#and i could eat it with a plastic fork so if there's anything tasting metallic then ik to be concerned.. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hyunjilicious · 3 years

Text

backyard bbq party [bucky barnes]

Summary: You're a college student who hates visiting home. Bucky is new to town and works with your dad. Your mom thinks you need a break from studying and your dad thinks Bucky needs help meeting new people. Smut ensures. 4.5k SMUT

Warnings: Age gap, flirting in inappropriate circumstances, dirty talk, oral - m. receiving, Bucky is cocky and sees right through you, D/s vibes (but not really), very little Daddy kink (one mention), unedited.

A/n: I don't think I have to mention this, but 18+ please!!! Please reblog and lmk if you liked it ❤

"Hun-" your mother warmly called as she approached you, a transparent plastic container filled with freshly seasoned raw pieces of meat, in her hands, "Take this to your father, ok?"

With unmistakable disgust on your face, you still faked a smile - all for her sake and took the container from her. It was heavy and you did your best to look anywhere but at it as you crossed the backyard, approaching your dad. He was with his back at you, facing the grill, and a man - which you barely noticed at first, stood by his side.

"Dad?" you sighed, "Mom said you should make these right now"

Their conversation stopped in an instant, and the two men turned to face you.

A smile instantly made its way onto your dad's face, "Didn't think you girls would be done so fast" he commented.

You just shrugged, knowing damn well you did not help prepare the food in any way. However, your eyes landed on the man behind your dad. He was tall, definitely well built, his shirt a size too small and his eyes shamelessly boring into yours.

You fell under his spell in under a second. Or maybe he fell under yours. Something definitely happened. A switch flipped inside your brain, and you knew you'd have to work hard to not allow yourself to do, or at least try to do, anything stupid at your parents party.

His eyes trailed lower down your body, and judging by the way he fought back a grin, it was clear what he had in mind.

In order to keep things from getting awkward, his lips parted into a dazzling smile, as he extended his hand to you, "You must be, Y/n. I'm James Barnes. You can call me Bucky. Or Buck"

"Oh, yeah!" you dad smiled, "You two haven't met! James is the best damn mechanical engineer I've ever seen"

"You work together?" you squinted your eyes, "I never heard of you before"

"He just moved to the state" you father added, and Bucky nodded in agreement, his hand still slowly shaking yours.

Feeling your cheeks heat up with embarrassment, you smiled and excused yourself, "Nice to meet you, Mr. Barnes. I'll go now, see if mom needs any more help"

Bucky's eyes didn't leave your frame as you walked away, however you barely managed to take a couple of steps before you heard your mother's voice. "Y/n, baby? Can you go grab the glasses?"

"How many?"

"12" she responded in an instant, and then you took off towards the house.

It was dead silent inside. The house was empty, and already a mess. You took off your sandals and walked over to the cabinets above the sink, pulled out a tray and started looking for the fancy glasses your mother saved for special occasions.

You must've grabbed about 3 or 4 when a deep voice startled you, "Need any help?"

You lightly jumped in surprise, but hoped he didn't notice. "No, it's ok, thank you, though"

"Ok" Bucky mumbled, and you heard the smugness in his tone.

Unable to fight your instincts, you turned around and looked at him over your shoulder. Leaning against the wall with a small bottle of beer in his hand, he sent you a mischievous wink which almost brought a lump to your throat.

You hurried to turn around and keep gathering the glasses your mother asked for, struggling more and more with each one. When you cleared the first shelf, it was obvious you'd need help reaching the ones higher up, but you weren't about to ask Bucky. Instead, you hiked your dress up your thighs and pushed one of your knees on top of the counter, lifting yourself up just enough to reach the remaining glasses.

"Careful up there," Bucky laughed, walking over to you.

On a normal day, your palms wouldn’t be shaking and you wouldn't even think about the possibility of dropping a glass or falling off the counter. But he was too close, taking way too much satisfaction from seeing you struggling to maintain your balance. Not to mention the skirt, and the way almost all the skin of your thighs was on display for him.

"You could've asked me to help, you know?" he taunted, taking one more step towards you. There were barely a few inches separating your bodies now, and although you were sure it was your mind playing tricks on you, the heat from his body flooded your senses. He was too close. Too smug, looking at you. But the last straw was when he placed his left hand on the counter, inches away from your knee. That was when you noticed the prosthetic arm as the metallic sound of its vibranium plates overlapping grabbed your full attention. After a momentary lapse of composure, you looked into his eyes but all he did was raise his eyebrows. He knew exactly what he was doing.

"Uh, it's ok" you shook your head, turning back to look at the cabinet. "Just five more"

For the remaining glasses, you grabbed them from the shelf, handing them to Bucky to place them on the tray.

When you were finally done, with a gentle grab of your hips, Bucky helped you off the counter, his hands lingering against the thin material of your dress for a bit too long. But you didn't mind. His touch burned and under his gaze, you found yourself turning around to face him, the proximity being nothing other than obscene especially if you were to take into consideration the age gap, and how you met him.

But that was 20 minutes ago. A moment not so conveniently interrupted by your mother barging in, wondering what was taking you so long. Bucky helped you carry the glasses to the table outside, and after that, you parted ways.

Even though he went back to the rest of the men gathered around the grill, your mind remained fixed on him. You found it almost impossible not to look for him every other minute, and the fact that he managed to catch you staring everytime, made the butterflies in your stomach go even crazier.

And then it took a little bit of devious and manipulative work on your part - to convince your aunt she got the wrong seat. You told her there was a seating plan, and that she was supposed to sit next to your mum. That opened up a seat left of Bucky, and since that seating plan was as unreal as your chances with him, or so you thought, you had to make sure the seat wouldn't be taken by someone else. And you didn't want to make it obvious - didn't want him to know you only chose that spot after figuring out it was right next to his. So you sprinted back into the house, grabbed your purse and placed it on the chair, pushing it as close as you could to the table, so no one could see it. Maybe it's been there for hours, even before any of the guests even showed up. Who'd know?

But of course, once the food had been served and you were all seated, you had to play your cards right. All your confidence seemed to have vanished ever since Bucky took his seat next to you. Casually sipping his beer, having a taste out every single type of food laid out in front of him, cracking jokes every now and then, and the glimpses… And the winks... And the way whenever he had to turn in your direction, his eyes would first land on you, and only then travel to the person he was having a conversation with.

But that was just the start. Soon enough, his attention was more and more directed towards you. His arm on the back of your chair. His jokes solely for you.

When you figured it was your time to make the next move, after giggling at one of the stupid puns he just made, you cleared your throat and scanned the table. "James, where did you get the olives? Can you hand me the bowl please? I can't see it"

"Oh, yeah" he said, pushing himself up to grab them for you. But conveniently, the bowl was empty. "There aren't any left, doll." he announced after settling back in his seat.

"That's ok" you smiled, ready to stand up, "I'll go see if there are any inside"

The "No" he whispered was way too low for you to hear, but his metal hand grabbing your thigh and pinning you down in your chair got the message across. You turned to look at him confused, but your plan was already going in a completely different and indisputably better direction.

"Here-" Bucky said, using his fork to pick up one of the olives on his plate. "I'm full anyway"

"Thanks" you nervously laughed, raising your hand to grab the utensil, but he stopped you.

"Open up"

Only for a second did you stop to consider just how bad of an idea that was, but you hurriedly pushed the thought aside and opened your mouth. Your eyes met his as you lowered yourself and grabbed the olive with your teeth, barely managing to hide your enthusiasm as you slipped it off his fork.

"Good?" Bucky asked.

You nodded, "Very. Thank you"

"No problem, doll"

After that, you returned to your plate - some cheese and salad left. None of them looked too appetising right now, you knew what you wanted - two things, but only one of them would be acceptable. So, you lazily gathered some salad leaves into your fork, and turned to Bucky. "Can I have one more?"

"Hm?" he muttered, removing the beer bottle from his lips and looking at you confused.

"One more olive? Can I?"

Instantly, he smiled. "What was that?"

"Can I have one more-" and when his amused smile turned into a devious grin, you realised what he actually wanted from you. "Please?"

He still wasn't satisfied so he just raised his eyebrows, telling you to try again.

"James? Can I please have one more olive?"

"Of course" he taunted.

You didn't know what you expected, of course you'd have to eat this one out of his fork too. However, this time, he didn't bother helping you at all, instead making you lean all the way into him to grab it.

"Thanks"

"And call me Bucky, ok?"

"Yeah, ok. Bucky"

As much as you wanted to keep this game going, the atmosphere around the table shifted. Even though your parents were seated at the other end of the table and on the same side, making it impossible for them to see what you were up to, you still felt like you crossed one too many lines.

When your demeanour changed, so did Bucky's. He leaned back in his seat, shifting uncomfortably for a couple of minutes, until he decided to stand up, announcing he was grabbing another drink for himself. You wanted to ask him to bring one for you too, but before you even managed to get a word out, he was already sprinting towards the house.

In his absence, you tried to calm yourself down and regain your composure, but there was only one thing on your mind. Him. So, against your better judgement, you left your seat at the table too, innocently heading towards the house.

