, Jan hissed at the slight pain.

„I know you’re not a fucking prude!“, his voice got louder with each word. Heads started to turn around.

Jan closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. Fuck. Fuck. Attention like that was the last thing she needed right now …

„Hey David!“, despite the accent, Nicky‘s voice cut sharp through the air. She came strutted towards them in a fast pace, only coming to a halt right behind David. The guy faltered in his stance, Jan felt the grip on her wrist slack just the slightest bit. Nicky looked furious, bleached brows furrowed and lips pressed together into a thin, red tinted line. The people that hadn’t been staring already definitely turned around now, wondering what had the short upperclassman snap like that. And snap she did, arms crossed, jaw clenched, her accent always thickening when she got emotional. To Jan, the fashion student was her own personal saviour in that moment.

„I know no one thinks high of you already, but if I were you I‘d take my shit and leave Jan the fuck alone, before I tell your girlfriend you’re creeping around again.“

David stared at her, just for a moment. His head turned bright red, eyes almost popping out of their sockets in his glare. But Nicky, despite being several heads smaller and evidently less muscular barely bat an eye at the younger guys anger. Instead, one of her bleached, perfectly plucked and shaped brows wandered upwards just the slightest bit, expressing her impatience.

David slammed his fist on the table, right in front of Jan, making her jump at the sudden noise. Then, he grabbed his backpack, bit his tongue and stormed off without another glance at her. The sound of his stomping down the hall seemed to carry the tension in the room with it, until both finally vanished. People around them awkwardly picked up their prior tasks again, even some awkward chatter arose in the room.

Jan didn’t feel like chatting or studying anymore, her bones still hollow, David’s angry fist slamming down in front of her still echoing through her.

Nicky still stood in front of her, a pocket sized mirror in hand, checking her powdered brows for any errors. Of course, everything looked perfect, as always.

„I’m so sorry that happened“, she said nonchalantly, as if she had accidentally spilled Jan’s coffee instead of fought off a way larger guy for her, „That guy’s an idiot. Deadass thought I’d do his French assignment. Ça casse pas des briques, he would still fail finals.“

Her eyes wandered off the reflection in the mirror and found Jan’s. The younger girl only then realized that she must have been staring, quickly glancing downwards, brushing a strand of pale lavender hair behind her own ear. Goddamn, Nicky must think she was completely useless. First her breakdown at the party, then a week of no notice, now Jan couldn’t even stand up for herself. The embarrassment crept up her neck like a spider, face slowly but surely turning bright red. Jesus, she could not continue on like this!

Unsure of what to answer to Nicky’s statement, she decided to change the subject matter instead. „I don’t feel like being here anymore“, she stated, grabbing her phone and backpack. If she didn’t want the awkward radio silence between her and anyone but her sisters to continue, she was gonna have to act on it. And if there was one thing Jan could do, it was act. „Do you have any classes before Philo? I’d love to get out of here…“

For a moment, Nicky simply looked at her. Surprise glimmered in the grey-ish November sky of her eyes, and maybe a little bit of excitement. Her pale pink lips curled upwards. „No classes, but enough hunger to eat a bear.“ Stepping away from the table, Nicky held out a hand towards Jan. „Come on, Janice, I know just where to go.“

It turned out Nicky truly knew just where to go to get a girl out of her own head. At the westend of town, bordering between downtown and a small village of townhouses and front yards, the bleached blonde pulled over into a slim, almost invisible alley. At first, Jan had felt her heart skip several beats at the stunt. Nicky was a wild driver, her foot basically glued onto gas and brakes the same, and the small alley seemed like a recipe for disaster. Luckily, she came to a halt right there, parking nerve wreckingly close to an already slightly crooked street light. The place she pulled Jan into by her wrist however made it more than worth it.

It was a small bakery, shop windows stacked with cinnamon buns, pies and types of bread Jan had never seen before.

„Do you like it?“ It was just a regular question, but Jan noticed the way Nicky’s hands fumbled with her car keys, the way her eyes kept jumping from the counter to Jan.

The latter chuckled. „Did you really just take us to the other end of town an hour before the Club meeting?“

„Listen, this is the only place that sells halfway acceptable croissants and .. Don’t laugh!“ Nicky grabbed her napkin, smacking Jan on the arm with it, „You Americans have no idea what you’re doing when it comes to bread!“

Jan had to laugh at that, eyeing the goods on display once again. „I’m starting to believe you.“ Her smile was warm, honest. „I love it. Tell me what I have to try!“

After a short rundown of the menu, filled with so many foreign words that Jan felt barely any cleverer afterwards, the two of them settled for a buttery, golden croissant for each of them, a piece of apple tarte to share and coffee so dark, Jan could see her own face stare back at her sceptically. They settled down at a small table right by the window, where it was easy to glance outside at the people sauntering by.

„Bon Appetit“, Nicky smiled, not hesitating before stuffing the first mouthful of tarte into her mouth. Her muffled voice mixed with her accent made it hard to understand her as she explained with her mouth ful: „Found this cause I was graving my Grandma‘s tarte. It’s not quite the same, but close enough to taste like home.“

Nodding along, Jan took a bite herself. A mix of cinnamon, sour apples and vanilla met her tongue, and the content sigh slipped out before she could stop herself. Nicky watched her with an approving smile, taking a sip of her coffee. „That’s what I‘m talking about.“

Her words left a warm, gentle tug in Jan’s stomach. Something made want to lean closer towards Nicky, just a little. The Café was warm, the late afternoon sun beams falling right onto Nicky, making her hair seem more golden than silver, illuminating her rosy cheeks and exposed teeth. The smell of hot coffee and cinnamon was in the air and Jan pursed her lips to take a sip of her drink. It was bitter, lacking the amount of cream and sugar she usually preferred to go for, but once the hot liquid washed down her throat she could taste something more, like roasted hazelnuts.

„How do you like it?“, Nicky asked, still watching for Jan‘s every reaction intently, „Too bitter?“

Jan had to laugh, pulling a face. „Kind of. Can I order some milk or will you kill me?“

Nicky chuckled, setting her own cup down. Her lips curled into a slight smirk and when Jan‘s eyes found hers, Nicky shot her a wink. „Fuck around and find out.“

#berry’s writings #jankie #sportdoll #academia au

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aghostwithablog · 3 years

Text

Just saw a sqirrel climb up a five story building these animals are insane

#Sometimes one of them climbs up my apartment as well #They effortlessly walk up the walls like a fly #The walls have this popcorn like texture they're able to hold onto #Sometimes I can hear it go past my window at night scratching away #ghostpost

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fitzells · 2 years

Note

would you be able to do “running your fingers through your lover's hair” with stiles please? 🤍

i’m not going anywhere, stiles stilinski.

notes: this is so short but i randomly got inspo for it after it sitting in my inbox for yonks?

word count: 470 (very short very sweet)

warnings: mentions of s5??

“It wasn’t your fault, Stiles.”

Your voice was quiet, contrasting serenely against the harsh pattering of rain pelting against the large window. He didn’t reply, and you didn’t have to look down to know he was staring out the window; mind flittering further and further away from reality. His head was resting against your collarbone, his body still trembling as your hands gently raked through the chocolate hued tresses.

It had simply been one of those nights, even though you both had long since left Beacon Hills, it hadn’t been so easy to forget all of the daunting memories of your past. Like tonight; for instance, Stiles had been disturbed from his otherwise peaceful slumber by the haunting images of Donovan (or, to be more specific, Donovan’s impaled corpse, strewn across the floor of the school library)

“I killed someone, Y/N.” He whispered against your warm skin, subconsciously nuzzling further into it when you dragged your nails across his scalp, scratching at various spots soothingly, the way you always did; you always knew how to calm him down.

“I took his life away; how can you still love me?”

You closed your eyes, letting out a soft sigh, you’d been here before; reassuring him, just as he’d reassured you when you recalled your supernatural related errors in the past. Your nimble fingers softly tugged at a knot in his hair, and you ran your free hand over his bicep carefully. “Because it was self defence, Sti. He was chasing you; it was either you, or him; and everyday, I thank whoever I need to thank, that it was him.”

“You did it for your dad, Stiles. You did it for me.” His head was buried in the crook of your neck now, your hands still soothingly running over his skin as he took in the words he’d heard so frequently. Sometimes, he just needed to hear you say it; because if you didn’t think he was a bad person, in his eyes, he wasn’t a bad person.

“I love you, Stiles.” You murmured, voice laced in fatigue whilst you cast your gaze down to stare at him in your moonlight lit bedroom. His dark, tired eyes met your own; and yet, despite all of his pain, a faint little smile barely ghosted his lips, so you took the win.

“I love you too. So much.” He mumbled into your skin, wriggling up in your embrace until he had you wrapped around his body, cradling your head close to his chest and tangling your limbs together, making you let out a sigh of content. His nervous twitching had calmed, shaky breathing slowed, and wide, anxious eyes he turned heavy as the sleep he desperately craved was finally chasing him.

“Get some sleep, Sti. I’m not going anywhere.”

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highdramas · 3 years

Text

the world’s a little blurry | b.b.

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: none

word count: 2107

summary: bucky is home, and he is yours

note: this is a one shot for now, but i definitely have more ideas for these two <3 this’ll be heavily inspired by tfatws so this is a spoiler warning for anything mentioned! also this is my first time writing bucky so pleaseeeeee give me some mercy lol

enjoy! <3

it’s nearly three in the morning, and you’re lucky if you stay up past midnight, so bucky makes a point to be quiet as he tiptoes into the apartment. after a mission gone awry in the apartment building where you had been neighbors, you’ve been staying with the superhero. something about not losing you and you’re safest here. bucky’s not stupid— caring about someone is a gamble, and it had become clear to his enemies who exactly it was that he cared about.

living with you came lots of things that bucky was not expecting. first off, you’re very cluttered. you call it controlled chaos, he calls it a mess. he’s fascinated by the state of your night stand, mostly. a dying plant and one loose airpod, two half empty water bottles, an empty starbucks cup.

second off, you have a cat. her name is katherine, but you call her kitty, occasionally kiki. and while bucky had been determined not to get attached, after awhile, it was difficult not to. she rubbed up on his legs, cuddled in his lap on the couch, slept on his chest in the middle of the night. she’s fucking adorable, and not even the winter soldier can deny that.

third off… you. you as a whole. he’s sure that it would’ve been a shock living with anyone, but the care that you give him… he’s not used to having someone making sure he’s eating. he’s not used to someone checking up on him throughout the day. he’s not used to having someone to come home to.

it’s nice.

it feels safe.

and he’ll kill anyone who tries to take this peace away from him.

bucky groans as he shucks his jacket off, feeling exactly where his muscles ache. he tries to keep his volume minimal. finally, he opens the door to the bedroom. the bedroom that you share.

this was the biggest adjustment of all.

he’d barely slept in a bed at all before you came along. too soft, too comfortable. he told you as much that first night, and what you had said shocked him.

“well, i’ll just sleep on the floor with you.”

no, oh, just get in bed. no, c’mon, it’s nice. none of those things. just understanding.

but it was more than understanding. it was meeting him exactly where he was.

that was three months ago, and you had kept your word. if you weren’t sleeping on the floor with him, you were on the couch with your hand tangling down, brushing along his hair, his shoulder. every time he felt you bucky swore that he could cry.

it was two months ago that he suggested you both sleep in the bed. and while it wasn’t every night, and some nights he padded out to the living room with a blanket and pillow… it was progress.

and he would wake up to find that you had joined him on the floor.

the nightmares weren’t gone. he’s not sure if they ever would be. but they were growing few and farer between, and the ones he did have were growing more manageable.

things were getting better.

of course, they were not perfect. and he knew that you didn’t expect them to be. he has therapy once a week, sometimes twice during the particularly hard weeks. he’s grown close with sam and his family. and… you.

his girl.

as the door creaks open, he almost chuckles at the sight of you. you’re laying horizontally across the bed, taking up both your side and bucky’s. katherine is curled in at your chest, her nose nearly touching yours. your mouth is open and he can see that there’s a bit of drool in the corner of your mouth, and that does make him laugh. it stirs you and he freezes.

bucky watches as you slowly wake, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, and then rubbing the drool from your mouth. “ew,” you mumble, still half asleep, and bucky leans in the doorway wearing a smirk.