There you found Bucky, leaning almost all the way in into the fridge, scavenging for another beer. The man emptied your dad's stash before the second course was even served.

"Whatcha looking for?" you beamed, walking up beside him.

"There's no more beer left" he announced, straightening his back and turning to face you. "I guess I'll have some water"

"I can go and see if there's any in the basement" you offered, "Or you could always go for something stronger"

"What do you suggest?"

"What are you into?"

"What am I into?" Bucky laughed.

"Whiskey?" you questioned, walking around him to open the liquor cabinet. "I hate this rum so I don't recommend it." You grabbed another bottle, "This vodka is amazing, no headaches the morning after."

"That won't be a problem" Bucky chuckled, leaning against the counter. "I'll have whatever you wanna give me"

"You seem like a whiskey kinda guy, is that ok?"

He nodded in approval, and then watched you pad around the kitchen, grabbing a glass and some ice. "What makes me look like a whiskey kind of guy?"

You took a deep breath, weighing your next words. "Rugged, tall.. handsome. Not my age." You shrugged. "Whiskey". Before allowing him to comment on that, you spoke up again. "What kind of drink do I remind you of?"

He pondered for a second, his eyes studying your every move. "One of those overly sweet girly cocktails, that has way more alcohol than my whiskey, but it's masked by all the syrups and preservatives inside it"

"Really?" you laughed out loud, handing him his glass.

Bucky smiled as he took it from you, raising it as if making a toast, and then took a sip. He licked his lips and sent you an approving nod.

Slowly, you both turned around and started walking out of the kitchen, but unlike you - Bucky stopped in the middle of the house, his voice urging you to do the same. "I'll go out front for a cigarette"

"Can I come, too?" you asked, heart beating out of your chest.

"Please" He urged you, stepping aside and allowing you to walk in front of him.

With a hand on your waist, he followed you out the front door. It was quiet, the sun shining a bit too bright for your liking.

You skipped down the stairs onto the pavement, but he stopped and sat down. Bucky spread his legs wide and motioned for you to come in front of him. After you did, with a gentle tug on your hand, he got you to kneel, one step below him.

"Want a cigarette, doll?" he asked, leaning back to retrieve the pack and lighter from his jeans pocket.

"No, thanks"

"Don't smoke?"

"Not if there isn't at least a mile between me and my parents" you giggled, placing your hands on his knees.

"Why?" he raised an eyebrow, lighting up his cigarette and taking a puff. You watched the smoke dissipate to the side, only to have your attention grabbed by him when he placed his free hand on your shoulder. "You're an adult. Have been for years. You live on your own. Why not?"

As he spoke, his fingers curled around the strap of your dress, nonchalantly pulling it down.

You swallowed thickly, but due to the way he was making you feel, you decided to ignore his action. "What they don't know, can't hurt them, right?"

"Mhm" Bucky agreed, taking another puff and then moving to play with the other strap. "So I was right?"

"About what?"

He shook his head, "Nevermind"

"Tell me!" you whined, pushing yourself up against him. His thighs completely framed your body as you closed the distance between the two of you. "Tell me!"

"Nope" he grinned, his proud smile inches away from your hungry lips.

"Bucky, come on" you pleaded, framing his face into your palms, "Tell me, please"

"No, doll-" he dismissed you, turning his head to the side to smoke. After blowing up the smoke, he threw the cigarette into the ashtray, his hands coming up around your body to rest on your ass.

"Pretty please?" you whined.

"Don't push me" he threatened, his grip on your ass tightening to the point where you almost whimpered out loud. Instead, your eyes just opened wide and you bit your lips.

"Ok" you sighed, playfully defeated, "Ok, fine. Don't tell me. But now I'm sad"

"Of course you are, doll" Bucky laughed, grabbing your chin. "I can tell how sad you are. You're not almost bursting into laughter at all"

"Shut up!" you scoffed, slapping his side, but he interrupted your antics with another rough squeeze of your ass.

Unable to keep calm anymore, you dragged your hands up his thighs, stopping inches away from his member. When you looked up to see his reaction, Bucky was already watching you.

"Can I?" you pouted.

"Stand up"

"Why-"

"Stand up" he commanded again, slapping your ass before you stood up and settled in front of him. "Take your panties off, doll"

"Here!?" you gasped, "What if anyone-"

"No one's gonna see you if you keep quiet and shuffle out of them like a good girl"

With your heart panging in the back of your throat, you slowly reached under your dress and pulled your underwear down. The feeling of cotton slipping down your legs made your shiver, and by the time your panties fell to the ground, Bucky had already stood up.

Wordlessly, you grabbed them from the floor and handed them to him, "Good girl" he nodded and then stepped out of the way, motioning for you to head inside.

You did so without any further form of complaint, determined to have your way with him by the end of the party. Dessert hadn't been served yet, so you knew there was still time to get to him.

But once you stepped into the house, you barely managed to make it past the hallway before Bucky grabbed your elbow and dragged you to the side. He forcefully pushed you into the small bathroom by the guest room, slamming the door behind him and locking it in one smooth movement.

Now it all made sense. Nerves and anxiety washed over you, but the good kind. You were bursting with emotion, shivering from every joint as your juices finally started running down your legs. You licked your lips and waited for instructions from him, ready to do absolutely anything he'd tell you to.

"Why don't you show me what you're made out of, hm? I wanna see how fast you can make me cum with that pretty little mouth of yours"

And that was all you needed to hear before you dropped to your knees in front of him, drooling like a good little girl as you watched him undo his pants. Your eagerness got the best of you. He looked divine, especially from that angle. His thick thigh inches away from your face, his metal hand playing with his belt, his hungry eyes staring down at you, his rugged breathing and the perverse view of his cock straining against his clothes.

Thank god he was fast, because you didn't know how to control yourself anymore.

When he finally pushed his underwear down and leaned against the wall, you were ready to show him what you were capable of. You wrapped your arms around him, settling your palms on the back of his thighs and sloppily took his cock into your mouth.

"Holy shit-" he cried out loud when you first sucked on his tip, bucking his hips and clenching his thighs.

Eagerly working him from between hollowed cheeks and with your tongue pressed to the underside of his hardening member, you proceeded to look up, innocently blinking at him. The corner of Bucky's mouth tilted upwards, perfectly expressing the immense amount of satisfaction he was getting.

When the strain on your neck became noticeable, you slipped his cock out of your mouth and wrapped your hand around his base. With delicate and experienced flicks of your tongue against his slit, you worked on shattering his self control, getting more and more wet as his breathing started to accelerate.

"Fuck, Y/n, you little slut-" he gasped, bringing his hand to rest on the top of your head.

You knew what he wanted, but it wasn't his turn to make decisions. Instead, you ignored his gesture and lowered yourself further between his legs, wrapping your lips around his balls. You sucked slowly, applying just the right amount of pressure that you hoped would drive him up the walls.

"Doll, so good. So, so fucking good" he panted, his cock nearly twitching in your hand as you kept pumping along the length.

Pulling back when your neck needed a break, you settled in front of him again, this time mouth open, and placed his tip on your tongue. No physical pleasure from that, but no amount of shadow could hide the pure bliss in his features. Just having you there, on your knees, with his cock on your tongue, was exactly what he needed to see.

"Come on, baby. It's not gonna suck itself" Bucky grunted, rubbing his thumb across your cheek. You nodded eagerly, but he stopped you before taking him back into your mouth. "All the way down, ok? Take my cock all the way down your throat, and when you feel like you can't anymore, go a little further"

You nodded again.

"And don't worry, I'm here to help you, doll"

You wanted to mumble a 'Thank you' but didn't get to, since he hurriedly curled his fingers around your roots and forced your head down his cock.

The feeling of your throat expanding around him reached your core in no time, making you shiver under his hold. You crumbled to the floor, your knees weak from the sheer feeling of it all, blinking wearily as he kept you down.

A mere few seconds had passed before, out of nowhere, Bucky pushed you off of him and looked to the door, eyes wide with shock.

"What happened?" you mumbled, wiping your chin.

"Thought I heard something"

"You locked the door" you reminded him, "No one's gonna catch us. And that's a bit of a shame, if you ask me"

"Huh?" Bucky frowned.

"I wouldn't mind people seeing me with your balls in my mouth"

His mouth fell open. "You dirty, little whore"

Wrapping your hand around his cock, you licked his tip and looked up, "Don't act like you don't like that about me"

"I absolutely fucking love it" Bucky scoffed, "Don't know what could have possible made you think I don't like it"

"I was just saying"

"Just.. stop talking. Put that mouth to better use for me, ok?"

"Yes, Daddy" you teased and wrapped your lips around his tip again.

"You little-" Bucky started cursing as he shook his head in disbelief, before a rapid knock against the wooden door made your heart stop.

"Buck?" your father's voice echoed around the bathroom, "You in there?"

Without even thinking twice, Bucky forced you back all the way down on his cock, completely blocking your air supply.

"Yeah! I'm in here!" he yelled as you struggled to keep quiet and muffle the way your body desperately begged for air.

"Have you seen Y/n?"

"Nope"

The panic that was running through your veins had your oxygen burning faster than normal, the tears in your eyes being the first sign of it.

"I can't find her anywhere" you dad went on.

No matter how much you tried and how much training you had, in that moment right there, you found it impossible to fight your gag reflex. Before you knew it, a choked down whimper erupted from your throat, forcing Bucky to cough, loudly, hoping to cover you.

"I haven't seen her, man. But, urgh-" The way your throat convulsed around his cock made Bucky weak too, way too close to his release to be able to sound inconspicuous. "Can I- can I have some pr- privacy now? Please? Just - just a sec"

"Are you feeling ok? Do you need-"

"I'm fine!" Bucky yelled. "I'll be out in a sec"

It was not like you were able to hear anything or even concentrate, but as soon as it was clear, Bucky let you off his cock, as he fell back against the wall and you stumbled into the sink.

Gasping for air, you heaved under his stare, eyes wide in shock. "You know I could've kept perfectly quiet without your cock blocking my throat"

"Where's the fun in that?" he panted, getting ready to finish on his own.

"No!" you stopped him, crawling back to him, "Let me!!"

"Just open your mouth" he grunted, and you obeyed.

It took him approximately 30 seconds to reach his orgasm, his hot cum landing perfectly on your awaiting tongue. His moaning and his breathing, and the way his face contorted through endless expressions of pure bliss, had you neatly coming yourself.

When he was done and after you proudly swallowed all that he had to offer, you stood up to fix your lipstick while Bucky cleaned and dressed himself back up.

"Your best friend called. She's having an emergency, you need to get there as soon as possible"

"What-?" you gasped, confused for just a second before you realised there was no way that could have been true.

"Yeah, and I'm not feeling well, so I'll head home. I can drop you off if you want"

And that was what you told your parents. That they couldn't find you earlier because you were talking on the phone with your best friend, reassuring her that everything would be fine and that you'd meet her as soon as possible.

Your parents weren't happy about it, but they didn't shy away from thanking Bucky a million times for offering to drive you. After a sappy round of goodbyes and promises to visit more often from now on, your parents finally returned to the party while Bucky led you to his car.

Once you got in, you didn't even manage to put your seat belt on before Bucky grabbed your chin and forced his lips against yours, kissing you deeply. His tongue pushed its way into your mouth, tasting every inch of you. He dominated the kiss as you melted in his hold, moaning against his lips before he pulled away.

"Been waiting to do that since I first laid eyes on you"

"What stopped you?"

"Had a feeling it wasn't a good idea" he laughed, starting the engine, "Saw what you did to my dick. It was all pink. Don't know how I would've explained lipstick all over my face to your parents"

"Well, excuse me for not wearing blow job proof lipstick to my parents barbecue"

"You're forgiven" Bucky teased, squeezing your thigh as he pulled out of the driveway.

"But why are we leaving though?" you questioned, "You know I have my own room upstairs, right?"

"I know, I know.. but next time we're nearly getting caught, I don't want it to be by anyone who's seen you in diapers"

You burst into laughter, "Oh god, you're right, yeah, that makes a lot of sense! But where are we going?"

"You'll see"

Please reblog if you enjoyed this and hmu with concepts!!!

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes blurb #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n

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just-jordie-things · 3 years

Text

So Cold - Peter Parker

word count: 7291 warnings: swearing, torture summary: after the fight in Berlin, anyone who had refused to sign the accords was incarcerated. and you and Peter had been on opposite sides of the fight. author’s note: based on this song

[ oh, you can't hear me cry, see my dreams all die / from where you're standing on your own / it's so quiet here, and I feel so cold / this house no longer feels like home ]

You should have listened to Peter when you had the chance. Damn you for not listening.

“Hey kid?” There was a knocking on the other side of the cement wall, but (y/n) stayed sitting against it. On top of the uncomfortable bed, her hands chained together by some kind of tech she’d never heard of before.

“Yeah?” The raspy sound in her own voice disgusted her.

“What would you be doing right now, if you weren’t in here?”

Scott Lang was practically a stranger to (y/n), although she’d fought with him side by side, and he talked to her nearly every day since being incarcerated. But so far he’d seemed like an alright guy, besides being a war criminal. He asked weird questions and talked to her a lot, even when she wouldn’t respond. Maybe it was to make the time go by a little easier.

“If I wasn’t here?” (y/n) pondered aloud, letting a lazy smile fall on her lips. “If I wasn’t getting beaten senseless… I’d be back at Stark Tower” Her eyes fell shut as she imagined it now. “I’d be training… or making fun of Tony” Just the idea of a regular day made her smile. “Seeing Peter…” (y/n) sighed, wanting to cry.

“Peter? Haven’t heard that name yet” Scott responded from the other side.

“Peter was… he was my best friend” She sighed. “And I loved him”

“Ah, I see” (y/n) could hear the smile in Scott’s voice. “I’ve gone down that same path”

“Oh yeah?” She mused head leaning against the wall. “Is it just as difficult for adults?”

“I wouldn’t necessarily call myself an adult,” Scott replied, and if her ribs didn’t hurt so bad from getting beat with a metal beton, she might have laughed. “But yeah, it was a little bit rough”

“Was she pretty?” She asked.

“Do you care?”

“Humor me. I’m in the worst pain of my life” She said.

Lang went on to talk about a woman named Hope that he seemed to be in love with. The story itself was one of the weirdest things (y/n) had ever heard, but she’d take anything just to get her mind off of the bruising.

I should’ve just listened to Peter. ___

Sleeping in the cell was the far opposite of ideal. She was lucky if she did sleep, without nightmares, or guards dragging her out to beat her. And even when she did, the conditions were still awful. She was certain at this point the mattress was made of all spring, no cushion. And the only blanket she had was a scratchy wool, and provided no warmth in the freezing cell.

The pillow was… okay. It was stained by her own blood here and there, but it was okay.

She woke up with nightmares fresh in her mind and her body sore from uncomfortable positions, just like every other morning.

“Meal time, inmate” A guard said, his baton knocking harshly on the bars of her cell. The sound rang in her ears, but she didn’t dare complain as a tray of mysterious food was slid into her room.

Last time she complained, she didn’t eat for three days.

“If every last piece isn’t gone, you’re not getting another one for a week” He added before walking away. (y/n) snarled behind his back, but took the tray from where it sat on the floor, bringing it to her bed to eat it.

“What is this slop?” Scott questioned from next door, certainly poking at the pile of steamed vegetables and mystery meat.

“What’s that inmate?” The guard questioned, but was only met with silence. (y/n) figured that Scott decided eating this was better than eating nothing. A debate she was currently having again.

With a wince she picked up the plastic spoon, forks of any kind weren’t allowed, and scooped up what she guessed was a carrot slice.

“This shit tastes like someone made it for a science fair, but then the experiment didn’t work out like it should’ve and they were humiliated for the rest of their middle school career” Scott said. (y/n) wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or not, but she opted not to respond.

Not getting food for a week and taking a beating just didn’t seem like an option for her at the moment. She was certain she’d die if she endured any more of their brutality.

“Don’t you think?” Lang was knocking on their shared wall, hoping for some sort of response. “(y/n)? You still alive in there, kid?”

“(y/n)?” Clint’s voice rang from down the hall. He didn’t typically speak much, and stayed silent whenever the guards came around, but the fear of (y/n) dying seemed to provoke a buried paternal instinct.

“Still alive” The girl groaned, shoving in another spoonful of celery and broccoli. The relieved sighs all around the corridor of cells echoed. Everyone, Scott, Clint, Sam, and Wanda, knew that if something happened to (y/n) while they were in here, there’d be more trouble than just the Civil War between Tony and Steve.

“Better be, kid” Sam said from a few cells down. She smiled to herself just a little bit before finishing her meal.

She knew they were relieved as to why she was still living, she was young, practically just a kid, she didn’t deserve to die in a place like this, the reasons went on about how wrong it was that she was here. ___

“(y/n), (y/n) would you stop for two seconds and listen to me?” Peter was begging, while the girl was racing around her room and throwing things into her duffel bag.

“I’m listening” She responded, not stopping her actions. “You have until I’m finished”

Peter sighed, but settled for it anyways, because she obviously wasn’t at a point of reasoning. “Do you have to go?” He asked, making her pause for a moment, just to look at him, before sighing and continuing on with her frantic packing.

“Yes. I do” She stated, finishing up and roughly zipping her bag shut. “You know that” She said, finally stopping and staring at him. “If I don’t, then I’m getting locked up in some facility to be used as their little lab rat-”

“(y/n) there’s other ways to keep you safe-”

“I don’t want to be safe. I want to fight this” She responded firmly, causing Peter to frown. She was too far gone to talk down from this. As she stood there in front of him, it became more evident as to why he was pushing her.

(y/n) took a hesitant step backwards, her eyes widening as she looked him up and down. His stance was nervous, and his eyes were guilty.

“No…” The word was soft, the way all heartbroken words were. “No- you aren’t-” She stopped trying to force it when Peter hung his head. Her arms falling limp to her sides and all she could do was stare at him. “You aren’t on my side on this one… are you?” She asked, though she knew that answer already.