“go back to sleep, doll.”

you hum and stretch, and so does katherine, giving a wide yawn. “you’re home.”

home.

had he ever had a home before?

he did once, as a child. a time that feels so distant, so separate from the life that he leads now. sometimes, it’s hard to even picture the faces of his family members.

he had this apartment, but it never felt like home. not until you waltzed into it with your clutter and your laughter and your vibrancy. not until you cooked dinner hip to hip, not until you listened to music that he had never heard of, not until you watched some movie that was your favorite.

you’re home.

bucky smiles and he nods, sitting on the edge of the bed, pushing your hair back. “i’m home,” he says quietly. “i’m sorry i’m so late.”

you shake your head, your hand taking his. he still wears the gloves. you raise your eyebrows at him. “can i?”

he nods. you make quick work of removing each of his gloves, tossing them across the room, which makes bucky smile. he knows he’ll be picking those up in the morning. you press a kiss to his palm, the one that is flesh and bone. and then you take the other and do the same. “missed you, buck.”

something in his heart constricts as he watches you-- washed in moonlight that comes in through the window, sleepy smile on your face, eyes fixed on him. he knows that look, and he knows what it means. he doesn’t know if he deserves it, but he tries. he’ll always try for you.

“i wasn’t even gone twenty four hours,” the smirk is evident in his tone even if you can’t see it, but you scoff and roll your eyes. “i think you’re needy.”

“needy!” you repeat and laugh, falling back onto the pillow. kitty stirs and looks up at bucky, letting out a loud meow. “she’s the needy one. look at her.”

“both of you.” he scratches kitty’s head and then kisses the top of yours before he stands again. “i’m gonna shower.”

sleep is escaping you and you push yourself up onto your palms. “can i join you?”

he chews on the inside of his cheek and shrugs his shoulders innocently. “better pick up the pace then, soldier.”

with a laugh, you kick the sheets off of you. “yes sir.”

he rolls his eyes and you both shuffle into the bathroom. now, in the light, you’re able to get a good look at him. and your jaw drops slightly at what you see. “bucky,” you say and he already knows what’s coming. you touch the side of his face where a bruise is blossoming. “how the hell does this even happen?”

“part of the gig.”

you groan and he smiles and he does so because he loves you. he loves your mess and he loves your doting, he loves your cat and he loves coming home to see that you’ve taken up the entire bed. “you’re an old man. one of these days you’re gonna have to retire.”

“got unfinished business first.”

you know of his past. of course you do. although, you’re a firm believer that it’s not his past, rather than a past that was decided for him against his will. you’ve made a point of making your stance in that clear. you have heard stories of what bucky has done, but you have tutted and shaken your head. “what hydra did.”

these are the things that bucky tells himself, but it is different to hear it from someone else. someone who is not steve, or sam, or another avenger who has also committed morally grey acts. because, yes, they are all good and trustworthy and worth listening to-- but you. you are his girl. you are his girl who laughs at his jokes and teases him and never once babies him for what happened to him, but you’re also the girl who has woken him from nightmares, who has tended to his wounds, who has been held back from a fight just to defend his honor. you have seen him in his entirety, and you have never balked.

“alright, well--” it’s not lost on you how his eyes trail down your body as you undress, turning on the water and checking the temperature. “as soon of this business of yours is finished…”

“i know.”

the two of you share a look and he gives a crooked grin. “you look nice.”

“there’s dried drool on my face.”

“yeah, i know.”

it’s been nearly a year since you met james buchanan barnes and yet he still gets you to blush. he practically lights up at the sight of the color on your cheeks. “are you--”

“shut up and get in the shower,” you retort, pulling back the curtain and stepping into the steaming water.

“yes, ma’am.” you hear the shuffling of his clothes falling to the floor and then he is behind you, hands going up and down your arms. you let out a sigh and tilt your head back, peering up at him. water trails down his nose, dripping off and onto your forehead.

you don’t tell bucky, but you do worry. you worry every second that he’s gone on a mission. you know that you don’t have to say it, that he knows. and you trust that he will come home to you. bucky turns you and he holds your face in his hands and he presses his lips to yours and you know that he feels the same way.

i’ll always come back is spelled out in the way that he kissed you, the way that he holds the back of your head. we have forever is heaved from your lungs as he sucks the air from you.

when you part, you smile at his lips-- slightly swollen, pinker than normal. you rub your thumb along the bottom one and he catches your hand. he presses it on his chest, right where his heart hides beneath skin and bone. “you don’t have to do all of this to make up for what they did to you,” you say over the sound of water. “you’re allowed to have a normal life, if you want it.”

“i know.” he pushes a piece of wet hair from your face. “i just don’t--” he shakes his head and you know this all too well-- he doesn’t quite know what to say, he starts closing up and off and away, the high walls that guard his heart and mind beginning to take shape. “i feel like if i don’t… what was it all for?”

delicate hands move across his torso. you lather up a loofah and begin washing away blood and grime. “bucky,” you say and he looks at you, steely blue eyes staring right into yours. “you make people happy. you have people who love you, who care for you. you don’t owe the world reparations.”

he winces as you go over a particular bruise and you slow your movements, make them featherlight. “all i know is,” you begin. “whatever it is you want, whatever it is that fulfills your life… make sure it’s for you.”

a smile curls on his face and he stills your hands. “thank you.” he takes the loofah from you. “let me get you.”

“but i’m not done--”

“please. let me.”

you surrender and he begins to wash you, and your forehead falls to his shoulder, calm washing over your body. you could’ve been standing there for minutes or hours, you’re unsure. he pushes your hair back and at some point you realize that he is washing your hair, and you press gently open mouthed kisses against his chest and you hear his breath catch and you fall in love with him all over again.

“let me get yours--” you mumble around a yawn and you watch as he smirks down at you. “really, let me.”

bucky shakes his head and he turns the water off. “tomorrow,” he says.

you towel off and when you clamber into bed, you feel the weight of him beside you, your cat nestled between the both of you. you feel him pull you into him, his breath against your neck and his lips against your pulse point, and your eyes flutter shut. before sleep captures you, you murmur, “i love you, james bucky barnes.”

the feeling of his smile against your skin is imprinted on your heart, and his words coax you into sleep-- “i love you too, doll.”

bucky barnes sleeps through the night and doesn’t wake once.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfic #my writing #the world's a little blurry #eeeee i'm so excited to post thissssss

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father-time-and-baby-new-year · 3 years

Note

happy 200! i’m so glad to see your blog grow, it’s one of my favorites and i adore all your writing. i’ve never cried so much and i love the kind of unsettling feeling you write in your fics, it’s perfect in the category of yandere and dark content. in particular, i loved your drabble about shigaraki mourning over a dead reader and i’ve reread that one too many times to count haha! as for asks for headcannons and drabbles, it would be amazing to see that with bully!eren especially since he was such an awful person to the reader. i’d love to see him suffer honestly, but if you don’t want to write it, that’s completely fine! once again, i’m so proud of you for hitting 200! that’s such a huge milestone and hopefully, there will be many more in the future! :)

SYNOPSIS: bully!Eren has to navigate the world without you.

Pairing: Bully!Eren x Fem!Reader

A/N: I can't even explain in words how much I CHEESED at this message like my grin was ear to ear. can't explain how many times I read this. It singlehandedly made my day anon, and to repay you for my happiness....here is some angst. this is a slightly different route than the shiggy one but I hope it still suits you <3

TW: mentions of death, past dubcon/noncon, mentions of trauma, bullying, alcohol addiction, drunk driving, abusive behavior, revenge porn, nonconsensual photography/videography, mentions of infidelity, angst, so much of angst, violent behavior

WC: 2.5k

It's not like Eren had been doing a lot of soul-searching. He's not delusional enough to label his half-assed epiphany of "maybe I'm a shitty person" as soul searching.

It's just the conversation with his very sick mother burned holes through the back of his mind. Carla had asked about you and why you don't come by the house anymore. How she missed baking with you in the kitchen, and how you sweetly smiled whenever you would see soft creamy peaks form in the meringue.

Eren felt like he was swallowing needles as he assured his mother with false truths, that nothing was going on and distance between childhood friends is natural, and if it means so much--ok ok he'll bring you over.

He stays until he sees her chest slowly rising and falling into a gentle asleep. He touches the tip of his ears, unsurprised by how hot it was.

Eren, when you tell a lie, the tips of your ears turn red.

You're not at school the next day. Or the day after that. Or the day after that.

Guilt is not an emotion he feels often but the events of the past weekend replay in his mind. It was just a dumb party that Floch threw, and he was surprised to find you cornered by a trio of thee dunderheads. Like a distorted fairytale, he swept you away from the bad guys like a knight in shining armor, to only shove you in an empty room and demand compensation for playing hero.

Fuck, with that big mouth, you would think that you'd know how to suck cock.

Use your tongue stupid slut. If you use teeth, I'll shove this dick in your ass without any prep.

No, I don't care, you're taking all of it.

There's a video on his camera roll. How could he not record it? You're sobbing, mascara running down your cheeks, looking so beautiful and ruined with jizz smeared at the corner of your mouth. He was brutally fucking your mouth, making you take all of his length.

Breathe through your nose dumb whore. Or else you're gonna run out of air.

You were pleading with whatever garbled sounds you were constricted into producing.

Breathe through your fucking nose. This is for your sake. Otherwise, I don't mind face fucking your lifeless body. You'd be more useful that way anyways.

Eren is conflicted with muting the video because he can't stand to hear himself like that. But he didn't want to miss out on your pitiful whines.

He remembers the distraught expression on your face when he was finally done with you. He tucked himself inside, and sneered, "I've got a girl coming here. Get lost." You looked so fucking distraught. Why? All he did was make you suck his dick. He didn't even fuck you.

He should have. Eren thinks grimly when he stares at your empty desk on the first day you didn't show up to school. He's gotten off to the video more than enough times than he can count over the weekend, and he was aching to see your pretty face twisted into a terrorized expression when he flipped up your skirt to grope your ass.

Kindly, Eren decides he'd allow you to have a rest day. But the second day, Eren pays a visit to your house finding it dark and locked, like no one was home and hadn't been there for a while.

On the third day, you're declared missing.

Your incompetent workaholic mother who finally came home and decided to give a damn reported you missing to the authorities who had scratched their heads because as far as they knew, the pivotal 72 hours were up.

Paradis was surrounded by forests. No one wanted to say it, but they were all thinking it. If you got lost in there, chances are you wouldn't make it out.

Eren wasn't always this admired and fawned over. He had his fair share of behavioral issues that frightened people (not you though, not then at least, not when you were children, and you still came back every day to play).

But when he channeled that anger into sports, there was somewhat of a star in the making, especially for some small-town boy. He was becoming extremely popular, and that's nice and all, but at the end of the day, he has a mother whose health was taking a sharp decline. He was constantly under stress, stress that he took out on you.

Where did his favorite stress-ball go?

It's all fucking surreal. Having detectives in the school. Not that there were many students to question (because christ, did you even have any friends after Eren turned everyone against you?).

Eren was questioned. He can't help but mirthfully chuckle. Maybe this was your grand plan, maybe you were able to finally sort out a mountain of evidence against him. If you were going to fuck him over, didn't you want to see it happen with your own two eyes?

The dark-haired boy wishes that was true. If you had gotten your revenge, would you be here? No, revenge isn't the right word. If you got any justice for what he made you suffer, would you come back?

Hi, I'm Detective Hange. I would like to ask you some questions today. You're Eren Yeager, right?

Yes, that's me.

How do you know ___?

We were childhood friends. We're uh, we're not as close anymore.

When was the last time you saw her?

Friday night at Floch's party-

-Floch Forster right? There were a number of kids there from your school.

Yeah. It was a big party. She uh, doesn't usually come to parties but she was there that night.

You were the last person to be seen with her. Other kids have said that they saw you and her entering a room together, and then only her leaving the said room.

[Sigh] Yeah we sorta...hooked up.

I thought you said you guys weren't close anymore.

You can be not close to someone and still hook up with them.

But you guys were close once right?

Yeah. Once.

The dark-haired boy asks if he was under any suspicion. The detective waves their hand in a dismissive gesture, “If her diary tells us anything, it’s only that she really liked you.”

Were detectives even allowed to divulge that sort of information? Eren doesn’t know but the stray detail that they offered off-handedly made him feel like he was swallowing needles.

At that point, Eren honestly still doesn't believe you're gone. You had a habit of running away, even when you were little kids, but you always came back.

Still, he participates in the search parties with a renewed vigor, even going alone in the forest with a flashlight on most nights.

And he's just so fucking tired. The darkest crevice of his mind almost wishes you were dead because this ignorance was just agony. Almost. Because he still clings to the feeling that one day, he’ll stroll into class and find you in your seat in the back of the class, looking out the window like some cliche shojo manga protagonist.

There are folders and folders on his phone. Albums. The most recent one is dedicated to your crying face as you were choking on his dick. Earlier albums are composed of creepshots of your panties, of that obscene o-face, of your skirt flipped up and your ass cheeks, pictures of your cleavage, videos of you thrashing as he dunked your head into toilets like a villainous middle school bully.

Pictures of your neck covered in hickeys, your naked breasts, ass cheeks striped with red after getting spanked, your leaking cunt, just endless and endless media dedicated to pieces and pieces of your body like you were never a whole person.

The earliest ones though tell a different tale, from off-guards to your drooling face as you napped in the middle of the day.

He has a favorite picture. Your eyes are watery from the cold, snowflakes stuck between lashes, nose and cheeks flushed red, and you're smiling. Smiling right to the camera. Right at him.

"Eren, are you taking a picture?" You asked, bouncing in place, giddy that it was finally snowing.

"Not of you, shut up. Get out of the way." His voice is gruff but not harsh.

You laughed and jumped into frame anyway, and the bright streetlamp behind you made you seem like you were wearing a halo.

He wishes he had more pictures of you being...yourself. Because now your crying face displayed over countless pixels haunt him. But like a fucking degenerate, he still jerks off to all the nudes he coerced from you. Sometimes he cries when he's jerking off which is probably the most pathetic thing he's ever done. This is what you've reduced him to.

He hates the sound of his own voice.

Breathe through your fucking nose. This is for your sake. Otherwise, I don't mind face fucking your lifeless body. You'd be more useful that way anyways.

Eren goes through the motions of life without really feeling like he's in the moment. Seasons change and time flies. His mother dies, and his withdrawn father dies a year later. He proposes to Mikasa because it's something he was always supposed to do. She loves him unconditionally, so even when he doesn't put any effort into the relationship but proposes, she says yes hoping he'll change and be a good husband.

He doesn't go to his parents' funerals because they're already dead. What's the point. He doesn't visit the candlelight vigils in your honor either. After tearing his ACL again and a somewhat traumatic injury, he kisses his pro-football career goodbye. To be totally honest, he's relieved. Because he had gotten quite bored, and maybe he was looking for excuses to quit the entire time. It's not like you'd be cheering on the bleachers anyways.

Mikasa has an affair, more out of a desire to see her fiancé feel something for her as opposed to any burning lust. But when she asks him if he's ever cared at all, with tears springing out of her eyes, he's just calmly drinking his fifth of whisky.

The dark-haired man doesn't even look up, "Let's break up."

"Is this about her, huh? Fucking get over it already Eren. She's GONE. And you have some big fucking audacity moping about her death like you weren't making her cry in the bathroom stalls every fucking day you piece of shit."

"Get out."

"You know what, I bet she killed herse-"

SMASH

The dark-haired woman doesn't finish her rant because the whiskey bottle smashes on the wall next to her head, sending glass everywhere and staining the carpet amber. She's unharmed, knowing it wasn't Eren's intention to hit her but Jesus Christ, what a monster.

She packs her bags and leaves the town like she should have a long time ago. All her friends had left years before and she stayed behind because that's where Eren was. She thanks her lucky stars that they didn't marry.

It's funny because he had always imagined himself being the first to move out of their small town, but he's the one staying. He can't leave this place. feels too tethered to ever leave. Every diner and liquor store is saturated with memories of you. He remembers buying cigarettes and exhaling the smoke to your face to piss you off in empty parking lots.

Maybe he stays in case you'll come back.

Eren's days consist of alcohol-fueled hazes. He doesn't know how his liver is still functioning. He doesn't know he's still alive after crashing his car into a tree when he was drunk out of his mind. He was on his way to get some more vodka.

He barely recognizes himself in the mirror anymore, not that he looks at himself much. His hair is long, nestled around his shoulder because he couldn't be bothered to cut it, dark circles under viridian eyes, and a perpetual stubble on his jaw.

His parents had left quite a sizable inheritance so there's no need to work but he's good with his hands. Likes crafting up birdhouses and cabinets, and occasionally does odd jobs around the neighborhood, never charging the elderly.

He's under the sink, tinkering with a wrench against the pipes when he hears the old lady coo at him.

"We're so lucky to have you Eren. I'm surprised a handsome young man like yourself doesn't have a special lady. The girls must be lining up at your door!"

The dark-haired man winces, and offers no comment, knowing that that the older lady was susceptible to long tangents.

"You know, we're getting a new neighbor." Eren grunts as a response. "They're young, I've heard. Isn't that exciting? Oh my, Eren! I think they're gonna be living in the house right next to yours..."

He tunes out the rest of the conversation because doesn't really care. He just hopes his new neighbors are quiet.

It's Sunday noon when obnoxious noises of moving trucks and people wake him up from his deep slumber. Eren's annoyed to wake up despite the fact he's probably been sleeping over 15 hours. He oscillates between getting too much sleep and getting none, his sleeping habits completely dependent on his dreams.

His nightmares are too visceral, visions of your corpse asking him if he'd enjoyed hollowing your soul with his teeth.

His dreams are achingly sweet. You in your prom gown, shining so iridescently like diamonds were sewn into the silk. He's dancing with you, holding you close, and then after you guys go to your favorite diner and gorge on burgers and milkshakes.

There's a peal of distinctly feminine laughter that stirs up Eren's senses. He's so pathetic, was the mere sound of a woman laughing getting him excited?

He sighs. He thinks of the whore he's frequently visited because of her resemblance to you. Hair color, skin color, face shape--with enough alcohol, he could really convince the person beneath him, was you. Maybe it's time to give her a call, but she's gotten so fucking needy and he hated how her voice didn't match yours.

The green-eyed man peers from the lace curtains, irritated by the brats playing on his lawn. A full family next door? Great, just what he needs.

The friendly knock on his door breaks him out of his daze. He contemplates whether he should answer but on the second more muted knock, he lets his feet guide him.

He turns the knob.

And Eren Yeager completely shatters.

Because it's you isn't it? You're the person standing in front of him? He can hear what you're saying but he doesn't really register it, soaking in the cadence of a voice he had long forgotten because all he had were pleading whimpers and frenzied moans stored on his cell.

He's shaking. Is he dreaming? He's dreaming, right? He knows it's you. You're older, far more beautiful than he's ever seen you. You have a different hairstyle, wearing clothes he would have mocked you for, and there's this joyfulness within you that makes you glow.

There's a mess of emotions electrifying in the pits of his stomach from euphoria, anger, and dread. He could feel his skin growing clammy like he was about to vomit at any second.

"Hey, are you all right?"

Doe eyes full of concern peer up at him. He voices out the syllables of your name like a desperate prayer.

You tilt your head to the side, "How do you know my name?"

#eren yeager x reader #bully eren yeager #toxic eren #eren yeager x you #yandere eren x reader #eren jeager x reader #eren x fem!reader #eren yeager x reader fanfiction #attack on titan fanfiction #dubcon tw #tw noncon #tw abuse #tw drinking #tw drunk driving #eren yeager fanfiction #dark content #dark fic #tw trauma #tw depr

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babyboibucky · 3 years

Text

The Match - Part 3

Pairing: CEO!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky’s becoming extra horny around you in the office.

Word Count: 2,697

Warnings: still smut, boss x employee affair, unprotected sex everywhere, hints at misogyny???

A/N: And a mini series was born 😂 no but honestly, I didn’t expect for parts 1 and 2 of The Match to receive such amazing feedback 😭 I really enjoy reading everyone’s reaction to this series and trust me, all comments keep giving me ideas. Thank you all so much!!!!!!! 😘😘😘 and btw, this part isn’t their promotion “celebration” because that will have a chapter on its own. Long story short, that will be pure porn with no plot at all so stay tuned for that 😂

The Match Masterlist || MAIN MASTERLIST

It’s been a rollercoaster ride since you matched with James— Bucky, on Tinder. Maybe not a literal rollercoaster ride but with how Bucky had you bouncing on his cock as he sat on the couch, or that one time he asked you to sit on his face inside his car, it was a ride nonetheless and an exhilarating one at that.

Despite your relationship with him, the both of you surprisingly managed to keep things professional when there was work involved. Of course there were times when quickies in the office took place, given that Bucky was fucking insatiable (let’s all admit it, so were you). Work was work and you excelled at being the head of your department, but once office hours are over, you excelled more at giving Bucky head.

Oftentimes you found yourself worrying about getting caught. You’ve always been careful but lately, Bucky seemed to be slipping up. He just couldn’t seem to get his hands off of you and he was becoming more and more obvious. You were pretty good at being discreet but sometimes, it was hard not to react to Bucky when he would look at you with a naughty glint in his eyes, a smug smirk tugging at his lips as he watched you present. He’d tilt his head sometimes as he looked at you, lifting a brow as he smirked whenever he was impressed.

You ended up stuttering when he gave you that look one time. It was proud and it made your chest swell and your pussy throb. He rewarded you that night in his office by making you cum on his face twice.

That look was going to be the death of you and he was giving it to you now as you entered the conference room for the monthly mancom meeting. Bucky eyed you as you went around the desk, lifting a brow and pulling the empty chair next to him, commanding you to sit beside him without having to say a word.

You cleared your throat and pulled the chair, noticing how Bucky eyed your ass before you sat down.

“Is everyone here?” He asked after ogling your backside for a good five seconds.

All the department heads affirmed their attendance and soon enough, the meeting began with the HR manager reporting first. Lights were shut off and as soon as the report was projected onto the wall, Bucky began his little game. You were paying attention to the slides being presented until you felt Bucky’s foot nudge your ankle, hooking around it to slightly open up your legs.

You side-eyed him and subtly shook your head. He had never done this in public, at least, not during meetings. So you weren’t sure why he was being so frisky now, placing a hand on your thigh. You grabbed his hand and moved it away gently before slightly moving your seat away from Bucky, crossing your legs in the process.

“What do you think Mister Barnes?” The HR manager asked.

All heads turned towards Bucky, who obviously wasn’t paying attention provided that his hand was trying to sneak back onto your thigh. He cleared his throat and straightened up on his seat, fixing his tie before pursing his lips.

“I’m sorry, can you please repeat that?” He asked and you fought the urge to snort.