“Listen, I-”

“If these accords are put in place, I get locked up” She stated, anger rising in her voice. “You get that, right?”

“And if they aren’t, countless others could-”

“Don’t do that! Don’t give me that bullshit Stark excuse!” She snapped. Peter froze, she never yelled at him, not seriously. They got along on everything, always, it’s what made their friendship so special.

“(y/n) I’m sure we could find a way to keep you and Wanda out of all this-”

“That’s unfair shit and you know it” She said, picking her duffel bag up off the bed and slinging it over her shoulder.

“(y/n) I don’t want us to…” He trailed off, staring at her helplessly. “I don’t want to hurt you- I-I can’t hurt you”

It was silent between them as (y/n) tried to keep her eyes dry and her throat clear. She didn’t want him to hear the tears in her voice. When she felt that it was safe to speak, and it was time to get going, she finally spoke.

“You already have” She whispered, then readjusted her bag on her shoulder and walked past him out of the room. “Tony’s gonna be back soon, I want out before he gets here” She muttered out her excuse. ___

A tear rolled down (y/n’s) cheek as she thought about the last thing she’d said to Peter before going into battle. If she could go back, she would’ve taken it all back, told him she’d stay. She wished she’d stopped for just two seconds to tell him she loved him and that she was sorry for everything.

“Would you have changed anything? Knowing you’re here now?” She called out to Scott, hoping he wasn’t sleeping.

“Yes. Without a doubt” He sighed. “I got a daughter. She’s going into the first grade. But I’m here. I’d do anything to see her again” He seemed to imagine the idea for a few moments. “I got a girlfriend too… sorta. Probably not anymore”

(y/n) empathized for Scott. She didn’t have much before here, and here she had nothing. But Scott Lang had everything. He had a family and friends and a really cool job, and he lost it all.

“I’m sorry” She whispered, pressing her hand flat against their shared wall. “I’m so sorry” Her voice cracked as she repeated her words.

“He knows, kid” Scott assured quietly. He knew the underlying feelings she had in the moment. “I promise, he knows”

She didn’t say anything, mostly because she hated talking to people when she was crying, she hated the way her voice got choked up until her words were a stuttered and incomprehensible string. She found it humiliating, and she was tired of feeling so vulnerable.

But she kept her hand against her wall as she laid there softly crying, somehow knowing that Scott was still there, silently consoling her while her memories consumed her completely.

Looking at the technologically advanced cuffs that bound her wrists it all came back again. ___

“You need to stay away from me” (y/n) warned, an entire car hovering in the air under her telekinetic hold.

“(y/n) I want you to get out of here” Peter responded, not seeming to care about her threatening vehicle. “Seriously, there’s men who-who are going to come here and anyone who’s protesting these Accords they’ll lock up-”

“Fine then” She said, dropping the car, just a few feet behind where Peter was standing. “Nice suit. Looks new? An incentive maybe?” She asked rhetorically before using her own powers to lift herself into flight.

It wasn’t long before he found her in the lot again, cornering her against an airplane.

“Why can’t you leave me alone!” She asked frustratedly, her hands glowing, ready to force him back if he didn’t go on his own.

“I’m trying to protect you! I don’t want you to get locked up in some-some solitary confinement prison or something!” He replied exasperatedly.

“There’s not a prison on this planet that could keep me in it” She growled back, before physically shoving at his shoulders to get him off of her. “Stay out of my way” She muttered.

“(y/n) please just listen, please, this is your life we’re talking about”

“I don’t trust you anymore, Peter” She stated firmly. The words hit Peter like poison. There was nothing else that she could say that could hurt him as much as that. “You need to get the fuck away from me, and stay away”

Those were her last words.

She’d said nothing when special forces came in, tackling her, and restraining her in mutant-detecting cuffs that averted the use of her powers. While Peter was dragged off with the rest of Tony’s team to head back to the safety of the facility.

He’d yelled for her, multiple times actually. But the guard restraining her at hit her so hard she could only see him panic and scream, his words fell silent on her ears. She just stared at him, eyes half lidded as her cuffed wrists were grabbed by another uniformed man to be dragged onto a jet. She knew where she was going.

The last thing she saw before the door closed and the aircraft took off was Peter, trying desperately to run over to her. She didn’t even have the energy left in her to wave, or give any sign of life.

She should have listened to him. ___

(y/n) pondered if she wanted to tell Lang the story, from start to finish, of the events that led her here. About Peter, about life before the war. It would pass the time, before the next meal or the next beating, she didn’t know. But it was hard enough to think about it, actually saying the words aloud couldn’t be much help.

She decided against it.

“When we get out of here, first thing I’m doing, is taking my daughter to Burger King”

It was like he could hear her thoughts.

“I can’t remember the last time I ate a Whopper” He let out a long sigh like he was pleasured just by the thought. “That warm feeling in my hands- wow”

“It’s nice you have hope that we’re getting out” (y/n) chuckled bitterly. She sat up with her back to the wall, chained hands hugging her knees to her chest with the scratchy blanket around her shoulders. She wasn’t sure what day it was, but it was getting cold.

The thought of winter coming made her wonder if she’d miss Christmas. It wasn’t a holiday she particularly enjoyed, but it was nice to see everyone and eat together and exchange presents like everything in the world was okay.

“Come on, don’t be so melancholy for once. If you were to get out tomorrow, what’s the first thing you’d do?”

“How many dumb questions are you going to ask me?” She responded. “I’m not getting out. I’m going to live out the last of my days in this hell”

“Come on, what’s the answer. You’ve gotta have one in mind”

She rolled her eyes, because it was a dumb question, and she was tired of thinking of all the things that will never happen now, all the things she can’t do and people she can’t see.

“I’m convinced your goal is to depress me until eventually I just kill myself rather wait for one of these guards to do it” She sighed, but it was evident that she gave in and was considering answering.

“You can’t see, but I’m rolling my eyes” He responded bluntly.

“If we got out of here tomorrow…” (y/n) mused quietly, staring up at the cement ceiling as she thought about what she would do first. “First thing I’d do is… I’d go to Peter’s… and apologize” She said quietly. She wasn’t sure Scott even heard her, but he must have, because he hummed in response.

“What for?” He asked curiously.

“Better question is what not for,” She replied weakly. “Last time I saw him I… I told him to stay away from me,” Her voice turned into a whimper as tears filled her eyes. “That I-I didn’t trust him” Her bottom lip quivered, and she wrapped her arms around her shins, drawing her legs in close to her chest and setting her chin on top of her knees.

Scott, on the other side of her cell, leaned against their shared wall, setting his hand against the concrete with a frown. Wanda Maximoff, across the corridor, could see this action as she looked into the glass. She also frowned as she watched the girl begin to cry, while there was nothing else for anyone to do to comfort her.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get the chance to tell him how sorry I am,” (y/n) admitted, eyes trained on the specialized cuffs on her wrists, disabling her mutant abilities. “How much I wish I’d listened to him when he told me to run, to not fight”

“You were only doing what you thought was right, (y/n),” Wanda spoke up, and the girl looked out the glass to the witch. “You fought with reason, with honor”

“But I lost him” She mumbled, briskly brushing away the tears on her cheeks with her sleeves. Wanda shook her head gently.

“You don’t know that,” She said. “I’m sure you haven’t, Peter cares too much about you to let you go so easy”

(y/n) leaned her head back against the concrete, shutting her eyes, not even bothering to fight her tears. She was too weak.

Her abilities tended to keep her in good health and shape, it was kind of a perk of being a mutant. But ever since the guards had clapped her in these cuffs, her powers of telekinesis and healing had been stripped away from her. Leaving her to feel powerless. ___

On a particularly cold morning, as she presumed it was morning, (y/n) was awoken by a loud clang against her window. She slowly lifted her head up from her pillow, blinking to clear her vision to see who had smashed their fist against the glass.

It had been one of the guards, ordering her to get up and hit the showers. Twice a week she was allowed to shower, only when accompanied by guards. Today, she didn’t feel like being watched and ridiculed. So she laid her head back down.

“I said showers, (y/l/n), get up” The guard ordered again, but she rolled over, facing the concrete wall and tugging her scratchy blanket over her corduroy clad body. “That’s it,” The guard muttered, and slammed open her door, storming in, all the while she stayed put in bed, knowing what was coming.

She was grabbed by her arm, and dragged right off of the cot, thrown to the floor.

Wanda and Clint, who were on the other side of the hall and could see what was happening, began to scream and bang their own fists against their glass, begging the guard to stop, expletives rolling off their tongues without second thought as they watched the girl get kicked in the gut, repeatedly.

Scott, who was now wide awake in his own cell, couldn’t see what was happening, but he could hear Wanda and Clint’s hollering, and the pained whimpers from (y/n). He, too, began to yell and plead for the official to stop.

“You shower, when we tell you!” The man declared, forcing (y/n) to her feet, and shoving her out towards the door. Her limp body barely caught herself on her two feet before she was shoved again to keep walking down the hall. “You eat, when we tell you,” He continued, and another shove to her back in the direction of the showers. “And you sleep, when we tell you”

“Well when are you gonna tell me to drop dead?” She muttered, a twisted and lazy smirk on her lips as she turned towards him to cock a brow.