“I was wondering if we can hold another seminar about workplace etiquette.” She said.

Bucky hummed, “Do we have problematic employees?” He asked curiously.

The HR manager sighed, a blush creeping up to her face. “There have been rumors going around the office about employees engaging in...lewd acts within the workplace. I thought that we should revisit the topic about workplace code of ethics.” She explained.

You ended up in a coughing fit, quickly apologizing and reasoning out that you were having allergies today. Bucky tensed in his seat but managed to remain calm. He stole a quick glance at you before turning back to the HR manager.

“And have we identified these employees?” He asked, rubbing a hand on his chin. A nervous habit of his, you noticed.

This was what you have been worrying about! Bucky has been fucking you around the office and now everyone was catching on to it. And although you wanted to blame Bucky for this, you knew you were just as much to blame. Damn you and your hormones!

The HR manager shook her head, much to your and Bucky’s relief. “No sir, but some employees have been noticing and hearing things, especially after office hours. Janet for instance, filed a report last week about hearing hushed whispers from the pantry, followed by the creaking sound of the table. The following day, shards of someone’s mug were found in the trash. There was an assumption that there might be employees behaving inappropriately.”

“Oh my god, I’m close. Bucky I’m—“

Bucky’s hand clamped around your mouth as he shushed you, hearing footsteps approach the pantry. You stilled as you nervously watched shadows move beneath the door, but of course, this didn’t stop Bucky from snapping his hips against yours.

His thrusts were slow and languid, but he slammed back in with such force that made the pantry table scratch against the floor. Once the footsteps faded, Bucky wasted no time to get back to fucking you. He lifted your legs up and rested the back of your ankles against his shoulders, slightly bending down over you so he can angle his cock to perfectly hit that one sweet spot.

A single, powerful thrust sent you reeling, your hands finding purchase on the sides of the table.

“Cum, baby. Cum.” Bucky growled.

Another thrust made you gasp out loud, feeling the head of Bucky’s cock nudge against your cervix. One hand reached for his bicep, your nails digging into his dress shirt while the other reached back for the edge of the table only to knock off the mug resting on top.

You made a face when you heard it crash against the floor. The mug was soon forgotten when Bucky leaned down to kiss you, his tongue sliding into your mouth as his hand reached down to rub your clit.

You wiped the sweat on your forehead upon remembering that incident. Fucking Janet just had to file a report. It was after office hours, for fuck’s sake! Who cares what employees do after their shift?!

“I see.” Bucky responded, fixing his suit. “Okay. I approve of the seminar. Who’s next?” He asked, quickly changing the topic as if it was no big deal.

The head of the Finance department began with his presentation and just like that, Bucky returned his hand on top of your thigh, prying your legs open. You turned to him with a look of disbelief on your face. He was acting as if there wasn’t any close call earlier. You couldn’t believe this man, sure he was hot as hell, but you weren’t giving in to him. Not today, not when the both of you were almost caught.

The entire mancom meeting was pretty eventful, with Bucky teasing your legs with his hand despite your half-hearted protests. You hated how Bucky was able to familiarize himself with your body and how it reacted to him. Your eyes might be saying no but with how your legs eventually spread on their own, Bucky knew you were desperate for him too.

It was an hour past your shift when you received an e-mail from Bucky with the subject being “Report”. Thinking it was one his follow-up e-mails (Bucky is an impatient man when it comes to the submission of reports and you weren’t an exception) you opened it immediately and choked on your spit when a photo of his dick showed up on your desktop. You started clicking around in an attempt to close his e-mail, but instead of hitting the “x” button, you ended up maximizing the window instead.

“Jesus fucking christ!” You cursed and covered your monitor with your hands as you frantically looked around the office.

It was like a fucking jump scare, like one of those computer pranks asking you to concentrate on a dot before a scary photo would pop out. Except that it was Bucky’s dick that appeared. A dick scare.

Fortunately, you were the only one left in your area since pretty much everyone else scrambled out of the office as soon as work hours were over. It was a Friday after all.

You sighed in relief and quickly scrolled down to see the message beneath the photo of Bucky’s dick.

Need you in my office in ten.

P.S. Bring the report I asked from you the other day.

Best,

Bucky Barnes

Who sends an unsolicited dick pic through e-mail followed by a work reminder? And the signature? It was the cherry on top. Bucky Barnes was something else. Sweet jesus, you really couldn’t believe this man.

Grabbing your report, you marched your way to the elevator and headed up to Bucky’s office. Seeing that his floor was empty, you didn’t even bother knocking on his door and simply barged in.

“I can’t belie— what the fuck?” You called out when you were welcomed with the sight of Bucky leaning back on his chair, his cock out for the world to see as he gently stroked it.

“Need your pretty mouth around my cock, baby.” Bucky cooed with half-lidded eyes.

You huffed out a humorless laugh and shook your head, “I’m not sucking your cock, Bucky.” You refused and walked over to his table, slamming your report on top of it before walking away, but not before stealing another look at his majestic cock.

“Are you mad?” Bucky asked but he was smirking with amusement. He was giving you that look again but you were having none of it tonight.

You stood in front of his desk, keeping a safe distance away from him. Crossing your arms over your chest, you scowled at Bucky and tried your best not to let your eyes fall down to his cock again. Which by the way, he continued to stroke.

“For someone as smart as you, I can’t believe you’re so fucking dense.” You said with irritation when Bucky didn’t seem to understand why you were agitated.

He licked his lips, bucking up his hips when he squeezed the base of his cock. Bucky let out a delicious grunt as he continued to stroke himself. As much as you were salivating at the sight of Bucky’s cock— tip red and swollen, begging to be sucked— you didn’t want to give in.

“You’re fucking priceless, James.” You said, exasperated and turned around, heading towards the door.

You were about to reach onto the door knob when you heard the sound of a zipper followed by the wheels of Bucky’s chair screeching against the floor before a pair of hands grabbed at your waist. Turning you around, you were met with Bucky’s worried face.

“Shit, you’re really mad. Talk to me?” He pleaded, eyes apologetic as he took a step back, urging you to speak up.

“You might want to take a seat because I’ve got quite a list.” You said.

Bucky obeyed and returned to his chair immediately, sitting upright as he looked at you with doe eyes. If you weren’t so mad, you would’ve melted at the sight of him like that. And the Bucky Barnes? The CEO? Obeying you like a good little boy? Huh, what an interesting concept. You mentally took note of a certain kink that you might enjoy. But for now, you were mad at him and you were going to make him understand why.

“Number one, I don’t particularly enjoy it when you tease me in front of everyone else. We talked about staying professional when there’s work involved and what you did during the mancom was definitely not professional.” You told him.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t hold back not when your ass looked so fuckin’ tight in that skirt of yours. Can you blame me?” Bucky almost whined.

“Keep it in your pants, Barnes. I’m not yet done.” You reminded him and went over your second point.

“Number two, we almost got caught to the point of the HR deciding to hold a seminar on workplace ethics! Do you know how awkward it would be for me to sit there and listen to scenarios about office misconduct? Most of which we’ve probably done. I’d sweat like a whore in church!” You hissed.

Which scenarios could that be? Fucking inside the janitor’s supply closet? Check. Doing the nasty in one of the bathroom cubicles? Check that twice. Giving a blowjob beside the fax machine during lunch break? Triple check that shit.

“And oh, you sent me a dick pic using your work e-mail! You do know that the IT can access our computers right? Almost gave me a heart attack when it flashed on my monitor.” You asked in a huff.

Bucky snickered, “Are you forgetting that I’m the CEO? Baby, I can easily clean up our mess.” He reassured and stood up, approaching you.

You shook your head, “That’s exactly the point, Bucky. You are the CEO and I’m an employee. You may not understand it but I’m scared. If we get caught, it’s over for me. Whether you have it cleaned up or not, I’d still be the one at risk here. You’ll never be in the same position as I am. People won’t call you names if we get caught. No matter what happens, I’d always get the short end of the stick.”

You didn’t mean to be all serious, talking about the possible misogynistic outcome of your relationship with Bucky. As much as you enjoyed it, it still scared the living daylights out of you. Some were already spreading rumors about your promotion, getting caught would only add fuel to the fire.

Bucky sighed and nodded, “I’m sorry. I didn’t try to understand where you were coming from.” He genuinely apologized.

“If it scares you that much, then let’s make it official.”

You deadpanned at him, “Make what official, Bucky?” You asked, eyebrow raised in curiosity.

Bucky shrugged and motioned his hand between the both of you, “This...us.” He simply said.

You scoffed, “Tell the entire office that we’re fucking every chance we get? Are you out of your mind?”

Bucky ran a hand through his cropped hair, “Not like that. Look, we’ve been at it for what? Two? Three months now? We might as well make this into an official relationship.”

You blushed at Bucky’s suggestion. Sure, you practically jumped at the opportunity to fuck your boss when he asked you. But were you an easy bitch in general? Of course not, even with how thirsty you were for him, you still had a little bit of appreciation for the old-fashioned ways.

Pushing Bucky’s chest away, you shook your head at him. “That’s now how relationships work, Bucky. You can’t fuck your way into my heart.”

Bucky laughed and bit his lip, “Fine. Then I’ll do it properly.” He said so easily you were starting to wonder whether he was fucking with you.

You narrowed your eyes at him suspiciously, “I don’t believe you.” You said.

“You will, baby. I’ll make sure of that. We’ll do it old-school.” He said, caressing your cheek.

You were caught off guard but you didn’t want to get your hopes up. Bucky had been an amazing lover and in the past months you’ve fucked, he treated you with respect and took good care of you. He brought you dinner, drove you home and texted you good night. Sometimes he’d text you during the weekends too.

“Old-school it is then.” You shrugged as if it was no big deal but oh, it was a big deal.

Bucky nodded with a grin, “Okay. But...” he trailed, his smile turning upside down in deep thought.

“Does that mean we’d stop fucking each other for the mean time?” He asked.

You snickered, “I said you can’t fuck your way into my heart, not my pussy. So sit down and let me suck your cock.”

Everything Bucky Tag List:

@ddowii @jessou893 @stealapizzamyheart @bagelofthelord @mxnt @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable @jeeperky @ohladymacbeth @wildflowergubler @supraveng @twinerd14 @buckysmar @bakugouswh0r3 @sweetcoldharmony @wintersfilm @charminivy @amelia-song-pond @iamvalentinaconstanza @mcubqrnes @i’m-squished @tcc-gizmachine @sipsteacasually @prettyintopeerpressure @weloveyasmin @est19xxshit @bloodhon3yx @dressed-in-prada @lizette50 @thatfangirl42 @sunflowerbunny2 @unmagically @okiegirl24 @sugarpunch-princess @enlyume @vvipgotbb @slimeyderp @lyoongx @just-deka @nobody-will @jaziona92 @elisebuitron @dpaccione @suvikamahes98blr @buckybarneshairpullingkink @earthtonav @x-judyjude-x @nani-kenobi @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @belladonnabarnes @iloveangstposts @weenersoldierr @asemistablehundredyearoldman @reidbuck @lizzarooni @girlfriday007 @5-seconds-of-mendes @whoth3hellisbucky @bonkywobble @lost-in-the-stars03 @its-yasbxtch @twinerd14 @bluehour-553 @old-enough-to-know-better73 @aikeia

The Match Special Tags:

@marvelslag @weird-mumbling @propertyofpoeandbucky @lostinthoughtsandfeelings @mostly-marvel-musings @squishybabies @megzdoodle @little-baby-vixen @annathesillyfriend @xhollycowx @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @5-seconds-of-mendes @gogolucky13 @countonthesun @iloveshawnieboi @learisa @borikenlove

#bbbwrites #the match #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky #bucky barnes smut #bucky smut

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void-potter · 3 years

Text

domestic life with loki

i hope you enjoy this, it’s super fluffy (but it has some minor nsfw at towards the end!). enjoy :)

while loki is the god of mischief, and brings a little too much chaos with him practically everywhere he goes...

you and loki’s settled life together was anything but chaotic. it was pure tranquility in everyway possible

you were convinced this is what heaven was like

you and loki, once you two decided to settle down together, decided to leave the states

and so the two of you found the nicest place to live in ireland

with loki’s magic and what not, you two built a cottage in the middle of a beautiful, endless forest on a large hill

it was the kind where if you followed the path down the hill, it’d lead you to a lovely stream

sometimes you two would spot harmless wild animals pass through the area

there was not another home in sight, but if you walked a couple minutes up and over the other side of the hill, you’d find yourself amidst a gorgeous tiny town

full of locals, cute shops, bookstores, and more

every single morning, without fail, you’d wake up with the rising sun in your face coming in through the windows, before loki pressed a soft, warm kiss on your forehead

he’d make his way out (and you’d admire his shirtless back as he walked away) and into the kitchen, where he’d be awaiting you with a cup of tea or coffee

“good morning, darling” and he’d wait for a passionate kiss first before giving you your drink

every. single. morning.

your day to day routines would vary a little bit each day

sometimes you two would hop on your bikes, or walk into town hand-in-hand

you’d stop at a farmer’s market, as loki chose all of his favorite fruits

he’d pull you into the bookstore and would have you close your eyes as he gently dragged your pointer finger along the shelves until you said “stop”

he’d stop, pull out the book, and try to read to you the most romantic passage he could find in it

you blushed every single time.

little shit had such a way with words

you’d stop for some lunch or dessert at a local bakery nearby

if you were feeling really up to it, you and loki would catch a train and visit dublin, or perhaps go all the way to england for a weekend trip

your cottage had a long, winding garden out in the back, so some days you’d tend to it as loki was reading inside, or on the swinging bench

you had music playing while you worked out in the dirt, so you wouldn’t hear loki as he’d come behind you, grab you gently by the waist and kiss you so passionately, you’d drop your gardening tool on the grass

he’d chuckle at your funny gardening hat, kiss you once on the nose, and say “c’mon inside, love. i made tea. you deserve a break”

when it was rainy (which was more often than not), you two would sit outside on your swinging bench under a covered area, and just listen to the sweet sounds of nature

you’d lay your head in loki’s lap as he ran his cool fingers through your hair tenderly

“is this what true peace is?” you’d whisper, just barely over the pouring rain

loki would sigh contently, remembering all of the chaos, violence, and stress from his past. he’d take one loving glance at you, run his fingers over your cheek and say,

“i’ve never known peace until you.”

you smiled shyly, “i love you.”

“and i, you, darling. until the end of our days, and so on.”

“and so on...” you closed your eyes, soaking in the feel of his touch

your absolute favorite pastime with loki, though: baths.

you two were very much fans of skin on skin, not even in a sexual way

loki would magic away the lights, leaving only the soft dim of candles lighting up the bathroom

he’d take you gently by the hand, discard you of the thin robe you were wearing, and carry you into the tub

you two would take turns shampooing and lathering one another. it was so quiet, so peaceful...it was almost meditative

the only sounds you’d let out were soft moans when his fingers would scratch just the right spot on your scalp. he’d laugh softly at that.

there was nothing more tranquil to him than the sounds you made

you’d lay on his chest until the water got cold, then he’d help dry you off and get into bed

but not before another long kiss

(a little nsfw) with you and loki’s home being in such a quiet, secluded place, you two ravished each other and made love almost any place you possibly could

he’d take you on the bed. in the bathtub. on the kitchen table after a candlelit dinner on your anniversary. in the living room while some old movie kept playing.

one time, you and loki had a romantic picnic out in your garden

and he ended up making love to you right there and then on the ground

every moment intimately spent together was nothing short of sweet whispers of affirmations, pleasureable moans, and pure passion

you and loki would also take advantage of the view, and you’d make your way down the hill, and sit by the stream late at night to star-gaze or watch the full moon

loki would point out the stars and tell you the history about them. and if he didn’t know it, you two would name it together

“you see those two stars over there? the ones that look almost...attached by the hip? we can call those after us.”

“you mean our names?”

“yes.”

“you fucking sap.” but you devoured him in a kiss anyways.

sometimes you and loki would turn on soft, intrumental music, and blast it in your living room

you’d walk in wearing a nice, long sundress that drove loki mad, holding two glasses of wine

and he’d pull you in close to him, and you two would sway in each other’s arms for what seemed like hours

when you two were tired, and ready for the day to be over, he’d pull you into him in bed, wrapping his arms around you

you’d press a warm kiss to his neck, and he’d leave one on your forehead. then you two would meet in the middle with a kiss on the lips.

you guys sleep with a window open, letting the sounds of nature filter through

as your eyes began to droop, loki whispers softly by your ear, sending light shivers through your body

“my little dove, i am yours forever.”

pure tranquility. and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

#i am so lonely loki date me pls #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson x reader #loki odinson x reader #loki imagine #loki x reader #loki odinson #loki #avengers imagine #marvel imagine #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston

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whirlybirbs · 3 years

Text

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

✪ — VACANT MIRRORS ; B.B. | 3/?

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

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

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

word count: 6.4k, va va voom

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m trying.”

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

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

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

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

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

“The GRC is a bunch of fascists—”

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

She’s right.

Dr. Hart is right.

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

The GRC is your way out.

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

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

◦ ◦ ◦ ◦

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He groans and drops his head back against the wall.

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

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

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

You pick up on the third ring.

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

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

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

“I like a good burger.”

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

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

“Oh my god—”

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

“Almost always, why?”

“Got any plans tonight?”

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

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

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

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

“... Do I get to pick the place?”

You roll your eyes. “Fine.”

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

◦ ◦ ◦ ◦

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

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

He was sweating.

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

No gloves tonight.

He feels naked.

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

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

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

“I didn’t say anything...”

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

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

“Bucky.”

He raises his head.

“You alright?” you ask quietly.

“You have to promise not to flip out.”

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

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

Then, your eyes jump to his face.

He looks pained.

You’re confused.

And then you’re not.

“You’re —”

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

“You’re that Bucky?!”

Oh, you feel stupid.

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

She asks about drinks.

Bucky gets a beer.

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

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

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

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

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

“...What do you mean ‘that Bucky’?”

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

“I am not an Avenger—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...I can never have you over now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’ll have to tell him about this.

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

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

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

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

Bucky sighs and plucks his hand from his hoodie pocket.

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

This arm is his, it is not him.

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

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

“Ow—”

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

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

The waitress, Sarah, disappears with a smile.

You’re grinning.

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

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

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

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

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

“Spit it out, Goose.”

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

“You wanted to be the sidekick.”

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

“He’s upstate.”

You blink.

“That’s ominous.”

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

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

“Relax, Miss America.”

“Shut up — do you mean that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I figured as much.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s quick. “One hundred and six.”

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

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

“Next question.”

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

“Who kept you alive that long?”

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

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

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

Bucky was just Bucky.

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

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

The haircut definitely helped.

It’s like he was a walking classified redaction.

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

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

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

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

“Only a year?”

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

Bucky squints.

You offer a sheepish shrug.

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

“Sounds like a good time.”

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

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

He fiddles with the paper wrapper of the chopsticks.

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

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

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

“Oh, you didn’t like Dark Dante?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y’know what, nevermind—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Our friendship was a mistake, rabbit.”

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

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

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

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

Before… everything.

MOM Morristown, NJ

You scowl and stare.

Bucky blinks.

“You gonna get that?”

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

“I never do.”

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

“Rabbit.”

“Oh, is that my new nickname, then?”

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

You grow quiet — then it spills out.

“I can’t talk to her.”

“Why?”

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

Here it comes.

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

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

“What the fuck do you mean ‘pardon’?”

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

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

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

“What did you do?”

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

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

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

You fiddle with your napkin.

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

“What, like help?”

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t.

“... So, that means you’re good with computers?”

◦ ◦ ◦ ◦

That’s how you find yourself in Bucky’s Brooklyn apartment at almost midnight, wandering behind him in the long halls and watching curiously as he digs his key from his pocket and shoulders the door open.

It’s a small apartment. One bed, one bath, a kitchenette and that’s really it.

For its size, it’s hardly lived in.

You suppose it makes sense — Bucky didn’t have a lot of personal belongings, and with the hints he’d dropped about his life before The Blip, you were beginning to understand that he may have never really had that much to begin with.

There’s a blanket on the floor by the television and a single couch pillow. It’s tucked in the corner, behind a small sofa. There’s a chair in the living room, one from an old dining set. At the kitchen counter, there’s a stack of papers and a single laptop. Even though all the kitchen’s wares are older models, the bones of the apartment are good. Bare, but good.

You stop in the doorway to the bedroom and stare at the untouched bed. The sheets are tucked tightly in the corners — there’s something militaristic about it. Across the hall is the bathroom. It’s small. You can see a few amenities scattered across the sink’s top.

Being in here feels something like an open wound.

It was lonely. Quiet. Cold.

“We need to make a trip to HomeGoods,” you mumble as Bucky flicks on the lights, “I get the whole minimalist thing, but sheesh.”

“I don’t have a lot,” he says, kicking off his boots by the door and shrugging off his jacket, “And I don’t need a lot either.”

You watch as his shoulders sag a bit, like he can finally let down his guard just a little in his own space. It’s endearing. You perch yourself up on the kitchen counter as your eyes follow him; he moves to fling open a cabinet and grabs a mug. Then, he hesitates.

“You want tea?” he asks over his shoulder.

“Tea?”

“Dr. Raynor said,” Bucky reaches for a container of tea bags from the top shelf. His henley lifts enough to flash a bit of skin along his lower back and you swear you see a scar, “It would help with my anxiety.”

You swing your legs a little. “Then sure.”

“You can use my Captain America mug,” he chirps, laughing a little to himself, “Seeing as you’re such a big fan…”

“God, I regret even saying anything to you,” you spit as you hop down and lean around him to get a look at the mug, “Did you seriously buy that?”

“It was a gift.”

“Bullshit.”

Bucky snorts as you shake your head and wander backwards, eyeing the rest of his apartment with a bit of astonishment. It’s really nothing impressive — but, you suppose it makes sense. Whatever meager disbursement that the government was willing to give Bucky for his efforts in fixing the Snap was better than nothing.

Your gaze hangs on the blanket in the corner.

He watches you; and he notes the sore sadness that dissolves your posture at the sight of the nest in the corner. A bit of shame colors his cheeks as he heats up the water. When Bucky speaks, it’s slow.

“The bed was too soft. I couldn’t sleep on it,” he shifts from foot to foot and focuses on taking the tea bags out and methodically wrapping the strings around the handles, “Dr. Raynor said that’s a typical thing for soldiers to experience when they come home from war.”

You’re quiet for a while after that, only speaking when he rounds the counter with your tea. He offers it up with a tilt of the head.

“You never got to come home, though, right?”

“No,” comes the short reply as you both watch the lights outside the window, “No, I didn’t. Not until now.”

You nudge his arm with yours. You lean a bit. Bucky leans back.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he manages after a sigh and sip of the tea, “I can’t just feel sorry for myself anymore. I’m trying to fix the wrongs I did — and that’s why I need your help.”

You quirk a brow. He reaches around you and grabs the stack of papers on the counter. With a steady grip, Bucky presents the photo of a woman who looks strikingly familiar. You can’t place her face, but there’s something about her that feels like a slap across the cheek. She’s young here, in a faded photo with tattered edges. Beside her is a man who is laughing. The photo is candid, and they’re both beautiful. They’re both wearing a uniform — but you can’t place the era or location.