The blow to the side of her head knocked her to the ground, unconscious. ___

That night it was difficult to sleep. And from the abundance of reasons this could be due to, (y/n) figured it was the throbbing in her head keeping her awake tonight. There was bound to be a pretty bruise where it had swelled up, and she could only lay on her right side.

Of course, she couldn’t take any medication to make this pain go away, so she laid there for what felt like hours, willing her body to shut down and put her in a deep sleep.

“Hey, kid,” Lang called. It sounded like he was right next to her, as though he was speaking straight into the wall. “You doing okay?”

“Define… okay” She answered, groggy, and slow. It hurt to move her jaw.

It hurt just laying there. Her entire body ached.

“I wish I could do something,” Scott sighed. (y/n) knew now his guilt is what made him a good hero, the way he empathized with people. She wondered if it’s what made him a good father as well. “You’ve gotta stop fighting back, (y/n), just once in your life, don’t fight back, you’ll get yourself killed”

She smiled sadly, a tear slipping down her cheek from the bittersweet feeling that overcame her. As well as the pain of her lip splitting again from her smile.

“You’re a good man, Scott,” She told him. “Your daughter and friends are lucky to have you in their lives,” It sounded too much like goodbye for his liking, but she continued on before he could speak up in protest. “I was lucky to fight by your side, and be imprisoned by your side-”

“(y/n)-”

“I don’t think I’m going to live through the night, Scott,” She told him. Her voice was sincere, and final. “I believe I’ve broken a rib if not two, and the dizziness is making me sick. Without my ability to heal…” Her voice trailed off as another tear slipped down her cheek.

It wasn’t death she feared, she embraced it. The pain was so unbearable, she craved the sweet relief of nothingness.

She pressed her palm against the wall, laying her hand flat against the cool concrete.

“It’s okay,” She murmured, eyes slipping shut as sleep finally overcame her. “I wasn’t meant to live like this, but I’ve done all I could to do what’s right”

“I’m sorry kid, I-I’m so sorry” It was clear that Scott was crying, and she could almost feel him set his hand against the wall as well.

“It’s okay” She whispered again.

“Go to sleep, (y/n),” Scott’s voice was shaky, like he had to force the words out. “Sweet dreams, I’ll be here in the morning if you need someone to talk to”

He was certain she wouldn’t hear from her in the morning.

“Goodnight, Scott” (y/n) mumbled weakly, tiredly. Accepting what was going to come to take her in her sleep.

“Goodnight, peanut” The nickname came naturally as all he could think of was his own daughter back home. (y/n) had been like family, and now he was going to lose her.

(y/n) finally fell asleep, her heart slows to a soft, dull beat in her chest, as the pounding in her head faded, and the ache in her bones became numb. ___

“Have I ever told you that you’re beautiful?” Peter’s voice was sweet like honey as he spoke, and (y/n) looked up from where she sat at the kitchen table in the Avengers Compound.

She grinned at him, halting her typing on her laptop and setting her chin in her hand as she looked at him.

“I don’t believe you have, go on,” She spoke teasingly, a tone she usually had whenever addressing him. Peter Parker was easy to tease. “What brought you to this conclusion?”

“I mean you’re pretty, everyone knows that,” He went on to explain, actually able to make her blush at the simple comment. “In gowns and your little superhero outfits-”

“Superhero outfits?” She repeated, chuckling a bit as he mentioned the attire she wore when on a mission. Typically it was black leather pants, and a green bodice that matched the color of her eyes when she used her powers.

“But you’re still pretty right now” Peter finished.

(y/n) looked down at the leggings and button up flannel she was wearing, a typical look she had when she was just lounging for the day, working from home.

“You don’t like my bum look?” She asked him, feigning hurt, but Peter was quick to shake his head.

“No, what I’m saying is you’re beautiful all the time. Some girls are only beautiful when they put the effort into it. You do it… effortlessly”

A soft smile tugged on her lips at Peter’s sweet compliment. It was obvious that he hadn’t meant for it to sound as smooth as he did, he was only making an observation, but she took his words to heart.

Getting up, she shut her laptop and walked over to him, pressing a kiss to his cheek before patting it.

“You’re a sweetheart, Peter Parker” She told him before leaving the room.

Peter had stood in the kitchen baffled. His mind completely blanked on what he could’ve said that had gotten (y/n) (y/l/n) herself, his best friend, and long time crush, to kiss him right on the face. ___

Loud.

Bright.

(y/n) moaned, a numb arm raising up to fall over her eyes, blocking the bright light that was shining above her. Her muscles felt like they were covered in pins and needles, it didn’t hurt, but it was incredibly uncomfortable-

Wait.

(y/n) blinked, holding her shaking arm above her and staring in wonder.

I’m alive?

She blinked again, staring upwards, finding the sky, rather than the concrete ceiling she had been staring at for weeks on end to get to sleep. The bright, blue, white sky.

And the noise, her ears were ringing from all the noise, yelling, screaming, commotion.

“(y/n)!”

She wanted to push herself to sit up on her cot, wanting to know what was going on. Everything was processing in slow motion it seemed, her mind dizzy and her consciousness already fading.

“(y/n)!”

The pain in her body forced her to stay put, laying in bed. Her eyelids fell heavily shut, and she just wanted to get some more rest. A few minutes longer of sleep was all she would need.

“(y/n)!”

Gentle hands were placed on her shoulders, and her eyes opened, barely, to see a familiar figure towering over her.

Peter Parker was worriedly staring at her, looking over her body littered with blood and bruises.

Her lip was cut, and there was a trail of dried blood from her nose to her cheek, that must have happened overnight. Her breathing was slow, and irregular, and there was a dark purple streak across her left cheekbone, leading right up under her hair and above her ear.

“(y/n),” He breathed out, pulling the mask of his head to look her in the eyes. One of his hands reaching up to brush over her cheek. “What’s happened to you?”

She didn’t say anything, she wasn’t sure she could say anything, but she was too focused on staring at him.

Peter Parker was going to be the last thing she laid eyes on, and a small and pained smile graced her lips at the thought.

“Have I ever told you that you’re beautiful?” Her voice was a breath, not even, but Peter heard her clearly. His brows drew together, and he realized right there that he was about to lose her if he didn’t do something.

“I need you to hold on for a few more minutes, (y/n), okay?” He said, releasing her cheek and shoulder to try and figure out the cuffs on her wrists. “Just be strong for me, alright? Can you do that?”

She was silent as he yanked and fiddled with the restraints, the more times he attempted to get them off her, the more desperate he became.

“I’m sorry, Pete,” (y/n) rasped out, eyes blinking slowly before she shut them again. “I love you, you’re my best friend”

“(y/n) just- just hold on a minute okay? Just give me a minute, I’m gonna get these off, you’re- you’re gonna be fine I swear-”

“Let me help” Wanda Maximoff walked into the room, (y/n) wasn’t sure how, since her door was locked by a special security code. She could faintly see a stream of red, before suddenly, the ache of the metal on her wrists was gone, and the cuffs clattered to the floor.

A sharp gasp left her lips as her eyes shot open, emerald green, and she could feel her own bones adjusting themselves to their proper places. It was like she’d been given the kiss of life, getting her powers back, her body healing accordingly.

She glanced at Peter, and in seconds was off the bed, levitating to the shattered glass that was once her window, and quickly down the hall to where she knew she had to go first.

The guard that had tortured her from day one had Scott Lang against the wall, gun in hand, aimed towards the man.

“You,” She called, a green haze appearing around her hands as her fingers curled, powers boiling inside her, begging to be used for the first time in months. “I’m gonna rip your spine out, one vertebrae at a time” The threat came out in a growl, and for a moment, the guard looked scared. But he aimed his weapon towards her, cocking it before pulling the trigger.

(y/n) simply held a hand up, stopping all bullets in their tracks in the air, and dropping them to the ground. Using her abilities she took hold of the gun, and thrust it behind her. She maneuvered her hands and took hold of his entire body, forcing him to his knees on the ground, lip twitching as he cried out in pain, likely from his spine snapping as she pushed harder, his knees to the ground, back forced down to it as well.

Scott was pushing himself as far against the wall as he could as this all happened right before him. He knew of (y/n’s) abilities and knew that she was ruthless on the battlefield, but this… this was bloodlust.

“Beg,” She muttered as she hovered over the man in her control. “Beg!” She spat out.

“N-n-no”

“You live, when I tell you to,” She mocked dangerously. “Or you die, pathetically, as you lived, when I tell you to,” She growled. “Now, beg”

“Please,” He whimpered. “Please, please I’ll never- I’ll never hurt anyone again, I-I promise if you spare my life I’ll-I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” (y/n) grunted.

“I’ll be forever in your debt”

“You already are” She claimed, and with a smirk was able to fling his body against the wall, effectively knocking him out. She lowered herself to be standing on the ground, rubbing her hands together as though dusting them off.

“Shit, kid, did you kill him?” Scott asked, unable to look away from the man she’d just hurled, and his misshapen body from the broken bones.

“No, just knocked him out a little. He’ll heal,” She assured, but smiled mischievously, “If anyone finds him in time”

Without further ado, Scott came over and hugged her tightly, squeezing her shoulders.

“You really had me going there for a few minutes,” He said as she hugged him back. “You’re lucky Captain America came to save all our asses”

“Steve?” You questioned pulling out of the hug. As if on command, she turned to see her saviors. Steve, Sam, Peter, and Natasha. She blinked, mouth falling open in surprise.

“Couldn’t leave you locked up in prison, you’re only seventeen, you’ve got your whole life ahead of you” Steve spoke, and a grin broke out across (y/n’s) face.

“You can save your prison time for later,” Natasha chimed in, jogging forward to hug (y/n), taking her in her arms and holding her securely, worried she’d lose her again. “For now you can just hug me like you mean it and I’ll tell you how much I missed my partner”

(y/n) smiled happily up at her as they parted, and Natasha took her face in her hands and pressed a kiss to her forehead before moving to hug Clint as well.

“So you came to my rescue?” (y/n) asked as she made her way over to Peter, smiling teasingly before reaching out to embrace him as well. She buried her face in his chest, blinking away the relieved tears in her eyes as his arms wound around her.

“Took a while, but I made it,” Peter said, setting his chin on top of her head and prolonging their hug. “I’m so sorry, (y/n/n), about everything”

“I’m sorry too” She whispered back.

When they parted, all she wanted to do was seize forward and kiss him. But they were surrounded by their friends, and it was neither the time or place to do so.

“Let’s get out of here and get you out of those prison clothes” Steve said, guiding everyone back to the quinjet.

(y/n’s) only change in clothes was her uniform, an old one in fact, since her recently worn one was confiscated when she was imprisoned.

So she walked around the corner in a pair of black faux leather leggings, black long sleeved top, and tacky emerald green jacket to match her powers. When she took a seat next to Peter, she gave him a bored look.

“I feel like a cosplayer”

He just chuckled, and held her hand the entire ride home. ___

Her shower lasted a full hour. Scrubbing away the blood and bad memories took longer than expected.

Her (y/h/c) hair was still wet as she walked out of her room at the Avengers Compound. It was quite late, and most of the building was dark. Except for the one room where the lights were always on.

Stark’s lab.

She didn’t have to knock, her presence was made known when she walked through the open door, while Tony was working at his desk, hunched over a tablet and a crease of anxiety between his brows. But when she walked in, he looked up.

A gasp of surprise and relief escaped his lips, as he hurried up from his desk and strode over to the girl. She met him halfway and practically fell into his open arms, hugging him tightly.

Tony let out a shaky sigh as he clutched the smaller girl close, his hand cupping the back of her head, fingers threading into her hair. Guilt washed over him, making his stomach churn and his eyes teared up as he pulled back to look at her, hands on either side of her head.

“You’re okay?” He asked quietly, even though no one else was in the room. (y/n) nodded, her movements sporadic at her hands grasped his wrists. “You’re home, you’re alright” The man sighed again as he hugged her once more.

“I’m alright” She repeated, even though it was more or less a lie. She was home, he was right, that’s what mattered.

“I’m so sorry, kid”

“Don’t apologize, none of it was your fault”

Stark took it upon himself to help take care of the girl, raise her. Many of the Avengers did. She’d joined the team so young, everyone felt it was partially their responsibility to raise her, teach her right from wrong, as well as a few other lessons like sword fighting and kickboxing.

“Everything that happened,” (y/n) continued. “It was all on me, it was my choice. You guys- Peter- you warned me,” She told him, feeling her throat close up as tears welled in her eyes. “I wouldn’t listen-”

“No, no kid don’t do that to yourself,” Tony rubbed her back soothingly. “It was nobody’s fault, well, actually, we were all in the wrong, but don’t put that weight on your shoulders. You’re home now”

“I’m home now” She repeated softly, and finally pulled away from Tony, wiping at her eyes. “Can’t believe I missed you”

He scoffed, a smile tugging at his lips.

“I could say the same for you kiddo” He teased right back. (y/n) would usually roll her eyes, but tonight, she smiled.

“Now go to bed young man, it’s late” She said, heading back out of the lab.

“Five more minutes!” He called just as she had left, making her laugh quietly as she headed to the kitchen for a glass of water before bed.

Of course, standing at the counter, was Peter Parker, cooking on the stovetop.

He must not have heard her come in, or if he had, was too focused on stirring whatever was in the pot to turn and see who it was.

“What are you doing up so late?” She asked quietly, trying not to disturb him, but the boy jumped as he turned to see her.

“(y/n)!” He announced, like he was surprised it was her. She couldn’t help the small smile that tugged on her lips from his panic.

God, she’d missed him.

“That’s my name,” She teased. “What’re you making?” She peeked over his shoulder to see a pot of ramen noodles, and a laugh escaped her lips at the simple meal. “Why are you making noodles in the middle of the night?”

“I- well I couldn’t sleep and I was kinda hungry anyways” He stammered out, and the girl nodded. Bad sleep was a common side effect of being a superhero.

“Care for some company while you cook?” She asked, and he nodded as she sat at the breakfast bar behind him. “So, why can’t you sleep?”

“Oh, I’ve barely slept since the uh… since the thing with the Accords went down” He admitted, voice trailing off into a mumble towards the end.

“You haven’t?” (y/n) asked, setting her head in her hand.

“Of course not,” Peter sighed. “It’s been hell”

“Yeah,” She agreed softly. Peter turned around and left the pot so he could face her. “It has”

“I didn’t mean that- I mean obviously you went through a lot it’s just I- I missed you, a lot”

(y/n) chuckled quietly at his rambling, and shook her head dismissively.

“It’s alright, I know what you mean,” She murmured. “I missed you too” Her voice was sad, eyes tearing up as she watched him turn around, and drain the water from the pot, putting the ramen in a separate bowl.

“Hey do you want any because I probably won’t eat all of this-” Peter turned around to see (y/n) trying not to cry. “(y/n), hey,” He left the bowl on the counter and circled around the island to stand in front of her, “What’s wrong?”

When he reached his hands out to her, she took them and pulled his arms to wrap around herself, then hugged him tightly, burying her face in his shirt.

“I’m so sorry, I’m really sorry, Peter,” She cried, and he began to rub her back comfortingly, holding her tighter. “I didn’t mean all those things I said, in Germany-” She hiccuped, and took in a few shaky breaths. “I-I trust you, I do, I trust you”

“Sweetheart I know,” He chuckled sadly and pulled her away from him, taking her face in his hands and brushing away the tears with the pads of his thumbs. “You haven’t got to apologize, it’s fine, desperate times, you know?”

She shook her head, still crying.

“No, Pete, I-”

“Hey, shh,” Peter cooed, “It’s alright, it’s okay, (y/n),” He leaned down to press his lips to her forehead. “It’s okay” He repeated kissed the crown of her head again.

“It doesn’t feel okay I’m never going to feel okay,” She whimpered, closing her eyes, but the tears kept on streaming down her cheeks. “I-I just feel- I feel like I’m still there”

(y/n’s) arms held tight around his middle, and Peter could see she was shaking slightly.

“You’re not, hey, look at me,” He waited until she opened her eyes to continue. “You’re here, you’re here with me, and you’re never going back there again, alright? I promise,” She sniffled and gave him a small nod. “I’m never gonna let them take you away from me again, okay?” He said in a softer voice.

(y/n) nodded again, looking him in the eyes. He looked so serious, so protective. It made her heart swell with love for the boy.

“Okay” She mumbled back. Peter gave her a sad smile, wiping away her tears again. (y/n) glanced down to his lips as he repeated the action a few times.

“It might take a little bit,” He told her softly. “But some day you’ll feel like yourself again, you’ll feel comfortable in your own home again”

She looked back up this eyes, a pitiful smile on her face.

“I love you, Peter Parker” She said softly, almost inaudibly.

He smiled as he pushed her hair behind her ear.

“I love you too” He whispered back. She smiled back at him no longer crying.

She wasn’t sure who leaned first, but they’d closed the distance between them.

Peter’s lips were soft, and warm. The kiss was salty from her crying, but it didn’t matter. One of his hands carded into her hair, palming the back of her head. She sighed in relief and adoration.

When they parted, she reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly, burying her face in his neck.

Peter held her tighter, running his fingers through her hair comfortingly.

“Come on, you should go to bed,” Peter dropped his hands, taking her legs and lifting them to wrap around his waist. “Hold on” He told her, and she tightened her grasp as he picked her up and walked them out of the kitchen.

“What about your noodles?”

“They’re just noodles (y/n/n),” He said with a chuckle. She nuzzled into his neck, feeling sleepy in his hold. “Don’t fall asleep yet, I need you to put in the code to your room”

“8-27-00” She mumbled into his neck.

Peter grinned to himself, and kissed her temple as they got into the elevator.

That was his birthday.

When he got her into her room, she wouldn’t let go as he tried to set her in bed. Her legs wrapped tighter around him and she refused to release.