You turn to Bucky for answers.

“Back in the 70s, at the height of the Cold War, HYDRA was working in tandem with the Russians to spy on American forces,” he offers easily, staring out the window, “The American HYDRA cell hadn’t yet been planted. This man, Andrei Kuznetzov, was a spy. He was feeding the Americans information on the Russian nuclear program. His wife, the one in the photo, was ordered to kill him. She refused.”

Bucky’s fingers twitch.

His words are soaked through with pain.

“I,” he continues, “killed him.”

You hold your breath. Then you spare him a mournful look.

“Inessa Sidrova went on to help form the same HYDRA cell that ended up taking over SHIELD here in America,” Bucky mumbles, “She’s dangerous. There’s others like her, ones who I helped create, all over the world. But, she’s my top priority. I just haven’t had much luck tracking her down.”

“That’s why you need my help.”

“I’m 106 years old,” Bucky deadpans, “The microfiches at the library were getting a little tedious.”

“But,” you chirp with a sly smirk, “You figured out how to set up a PlentyOfFish account?”

He shoulders you again as you sip your tea and laugh.

“Shoulda never said anything,” Bucky grumbles, “Dr. Raynor thought it was a good idea. Y’know, to get back out in the world.”

“I can promise you,” you say with a stern shake of the head, “The metal arm will get you plenty of chicks and dudes in due time.”

“Good to know,” Bucky replies as his words lilt with a playful sort of questioning that you purposefully ignore. You’re not feeding his ego today. Maybe tomorrow, after you take a crack at figuring out where this woman is.

It’s going to be a long night.

#vacant mirrors #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #winter soldier imagine #tfatws imagine #bucky barnes #marvel imagine #bucky x reader

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bestiesenpai · 3 years

Text

Hostage - Okkotsu Yuta

At first when I saw this my internal response was that there was nothing that I really wanted to write, no scenario that would warrant answering such a question. But I’ve given it time and well...what better thing to write than a horny for love delusional yandere? Gender neutral and Okkotsu in this has graduated from the school, I imagine him to be mid-20s 4.8k words

Content warnings: yandere shit(which in this context includes kidnapping, past stalking and being really fucking creepy), manipulation, noncon hand job

How long had you been here in this dark basement with only a red couch and a TV that wouldn’t turn on? There wasn’t a single window to tell you if it was day or night, no clock on the wall to say if it had been ten minutes or ten hours since you were kidnapped. You didn’t even know who could have taken you, knocked out from behind after hearing a mysterious voice.

There wasn’t a single lead to go on except for the fact that you would pass out from time to time and wake up to food on the low coffee table, hot meals that helped to soothe your otherwise empty mind and body for however short a time it allowed. Sometimes there would be candy stuffed into your pockets as well, candy that you never ate and let pile up in one of the corners of the room.

The door at the top of the stairs leading down to where you were stayed locked at all times and no amount of banging and screaming and trying to break it down worked. All your efforts were for nothing, you didn’t even make a scratch in the wood.

Whoever put you down here seemed too hesitant to show you their identity. You never heard anyone outside the door and whenever you thought you did, you would wake up however many hours later with food and no recollection of what happened before then.

Until today, when the door silently swayed open and there was the barely there tap of footsteps coming down to greet you. Scurrying behind the couch and crouching down, you were scared to finally meet your captor.

“Hello there.” He wasn’t at all what you imagined. A young man with noticeable bags under his eyes, hair with a few strands that fell into his face and an otherwise unassuming and slim build. His voice was soft and gentle like he was talking to a baby as he roused them from slumber.

He immediately noticed the way you were trying to stay away from him, making sure to keep the couch between you as he rounded it. A sad sigh left his lips, a short sound like he was already getting frustrated with what you were doing.

“Darling, why don’t you sit down? There’s a lot to discuss.” Gesturing toward the couch, he took a seat at the end. It was then that you noticed the sheathed sword he had on his back as he took it off and laid it on the table.

Your mouth hadn’t been used to speak to anyone in a long time, tongue heavy and foreign in your mouth. Having given up screaming for help a long time ago, you didn’t speak to anyone unless to yourself, and even then it had devolved to being just thoughts in your head.

So you shook your head no, trying to keep your sudden anxious breathing down to a minimum. You’d waited for this day to finally see who took you but now that he was here in front of you, just his presence brought you great stress.

“Are you feeling okay?” The man asked again, brows furrowing slightly. The look of genuine concern on his face is what caused you to speak, spiking anger in your heart.

“No!” You shouted, surprising both him and yourself.

“Why don’t you sit down, hm?” He patted the cushion next to him and you shook your head harder.

“No, no. L-let me go!” Tears were already beginning to collect in your eyes, some spilling out the sides. Were they from anger at being held captive? From how concerned he looked when he was the one who put you there? Was it from fear of what he could do to you? Perhaps hopelessness at the whole situation was starting to set into places you tried so hard to keep it out of.

“You shouldn’t yell, (Y/N), it’s not good for your throat.”

“What the fuck would you know.” Now anger was truly taking residency inside your chest, making it tighten with each pounding beat of your heart. This man had the nerve to call you by your first name as if he was a friend, the syllables rolling so smoothly off his tongue it sounded as if he had said it a hundred times.

“Don’t swear at me.” He snapped, face immediately going hard as he stared you down. The look made a shiver go down your spine, the anger quickly making space for fear to come as well. He sighed again, glancing at his sword before looking at you again. “Now please, won’t you sit down?”

This time when he asked, you listened. Hovering on the very edge of the cushion farthest from him, your entire body was painfully stiff and unyielding even to your own breathing. It was different when you were standing and he was sitting, it felt like there was a level of control that you still had.

But this felt like you were just a pitiful little rabbit with their neck caught right in a lion's mouth.

“Oh darling don’t cry, don’t cry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.” His tone immediately shifted back to the soft and gentle one from earlier. Reaching his hand out, he stopped short of touching your arm when you curled yourself away. Putting his hand into a fist and tucking it back into his lap, he let out a sharp exhale. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t touch you, should I? You must be nervous now that I’m here.”

Sniffling and nodding were all you could do to answer him. Maybe there was a logical reason he might have taken you, there had to be a solution to whatever problem he had that involved you.

“It’s funny, I’d say. We’re soulmates and yet we’re still so nervous with each other.”

What?

“Why, it took me almost two weeks just to do this much! I finally stopped having Inumaki put you to sleep and-”

Huh?

“Before you know it this will all be a distant memory, we’ll be living together-”

“Wh-what the fuck.” Your voice was meek and trembling and there were fat tears streaming down your face that couldn’t be stopped now. Listening to this man go on and on about this life he’d made for the two of you all in his head was going to drive you insane.

“What was that?” He paused, a hopeful smile on his face. Glancing at him, you set your bleary eyes on the sword.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” As the swear left your lips, you flinched at his sudden inhale. “I-I don’t- I don’t know you. We’ve never met.” Burrowing your face in your hands was probably a bad idea, it was probably best to keep him in your line of sight, but you just couldn’t face him.

“Physically we’ve never met, but our hearts have. Our souls are connected, we just had to find each other.” There was a dip in the cushions and the ghost of his knee brushed yours.

“I don’t even know your name!” You croaked, further curling in on yourself by dropping your head to your knees. At this rate you were set to fall off the couch and onto the floor and you welcomed the reprieve not being next to him would bring.

“I’m Yuta. Yuta Okkotsu.” The first touch of his fingers on your shoulder made you yelp and jerk away, and you could imagine his hand hovering in the air. “But you can just call me your boyfriend, okay?”

“You’re fucking crazy.” Getting up from the couch the second time he touched you, you pressed yourself against the furthest wall next to a chess table with no pieces.

“Darling-”

“No, don’t fucking call me that!” Stamping your foot on the ground, you ignored his warning tone.

“(Y/N), I told you-”

“I don’t give a damn! I don’t want to be part of whatever bullshit you said earlier! Just- just let me go!” You were getting hysterical at this point, your whole body was hot and sweaty and your face was on fire. It was hard to hear anything over the ringing and pounding in your ears giving you headache.

Except you were able to hear the sound of a knife going through the air and feel it graze your cheek before sticking into the wall behind you. Everything fell away as you looked at the silver blade glinting in the harsh fluorescent light above you. There was just the tiniest hint of red at the edge, further proof that what you felt was real.

“I don’t mind you getting upset, I don’t mind you yelling and screaming at me. It’s a normal reaction to such a new situation.” Yuta’s low voice cut through the sudden silence and he stood up slowly, swaying slightly on his feet before planting them firmly on the ground. “But what I won’t have is such ugly words coming out of your mouth. That type of language doesn’t belong in a mouth as pretty as yours.”

He walked over to you slowly, building the tension with every step he took. It was then that you noticed, when he was only a foot away, that the silver of the knife matched the silver buttons on his shirt.

“If I have to remind you again, I promise I won’t miss.” Letting the sentence hang in the air, Yuta gave you a once over before grabbing onto your wrist and upper arm tightly and dragging you back to the couch. His strength was much more than you first assumed, there wasn’t a chance in hell that you could ever hope to wiggle out of his hold.

Sitting down with a huff, he pulled you onto his lap, forcing you to straddle him. Putting your hands on his shoulders, he settled his on your hips, making sure you were properly seated on his outstretched legs. Staring at the buttons on his shirt, you tried to avoid getting too close - keeping at least some semblance of an arms length between you and making sure your sex was far from his.

“This isn’t so bad, is it?” It was amazing how easily his mood shifted from one to the other. What had just been a quite heavy and intense moment was washed away by a little uptick of his lips and the tilt of his head to the side.

The things you wished to say were lodged in your mouth, waiting on the tip of your tongue for you to open up and let them fall out. But you couldn’t afford to keep testing his patience like this, not after what just happened.

“I suppose.” So you bite your tongue hard and say what you think will get you closer to getting out. Whatever it is he wants you can give him so long as it keeps him happy and lets you walk free.

“I knew you’d come around.” The smile on Yuta’s face takes proper form, pushing the apples of his cheeks up and wrinkling his eyes. One hand on your hips dares to venture further onto the small of your back. The warmth of his palm would be comforting in another setting.

“Y-yuta.” It almost makes you sick to say his name.

“Yes?” It makes his eyes light up.

“When will I get to leave?” Somewhere along the line you’d stopped crying and now only your eyes burned with the memory of the tears.

“When I know you’re ready, (Y/N).” He said softly, rubbing a hand on your back.

“Ready how?”

“I just want to make sure of a few things before we start our new life together. Is that okay?”

Did you really have a choice?

“What things?” You pushed, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

“Don’t worry about that right now. We’re together now and that’s all that matters.”

“Please tell me, I really want to know.”

“(Y/N).” He sang your name but it was anything but cheery. “I don’t want to talk about that right now, so drop it please.” Even though he was speaking his mouth barely moved, jaw locked tight in hardly hidden frustration.

“Okay.” You quickly let the subject go.

“Now darling…” Yuta brought a hand up to your face, trailing his fingers down your cheek softly. “Won’t you smile for me? You have such a pretty smile.”

The question of how he knew what your smile looked like cropped up in your head but you quickly stamped it out. Now wasn’t the time to worry about those things. Doing as he asked, you gave him your best smile.

“Absolutely gorgeous.” Skimming his thumb along your bottom lip, Yuta grasped your chin in his fingers. “I’ve been missing your smile so much lately, the recent missions I’ve been on have really put a damper on my mood.”

“I’m- I’m sorry to hear that.” Extending an olive branch wouldn’t hurt, right? It was clear he wanted your compliance in this scheme of his, desperate to have you love him. Your words shot straight into Yuta’s heart, making him bite his lip in to stop a shy giggle from coming out.