“Come on sweetheart, get in bed, I’ll tuck you in,” She sighed, and let go, but her hands reached for his, tugging him over a bit. “You alright?” Peter giggled.

“Will you stay here with me?” She asked, and Peter let go of her hands to pull the covers over her. “Please?”

“Okay” Peter answered, grinning ear to ear, and crawled in next to her.

They got settled in and comfortable, (y/n) lying against his side, head against his shoulder, arm thrown over his stomach.

For the first time in months, she felt like she could fall right asleep. She hummed in relief.

“When I couldn’t sleep at the… well, prison…” She trailed off for a moment. “Scott Lang and I would talk about all the things we’d do when we’d get out”

“Yeah?” Peter asked, turning his head to look at her, but her eyes were shut.

“Mhm,” She hummed. “He always wanted to take his daughter out for ice cream, or to the park, Burger King,” She smiled to herself. “And I always… well I always wanted to come back to you, explain myself”

She opened her eyes to see him already looking at her, smiling softly.

“What else?” He asked curiously, running his fingers along her jaw lovingly.

“Fall asleep in your arms” She murmured, snuggling in against him.

Peter kissed her forehead, then her nose.

“I love you, pretty girl,” He murmured. “Sleep well”

“I love you too” She mumbled against his shoulder.

Peter had been right, she would soon feel at home again. Even just in his arms.

___

taglist: @writings-and-stuff @rofromtheashes @tomshufflepuff@steve-avengers-rogers @vibhati123 @dark-night-sky-99

xoxo ~ jordie

#spider-man #spider-man x reader #spider-man imagine #spider-man scenario #spider-man fanfiction #Peter parker #Peter Parker x reader #Peter Parker scenario #Peter Parker imagine #Peter Parker fanfiction #tom holland #tom holland x reader

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nytehavyn-circle · 2 years

Text

My friends, I need some help, as it were. I need all the prayers, candle lighting, positive thoughts, positive vibes, etc., thrown my mom's way. Had to take her to the hospital this morning because she could barely walk.

The problem is, she's malnourished. She BARELY eats anything. She's lost over 40 pounds since October. She's lost muscle mass. I've been trying to get her to eat more, and more often, because she NEEDS to, in order to get some strength back (and unless she gets some strength back, they won't give her more cancer treatments). So, whatever you guys could do for me in the way of "spiritual" help, I'd greatly appreciate it.

Also, advice on getting her to eat would be good, too. I've went out and bought her a bunch of stuff she likes to eat, some of her favorite foods, etc. Also switched her over to eating with a plastic fork instead of a metal one because I know sometimes, especially after something like chemo and such, the metal can make food taste off. But any "help" you can give as I asked above, and any real advice you could give, would be welcome and appreciated.

#ooc

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unwhithered · 3 years

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Amy Musketeers characters + 32. "Make a wish"? <3

Athos isn’t particularly subtle about sneaking up behind him - it’s hard to be sneaky when you’re sixteen and growing so fast that the length of your limbs changes from one day to the next. Porthos stares fixedly ahead and pretends not to notice anyway. Jumps a little in real surprise when hands cover his eyes, because he wasn’t expecting that part.

He growls playfully, shaking Athos off, and when his vision is clear again Aramis has appeared in front of him holding - holding a little chocolate cake from the bakery down the street, the top of the box popped open to accommodate a lit candle. Porthos opens his mouth. Closes it. Swallows hard. He can’t remember the last time he had a birthday cake.

“Happy birthday!” Aramis says, smiling bright enough to light up the foggy October morning like it’s midsummer. “Sorry we couldn’t fit seventeen candles in it.”

“What are you waiting for?” Athos asks, jostling Porthos’ shoulder. “Make a wish already, I want to eat cake for breakfast.”

Porthos seizes the opportunity to close his eyes and lean forward, blowing out the candle softly. He wishes for a hundred more birthdays just like this - with his best friends in the world and nowhere important to be, nothing important to do. When he opens his eyes again both of his friends are there in front of him, beaming, a little fuzzy around the edges. If anyone asks Porthos will blame his watery eyes on the cold. No one does.

Aramis passes out plastic forks and they all crowd close together, inhaling chocolate at 7am like they’re starving. “What did you wish for?” he asks with his mouth full.

“If I tell you it won’t come true,” Porthos replies, blushing. Aramis opens his mouth - to ask again, probably - and ends up letting out an undignified squeak instead when Athos reaches out to smudge frosting on his cheek.

---

Porthos is tired and cold, soaked to the skin just from the short dash from his car to the front door, and has nearly forgotten to be disappointed that his friends seem to have forgotten his birthday for the first time in half a decade. Almost everybody forgot his birthday for almost all of his life, so he shouldn’t be surprised. It’s just a return to form. And it’s not because they love him any less, he tells himself as he hangs his dripping sweatshirt by the door. They’re just busy. It happens.

He kicks his shoes off a little more aggressively than is strictly necessary, strips his wet socks and soaked t-shirt and throws them toward the washer-dryer in the corner hard enough to hear them bounce off the metal with a wet thwap, and turns toward his room.

Only then does he hear the frantic noises in the kitchen, a low series of “fuckfuckfuck” from Aramis, Athos chiming in with a characteristically dry, “I told you this was a bad idea.”

Porthos hesitates, then backtracks. He sticks his head cautiously around the doorframe - and nearly retreats when he sees the mess inside. There’s flour everywhere. All the way up on the ceiling fan, in fact, and in Aramis’ hair. Aramis is standing near the counter, pointing a spatula surprisingly menacingly at Athos, who has...is that frosting in his patchy attempt at a mustache and goatee? And between them on the counter, a cake that’s slightly higher on one side than the other and covered unevenly with chocolate frosting.

He clears his throat.

Athos holds his hands up as if to indicate his innocence, though he’s standing barefoot right in the middle of the mess. “I told him we should just buy you a cake.”

“Yes, well...” Aramis scuffs his foot sheepishly through the flour on the floor and lowers the spatula. “This one was made with love?”

Athos snorts and the spatula comes back up, flicking more frosting onto his stained shirt. He raises his hands higher and backs away. “I hope love is edible.”

“Eh,” Porthos shrugs and bites back a laugh. He doesn’t succeed at hiding his wide, pleased grin. They hadn’t forgotten after all. How could he ever have thought they would forget about him? “I’ll eat almost anything. Love can’t taste that bad.”

Aramis sputters, waving the spatula at him this time, before turning away with a huff. “I got the right number of candles this year,” he grumbles, jabbing them into the cake a little harder than necessary. “See if I ever do something nice for either of you again.”

“Hey now.” Porthos crosses the little kitchen and throws his arm around Aramis’ shoulders, leaning into him. Not his best idea ever, he realizes too late, the flour coating Aramis already pasted onto his bare, wet side and arm. “I’m sure it tastes great. Thank you.”

Aramis huffs again, but he’s smiling when Porthos sneaks a sideways glance at him. He does in fact stick twenty two candles in a ring around the cake, so many that by the time he lights them all the first ones have begun dripping wax, which Porthos politely doesn’t point out. Candle wax is probably edible. And Aramis baked him a fucking cake, so he’ll eat it even if it tastes like a brick.

By the time all of the candles are lit and the cake is on the table, Aramis is smiling again. “Make a wish,” he commands.

Porthos leans obediently over the table, closes his eyes, and blows out every candle in one breath. Aramis cuts the cake, and Athos elbows him gently in the ribs and smirks at him. “What did you wish for?”

“Same thing I wish for every year,” he replies. It’s true. Every year for half a decade, and hopefully for the rest of his life, he wishes for this - another year with his friends, another birthday full of laughter and food.

“Some day you’ll tell me what it is,” Aramis interjects as he shoves plates into their hands.

“Nah.” Porthos takes a bite, and it isn’t horrible. He grins at Aramis with his mouth full and wipes stray frosting onto his friend’s nose. “If I tell you it won’t come true.”

#enigma-the-mysterious #the musketeers fanfic #modern musketeers #porthos #aramis #athos #prompt fill #my fic #asks and answers

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skzsauce01 · 4 years

Text

In Fair Verona︱Chapter 6

Synopsis: Jisung knows he is the Romeo to your Juliet. He could wax poetry about you all throughout rehearsal and even a little after. Except Hwang Hyunjin is the one playing Romeo in the school play, not him. Jisung is just another tech crew member that you don’t know, but he’s determined to win your heart... by any means necessary.

Warning: violent imagery

Word Count: 1.9k

Pairing: fem!reader x Jisung; fem!reader x Hyunjin

Prepare to be baited. Apologies in advance.

updates every Wednesday and Sunday @ 11 PM PST︱chapter list

In love?

Out.

Of love?

Out of her favor, where I am in love.

He can hardly wait for dinner break. The Pepero box is burning a hole in his pocket. He touches it almost every two minutes, making sure it is still there. When he helps set the stage, it bounces around, its sharp corners poking his stomach through the thin fabric of his hoodie. Every time he looks at you, he imagines how happy you will be when he presents you with your favorite snack. You’ll offer him some as thanks, and if he’s brave, maybe he’ll ask if you want to play the Pepero game with him. He shivers at the thought of your eyes shining with anticipation, your lips being centimeters away from his, the gasp that escapes your mouth when he closes the gap.