“It’s okay, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I have my darling with me.” A light blush went over his cheeks and Yuta let a sliver of the giggle out. “But there is something that would make me feel even better.”

“What’s that?” It didn’t take a genius to figure out what he meant when his thumb touched your lip again.

“A kiss. Just one, I promise.” Licking his own lips, Yuta grabbed onto your jaw more firmly. “I swear I’ll be gentle.” Weighing your options, the inkling that it wouldn’t be ‘just one’ was in the back of your head. But as long as it stayed just kissing, maybe you’d be okay.

“One.” You repeated, allowing him to pull you in and close the gap between you. Kissing Yuta was something that, once again, would feel nice in any other circumstance. The texture of his lips wasn’t bad, his breath didn’t smell and he seemed to know what he was doing. Maybe in another world, you really could have been soulmates.

Breaking the first kiss to take a short inhale, Yuta immediately went in for another. The hand that was on your jaw slid up to the back of your head, holding it firmly in his calloused hand to make sure you didn’t move.

“Y-yuta!” Whining against his lips, you tried to push away from him.

“Just one, I know! I know but-” He mumbled back, the tip of his tongue daring to touch your pursed lips. “I can’t help it, I love you so much.” Crushing you against him, Yuta got his tongue into your mouth when you gasped for air. The urge to bite him arose and you almost did, but he pulled away right as you made the decision to.

“You said only one!” Giving his chest a hard push, you wiped the spit off your lips in disgust.

“I know, I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Putting his hands on your back, Yuta grimaced at you. “I’m sorry darling, I just got excited! I’ve been dreaming of kissing you for so long, can you blame me for wanting more?”

You could blame him for that and a few other things. Wiping your mouth off again, you huffed angrily and avoided his sorry eyes.

“Don’t do it again.”

“I won’t lie to you anymore, I promise.” Yuta mumbled, already forcing you closer again. “Let me make it up to you.”

“Yuta, no.” Shaking your head, you put a hand over your mouth. The blush that was on Yuta’s cheeks got darker and a hand gripped the back of your neck.

“It may be a bit soon, but there are other places where I can kiss you.” Latching his lips onto the side of your neck, Yuta sucked on the skin lightly. He didn’t want to leave any unseemly marks on you and he wouldn’t dream of using his teeth.

“Yuta, get off.” Tugging on his collar, you squirmed at the feeling. “P-please, Yuta, get off.” You were getting more desperate by the moment, accelerated by his lips going down the column of your throat and to the collar of your top.

“I just want to kiss you, (Y/N).”

“No, no I don’t-” As his head nudged your chin up, you started to sweat and really yank at the fabric in your hands. “I don’t want you to kiss me there, Yuta!” Your voice reached a crescendo and the soft sound of his kisses stopped. Pulling away slowly, Yuta kept his head ducked down.

“I’m sorry (Y/N), I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” Releasing the hold on your neck, Yuta smooths his hand down your back once more and threads his fingers together at the base of your spine.

Struggling to catch your breath, you force yourself to relax and let your head dip down, uncurling the fingers fisting the fabric of Yutas shirt and letting the blood naturally flow back to them.

As the silent seconds tick by, there’s something that comes into your consciousness that can’t be ignored. There’s already a good amount of heat built up between you and Yuta from the kisses you shared and the struggle that ensued.

But was he that much of a repressed man that just kissing your lips and neck had his cock standing at half attention? It seemed so, because when you made a face at it, he chuckled sheepishly.

“Sorry.” Yuta wasn’t sorry for what was happening. He didn’t feel remorse for any of this, especially not the thing that was causing you distress now. It was only natural for such a reaction to occur! You were squirming so much on his lap while he kissed you that it was like you were begging him to get hard.

Gently raking his nails up and down your back, Yuta stared hard at your lips. His gaze almost pierced right through you and he wasn’t subtle about wanting another kiss. Another slurry of apologies left Yuta’s lips as he once again grabbed the back of your head and forced you to kiss him. His words got mushed together, spoken against your lips as he tried to work his tongue into your mouth.

Whatever screams of protest you had didn’t matter in this moment, Yuta was a man on a mission and desperate to take what was his. He felt bad about pushing your boundaries and ruining the chance of growing an actual relationship any time soon, but those were things he was willing to sacrifice.

And after all, good boyfriends help their partners grow in uncomfortable situations.

Moaning in a high pitch when your crotch just barely grazed his, Yuta took advantage of the fact you were too busy trying to push him away to focus on your lower half. Grabbing you tightly at the hips, he dragged you forward and fully pushed you against the front of his pants.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He panted as he moved your bodies in tandem, getting bolder and bucking his hips like a sad teenager dry humping for the first time. This continued for a while and you were sure he was going to cum when he suddenly stopped and flopped his head back against the couch.

Fervently wiping off your lips, the urge to slap him came over you in a blinding rage, and you quickly swiped your hand down. Fully expecting to make contact with his face, you put all the strength you could into the motion only to be stopped by Yuta grabbing your wrist.

“Hitting isn’t very nice, (Y/N).” He sounded like a disappointed preschool teacher and when you raised your other hand to try and slap him he caught that one as well. Holding both your wrists tightly in his grasp, Yuta stared at your heaving chest as he thought about what to do.

“Let me go.” You said, trying to tug yourself free.

“Sshh, I’m thinking.” His eyes wouldn’t leave your chest and he licked his lips. “I think I know a better use for your hands.” Letting go of one of them, Yuta was quick to go to the button on his jeans and undo them.

Your fingers were touching his clothed cock before you had a chance to protest. The speed Yuta moved at was dizzying and you seemed to be about 10 seconds behind him, left to scramble and catch up on whatever he’d done.

“Just a little, please?” Yuta whined and gripped your fingers around his cock, digging into the fabric of his dark underwear and outlining the shape of his cock.

“Yuta…” Back were the tears, a light misting this time that blurred your vision. It was gross touching him, even as the scent of a minty body wash rolled off him. This was gross, the heat from his cock and the way the skin moved beneath your fingers all felt horribly off.

“Just be good for me, (Y/N), I know you can do that.” Giving your lips a quick peck, Yuta let out a shaky exhale. His hand was holding yours so tightly your hand pulsed, throbbing from lack of circulation.

Touching him through his underwear quickly became not enough for Yuta and he hurriedly pulled his cock out, shoving his underwear down his thighs a bit to make more room. Unbuttoning the large overshirt he had on, Yuta let out another exhale as the sweat evaporated off his body.

“Are you shy? Here, touch it like this.” Gingerly now he wrapped your hand around his shaft, squeezing with just enough pressure to make sure you were really holding it. You tried to avoid looking at it, staring at the tanktop Yuta had on underneath his other shirt.

Tilting your head up, he kissed you gently as he worked your hand up and down his cock, slowly loosening his hold the longer he went until he was able to let go and you were still stroking him.

“I love you so much.” He whispered, breaking the kiss to press his forehead against yours. “So, so much.” You whimpered in response, keeping your eyes tightly closed to avoid looking at him. “I’ve followed you for so long now, it feels amazing to finally be here with you.”

“Followed?” You didn’t want to know, you didn’t want to know, you didn’t-

“Six months. For six long, agonizing months I watched you from the shadows. Making sure you were safe, following you home from work to make sure no one messed with you, going into your home when you weren’t there to make sure you didn’t have the stove on-”

“Stop.” Sniffling back another wave of tears, you shook your head. “I-I can’t, please-”

“You’re right, I’m killing the mood.” Chuckling softly, Yuta kissed at the corner of your eye. Putting his hand back on yours, he sped up the pace and bucked his hips up. “A-and I really don’t want to do that.”

Kissing you again lest he start rambling again, Yuta moaned freely into your mouth. He had dreamed of this moment and so many others, staying up late at night just fantasizing about you touching him and finally being in his arms.

To say he was pent up was an understatement. Ever since he saw you, Yuta vowed not to touch himself, wanting you to be the only one that gave him such pleasure. It was a painful wait, but every time he saw you he knew it was worth it - and it was. He was already nearing an orgasm and it hadn’t even been that long.

“Oh darling-” His face started to screw up and Yuta broke the kiss, putting his head on your shoulder and making your hand go faster. “God I love you, (Y/N)! I lo-love-” He was babbling now, unable to focus on any full sentence coming out of his mouth. “Say it- tell me.”

“Say what?” You asked, struggling to keep your breathing even as you felt him get closer to the edge.

“You love me. Tell me you- tell me you love me, even if it’s not true yet.” Yuta was so close it hurt, but he refused to cum unless you said those words.

“I-I-” The desire to not say it was strong, keeping you from really forming the words. It wasn’t true right now and it would never be true. You would never love Yuta for as long as you lived.

“Say it, say it please!” Yuta wailed, his other hand gripping your waist so hard you were afraid he was going to break something. “I love you so much, just say it back!”

“I love you! Yuta, I love you, okay?” His hold was really starting to hurt and as soon as you said it, he let go. “I love you, I love you.” You repeated over and over until his body locked up and he came with an almost sobbing moan.

“Oh god, darling, I love you.” Yuta wasn’t crying but he might as well have been. His hand stopped for a brief moment before continuing, coating the back of his hand and your fingers in his cum. He kept going until he was able to squeeze the last drop of cum out of him, swiping at the tip with his thumb until the sensation began to hurt.

It was too quiet now in the room without Yuta’s frantic breathing and mindless babbles. Taking deep, gasping breaths, he forced himself to calm down and let go of your hand, letting his softening cock fall down against him.

“Here.” In his pocket he had a handkerchief and Yuta wiped your hand clean, diligently going between the digits and getting every last pearly drop. Throwing it onto the coffee table, Yuta collapsed back onto the couch with a heavy sigh.

His face was impossibly blissed out, a dopey smile stretching his face and showing off his teeth. He couldn’t be happier in this moment, the weight of your body on his lap a constant reminder that this was real life, the reality that he had been dreaming of and striving for for so long.

The door he had entered from creaked open much faster than when he entered, and there were thundering footsteps descending the stairs quickly. Yuta immediately perked up, hugging you close to his chest as he turned over his shoulder to look at who came in.

“This is a surprise.” There was a tall, lanky man standing at the bottom of the steps, his white hair sticking up in all directions. You wondered how he could see with a blindfold on and Yuta seemed happy to see him.

“Gojo, hello!” Rushing to fix his pants, Yuta helped you off his lap and stood up.

“I see you’ve finally made yourself acquainted.” Gojo grinned, his head flicking towards you for a moment.

“Mhmm! We uh- we’re having a great time getting to know each other.” Yuta flushed, trying to not make it obvious that his pants had just been undone and that you’d just been jerking him off.

“Well I hate to break up a happy couple, but there’s a visitor here for you. I think you’re going to have another mission soon.”

“Really, so soon? I just-” Glancing at you, Yuta bit his tongue. “I’ll be back soon.” Grabbing his sword and the knife still stuck in the wall, Yuta gave you one more look before walking past Gojo and up the stairs. As soon as the door clicked closed, you shot up from the couch and walked around to Gojo.

“Please, you have to help me, get me out of here!” Clasping your hands together in front of you, you pleaded as hard as you could. “H-he’s absolutely crazy, please help me!” Unable to look Gojo in the eye, you could only assume he was looking back at you from the way his head moved.

“That’s not very nice, now is it?” He questioned, quirking a brow and crossing his arms. “Yuta loves you so much, you shouldn’t say those things about him.”

“Sir please, you don’t understand!” Shaking your head hard, you let out a frustrated groan. “I don’t belong here! He kidnapped me, don’t you understand?!” It felt like you were the only sane one left in the world. Gojo chuckled and sighed, placing a large hand on the top of your head and leaning forward.

“Actually, Yuta wasn’t the one that actually kidnapped you.” A soft ‘no’ escaped your lips and Gojo laughed again, drinking in the sinking feeling in your gut and the way it twisted your face in agony. “It was me.”

#tw: noncon #tw: yandere #jujutsu kaisen #okkotsu yuta #yuta okkotsu x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen scenarios #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen fanfic

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ragingbookdragon · 3 years

Text

Love Bites (But So Do I) PT. 2

Justice League x Reader One-shot

Word Count: 2.3K Warnings: Explicit Language

Author's Note: Aye, we're back with another Skyrim!Reader fic! Enjoy! -Thorne

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It’d been close to a year since she’d joined the Justice League, and though the original members were a tightknit group, they’d welcomed her with open arms. Some of them were still wary about her, but for the most part, she was doing well within their ranks, especially when it came to being around Bruce or Hal. Given her longevity, she’d seen men like them before, known how to get along with them. Bruce she could meet on equal footing, Hal was simply a man that had to be shown who was in charge; it didn’t take much to make Hal crack under her authority, and in mere days, she had him wrapped around her fingers—Bruce too, but he’d never outright admit it to her face, or anyone else’s, even if a gun was put to his head.

She didn’t particularly fight much when they went on missions, preferring to be backup as well as their combat medic, a job she did well. She’d sewn up most of them without a blink of an eye, and while the first time she sewed Bruce’s wounds up, Clark and Diana stood beside to watch in case she tried to feed, they quickly learned, not only through her own comment but also his, that she wasn’t going to harm anyone.

Barry liked her. Or at least he enjoyed speaking with her. He found her ten thousand years of experience interesting, the history of her life, the survival of it. They’d spent hours talking about the past, hers and his from going back in time often. She enjoyed puzzling the poor scientist with magic. Barry wasn’t one to follow the whole “It’s magic” sermon; he wanted scientific evidence, hypothesis and experiments to prove how sparks, fire, and frost flowed from her fingertips like water. How natural it was for her as if it were like breathing.

She liked Barry. Liked to help him through personal issues. Her many years had given her experience in most subjects of life. Spurned lovers, betrayal of friends, death, life, all of it. There wasn’t anything she couldn’t help with, the League had come to find out. Sometimes, she even helped, and she didn’t even realize it.

***

It was one of the routine meetings for the month; she sat next between Diana and Hal, trying to focus on the words coming out of Bruce’s mouth but all she could hear was the quiet rumbling coming beneath them. What was she hearing? A broken pipe in the ceiling? Air hissing from a crack in a window, perhaps? No, it seemed to be coming from the table. But what was it? Nothing was shaking the foundation. What—

“(Y/N), is something wrong?”

She cocked her head up, realizing she’d pressed her face to the table in hopes she could listen closer to the noise; clearing her throat, she felt the eyes of the group on her. “Apologies,” she excused. “There’s…there is something I keep hearing under your voice. It’s…distracting.”

Her eyes found Clark’s. “Listen for a moment and see if you can hear it.”

They waited, everyone holding their breath, and when the rumbling came again, her eyes widened. “See! That! What is that!”

Clark held his hand up to say wait and she fell silent, letting him listen of for a few more moments, and then he cracked a smile and laughed.

“What? Why are you laughing?” she questioned. “What is it?”

“It’s Barry’s stomach,” he chuckled, nodding at the Speedster who suddenly flushed.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know you guys could hear it.” He laughed nervously. “It’s past my usual snack time so I’m really hungry.”

“I’ve got you,” Hal replied, digging in his bomber pocket to pull out a candy bar. “Snickers?”

“Ooo!” Barry chirped, taking it from him with a, “Thank you. I forgot to pack snacks when I left the house today.”

“Bar, one day, you’re gonna keel over from hunger because you forget. I swear, your memory is just as bad as your lateness.”

“God, don’t remind me,” Barry snickered.

(Y/N) hummed, eyes lingering on Barry for a moment before she turned to Bruce. “Sorry for the interruption. Please, continue.”

Bruce didn’t skip a beat, but she kept the thought of Barry in the back of her mind.

***

A couple hours later, the meeting had ended, and she caught up with Barry and Hal as they left. “Barry, a moment of your time, please? There’s something I wish to discuss with you.”

Hal waved the two off and continued to the Zeta tubes, leaving them and Barry smiled, “What’s up, (Y/N)?”

“How often do you eat?”

Hello left field with that question.

“I—what?”

“Consuming sustenance,” she reiterated. “How often do you do it?”

Barry shuffled on his feet, scratching at the back of his head. “Well…my metabolism burns through food like Hal does jet fuel.” He saw her cocked eyebrow and unimpressed look and immediately said, “I need to eat roughly 4.8 million calories a day.”

Her eyes went wide and for a moment she simply gaped at him, then she recovered and shook her head. “Divines, you eat a lot of food.”

“Yeah,” Barry chuckled. “Only downside of being a Speedster besides seeing the world in slow motion.”

“Forensic scientists make between forty and one-hundred-thousand a year. Is it possible for you to afford the nutrition you need to adequately feed yourself?”

Just like that, she hit a sore spot because Barry stilled, a remarkable feat, and his cheeks tinted red; she heard the stutter in his heart rate, noted the way he looked around uncomfortably. “I…Bruce…helps me sometimes.” He shifted nervously. “High calorie protein bars are the easiest to manufacture in massive quantities. I need them most nights.”

“So, you can’t afford the amount of food you need?” (Y/N) hummed, eyes narrowing as she brought her hand to her face, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. “I’m going home for the evening,” she suddenly blurted out. “Come back here tomorrow around the same time. I’ll have something for you that will help with your food shortage.”

As she walked off, Barry grabbed her arm, pleading, “Wait, (Y/N), don’t. I can’t take money from you.”

“I never said anything about money,” she corrected, removing his arm. “I merely said for you to come back, and I’ll have something for you.” She winked. “Relax Barry. I’m not going to tell the world your secrets.”

***

He stood in the center of the area where he was supposed to meet (Y/N), had been standing there for an hour, but then again, she was only fifteen minutes late and he forty-five minutes early. Barry glanced at his watch when a buzzing started in his pocket; he pulled his phone out and saw her caller ID, lifting it to his ear. “Hello?”

Barry! Sorry for calling late. That thing I’m looking for is taking a bit longer than I expected it to. Do you think you could come to my home in Gotham? I’ve already called ahead and let Bruce know you’d be in city limits.

“Oh, yeah,” he answered. “I’ll be right there.”

Good! Travel safely!

It’d taken him all of ten seconds to get from the Watchtower to her house and Barry almost shit his pants when he saw it. It reminded him of Hagrid’s house but slightly wider and with multiple conjoined buildings to it. He walked up to the front door, hyping himself up to grab the brass doorknocker that resembled a demonic skull. When he knocked on the door, nothing happened, then the locks flipped and it opened, creaking on its hinges like a cheap eighty’s horror film, but it did the trick because Barry was scared out of his mind when all he saw was a darkened room lit up only by a candle holder on a table in the middle.

“I’m in the back!” a voice called from inside. “Fang is coming to greet you! He’s bringing Nevermore!”

Nevermore was the bird. He remembered that one, but who was Fang?

His question was answer by a giant mastiff came bounding from an opening to the hallway and Barry almost jumped a foot in the air; it looked terrifying, but he merely whined and shoved his head into Barry’s palm, waiting to be scratched behind his ears.

He relented, giving Fang a good ear-scratch, and smiled as Nevermore hopped up his arm to sit on his shoulder.

“Hungry!” he croaked. “Want snacks!”

Barry dug around in his pocket, finding a half-eaten granola bar. “Granola?” he offered, holding up a piece and Nevermore swiped it with a quick snap of his beak.

“Come in!”

“(Y/N), where are you?”

“In the back!” she called. “I told you that already!”

“I meant where!” Barry laughed, coming to the hallway. It split down two sides, one going to the right the other left. The right opened to what looked like a studio. The left went down and had two doors on the wall, what were bedrooms, and at the end of the hall was a study.

“Bedroom!” she answered, and Barry walked down the left, stopping at the second door that was creaked open.

He saw (Y/N) laying over her bed, digging for something on the opposite side away from him. “(Y/N)?”

“Come in,” she said, listening to him walk around to see her. “I forgot I shoved this underneath her a long time ago when I was cleaning things out.”

“How long is a long time ago?”

“Hmm…American Revolution? Give or take a decade or so?” she waved it off, pulling out what looked like an antique drawstring bag, about the size of a dinner plate; she held it up and patted the bed beside her with her free hand. “This is going to solve all your food problems,” (Y/N) announced, watching him sit down.

“Uh…how so?”

She placed it in his lap. “Think of your absolute favorite snack food. Chips or cookies or something.”

He did.

“Now…reach into the bag and pull it out.”

Barry’s brows furrowed as he reached in the bag, and she knew he’d found them because his eyes went wide, and he pulled out a snack pack of cookies. “What the—”

“Magic food purse,” (Y/N) explained. “Found it one day when I was exploring.” She took it back and reached into it, pulling out a thin tray of expertly wrapped sushi. “It’s really helpful when you’re traveling and can’t carry massive amounts of food around with you.”

Barry watched her pop one in her mouth; he knew damn well that sushi wasn’t in there when he reached inside. He swiped the bag from her and opened it, peering inside, but all he saw was a dark, stretching expanse. “That’s not possible,” he breathed. “There’s nothing in here.”

“It’s magic,” (Y/N) snorted, reaching in to pull out a frosted chocolate cupcake. “Anything you can imagine eating or drinking? It will come out.”

“That’s not scientifically possible!” Barry stressed, trying to shove his head into the bag. There had to be some gimmick to it. A transporter! Something!

“Why is it so hard for you to accept that some things in this universe can’t be explained by science?” she stared at him. “For Divines’ sake, Barry, your best friend is a man who wields a magic ring. You run faster than the speed of light.”

“There’s science behind some of that!”

“Not much.”

“But there is science! Here—there’s nothing!” Barry was having a crisis. “I don’t know how this works. I don’t understand.”

(Y/N) smiled and folded the bag up, gently stowing it in Barry’s jacket pocket. “It’s not about understanding, Barry, it’s about accepting that there are some things you won’t ever understand.” Her eyes crinkled at the edges. “That bag will never run out of magic. You can think all the food and drinks into existence and never run out of food again.”

She reached up and cupped his cheek. “No more high calorie meal bars unless you have to eat them. No more worrying about putting money aside to make sure you have enough to eat. No more relying on others to keep yourself from going hungry.” (Y/N) whispered comfortingly, “No more fear. No more worries.”

Barry felt the lump rise in his throat. He’d never admitted it, not even to Hal, but he worried constantly about keeping fed. Worried that money wouldn’t come in, that he’d go hungry, that something worse would happen. All the nights he’d laid in bed and had to roll over on an empty stomach because he couldn’t afford to buy more or eat what he’d planned for tomorrow then. All the skipping meals, all the exhaustion, all the worry. Gone in moments.

He felt her thumb under his eye, and he looked into her umber ones, seeing her smile softly as she wiped away another tear. She didn’t say anything, merely gazing at him and Barry leaned into her palm, reaching up to cup her hand closer to his cheek. “Thank you,” he managed through the lump in his throat. “I don’t know how to repay you for—”

“Shhh,” (Y/N) hushed, pressing her thumb to his lips. “There’s nothing to repay anyone for. I did this for you, Barry, not so you’d owe me.” She pulled away from him and rose from the bed, looking back. “Now, if you’d like a moment to yourself, I understand. But I was planning on making dinner. Would you like to stay the night?”

“You don’t mind?” Barry asked. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

She glanced over her shoulder with a wink, flashing those pretty white fangs in a smile as she flirted, “Stay all you want, Barry. I won’t bite…yet.” She left Barry in the room, heart pounding in his chest, but not from fear—from excitement and anticipation.

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