When the lights go out for the last time, he helps clear the stage before heading to the dressing rooms. He stands in the hallway, fiddling with the lock on a nearby locker that isn’t his. He tries different combinations while waiting for you to appear, but he always goes back 1-4-3. You finally come out, one hand busy zipping up your too-large sweater.

“Hey.” He drops the lock, and it stops against the locker with a metallic thud.

“Oh! Hi. What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to give you something.” He holds out the Pepero, the pink packaging a stark contrast to his all black outfit.

Your head tilts to the side as you ask, “What is it for?”

Kissing practice is what he wants to say. “Luck? Hard work? I don’t really know. I thought of you when I saw it at the convenience store.”

“Thanks. You sure have a good memory,” you remark, taking the Pepero. “I swear, you remember everything I tell you.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot.”

He follows you back to the classroom. With the exception of the sound of your footsteps, it’s quiet. You make no attempt to start a conversation, and Jisung notices that your fingers are absentmindedly playing with the drawstring on your sweater.

“More jajangmyeon for dinner?” he tries.

“Fried chicken leftovers, actually. My mom bought me some last night after rehearsal. Are you having ramen again?”

“Yeah. I’m practicing being a broke college student.”

You laugh and tap his shoulder with a corner of the Pepero box. “You’ve got until next year before you have to worry. Do you want the Pepero?”

“That’s for you,” he says as he steps into the room. “I’ll be f—”

“Y/N!” an excited Hyunjin shouts. Everyone turns in his direction, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “You’re finally here!”

A wide grin splits across your face. “You’re so impatient,” you say, but you hurry over anyway. You pull out a plastic container out of your lunch bag, and Jisung has to watch as you flash a smirk at Hyunjin.

Meanwhile, Jisung sits at a nearby table, pretending not to pay attention to what is happening just a short distance away. He can’t believe Hyunjin ruined his plans again.

“You’re torturing me,” Hyunjin dramatically sighs.

“Maybe I should heat it up first,” you tease. “It tastes better hot.”

“Cold chicken is good, too. Please?”

“Alright. I’ll stop now.” You open the container, revealing fried chicken. You hand Hyunjin a fork and take one for yourself. “Dinner time.”

Jisung wants to smack the utensil out of his Hyunjin’s hand and possibly Hyunjin himself. He’s taking away your food. Knowing him — or at least, the version of him he has in his head — he probably manipulated you into giving him some. His hands shake as he pours water into his ramen, and he accidentally spills some onto the table.

“You’re an angel, you know that?” Hyunjin says. He stabs another piece and pops it into his mouth. “This is so good.”

Two spots of pink appear on your cheeks. “You are too. Thanks for splitting your lunch with me.”

It’s Hyunjin’s turn to blush. “No problem. I can’t have the girl I drink poison for die of hunger.”

You laugh into your sleeve and shyly look back to Hyunjin, who is gazing at you like he would at the stars. The two of you make eye contact and dissolve into a fit of nervous giggles.

The room suddenly feels too hot for Jisung. He drinks water until his bottle is depleted in an effort to cool himself down and to drown out the growing scream in his throat. He scrunches the thin plastic, and it makes a satisfying crackling noise as it folds in on itself. While the guy two tables down turns back to search for the direction of the noise, you’re still absorbed by Hyunjin. Jisung does it again, waiting for you to acknowledge him.

You don’t.

For the rest of dinner break, he intently eavesdrops on your conversation while scrolling through Hyunjin’s social media, hoping to find some new incriminating evidence. The closest thing he finds is a new self-posted video compilation of Hyunjin failing to do some kind of turn. You would probably find it endearing though. In the meantime, you and Hyunjin discuss the finer points of dying by poison. So, nothing of interest except that he now knows about the many foods that contain cyanide.

Jisung feels barely awake during the second half of rehearsal; it’s like he reverted back to his behavior last week, except he’s no longer dreaming of you. When Hyunjin leans down to kiss you, a flash of anger shoots through him because he should be the only one doing that. It’s only a stage kiss, but he wants to shove him off of you and off the stage. However, when you run your fingers down Hyunjin’s jaw, he feels gray and blurry. It should be him on the floor, feeling your feather-light touch. He sees the way your hand shakes — like his own, he notices — and he wants to wrap you up in his warmth, whisper that you’re safe with him, hold your hand in his, place a tender kiss on your temple. His heart aches for you, and you don’t even know it.

He doesn’t even realize how badly he wants rehearsal to be over until the tech crew is dismissed for the night. His sigh of relief is so loud that Felix comes over and asks if he’s okay.

“I’m so tired,” he answers. Tired of listening and watching to you and Hyunjin flirting and not being able to do anything about it.

“We’re doing the whole play tomorrow, so rest up, Jisung.” After seeing the lifelessness in Jisung’s eyes, he softens his tone. “Hey, take care, alright? We’re counting on you, especially since Changbin’s getting slower by the day.”

Jisung gives him a halfhearted laugh. “Yeah, thanks. See you tomorrow.”

Felix leaves through the auditorium doors, while Jisung goes to the green room to get his backpack. His footsteps make shuffling noises across the linoleum floor. He can hear your familiar melodic laugh echoing down the hall, and he instinctively knows you’re with Hyunjin. It sounds like the two of you are practicing sword fighting based on the smacks of wooden rulers. He lingers outside the classroom, unsure of how to approach the situation. If he’s within two meters of Hyunjin, he’s sure he’ll join the fight, but with an intention to actually hurt him. While he runs simulations in his head, he hears the mention of Pepero. His ears perk up immediately.

“You have Pepero?” Hyunjin says. “Why didn’t you just eat this instead of stealing my lunch?”

“Hey! You got fried chicken later, which is way better than your lame excuse of fried rice.”

“You said it was good at lunch!”

“It was good at the moment,” you agree. “But looking back…”

“Fine, fine. I might have not put enough gochujang, but it wasn’t bad.”

You hum a noncommittal response before Hyunjin asks about the Pepero again.

“Oh, right. I got it before dinner from a friend. I said I liked it, and he remembered, so he got it for me. It was really nice of him.”

Jisung feels miffed at not being mentioned by name. You do talk about him sweetly, so he doesn’t feel as bad.

“Lucky,” Hyunjin sighs. “My friends send me random cat pictures and ask about homework.”

“Minho’s cats are cute,” you protest. There’s the sound of cardboard being ripped and plastic being pulled apart. “Do you want some?”

Jisung can’t take it anymore; that’s supposed to be him, being offered a snack. He strides inside the classroom and does his best surprised expression when you and Hyunjin turn to face him. Hyunjin’s hand comically hangs in mid-air above the open package.

“Y/N, you’re still here?” he says, ignoring Hyunjin outright. “It’s almost 9:30.”

“Yeah,” you reply. “My mom must be running late. It was the season finale of her show tonight.”

“Do you want a ride?” he asks. He picks up his backpack from the floor and pulls his car keys from the side pocket. “I can drive you home if you like.”

You shake your head. “It’s alright. She’s on her way.”

“If you ever need a ride, I can drive you too,” Hyunjin says.

Jisung toys with his keys to prevent himself from starting a fist fight. He’s ready to retort that he’s had his license longer, and thus is a better driver, but you cut in with a laugh and a wave of your hand, dismissing both of their suggestions.

“That’s nice of you both, but it’s okay. I won’t have to sleep at school tonight.”

Jisung and Hyunjin eye each other. Jisung straightens himself up and puffs up his chest a bit. Hyunjin, however, only raises his eyebrows at Jisung’s strange actions. You don’t notice the one-sided staredown happening and stretch your arm out, cheerfully offering Jisung a Pepero.

He practically snatches one from the package and snaps it in half with his front teeth, looking directly at Hyunjin while saying, “Thanks. I’m glad I gave you this today.”

“Great tradeoff, isn’t it?” you joke. “I get a whole box in exchange for letting you have one. Hyunjin?” You hold out the snack to him.

“Thanks.”

An awkward silence dawns upon the room, and Jisung nibbles the rest of his biscuit, wishing that he didn’t eat most of it. What other reason can he make up to stay? Hyunjin hesitantly takes another Pepero from the box, and Jisung wonders if he should do the same. He would have to walk up to you, and that would feel weird in the current atmosphere. Your phone chimes, breaking the tension hanging in the air.

“My mom’s here,” you announce. You quickly swing your backpack over your shoulder and gather your textbooks into your arms. “See you tomorrow, guys.”

“I’ll walk you to the parking lot,” Hyunjin says.

Jisung curses to himself for not saying it first as he untangles his fingers from his keyring. “I guess I’ll leave now, too,” he says too loudly and too late.

You’re already out the door with Hyunjin by your side. No last look, no suggestions to wait for him, nothing.

By the time Jisung catches up, you’re hurrying to a parked car, and Hyunjin is shouting, “Good night!” from a distance away. Jisung quietly swears and almost considers acquainting Hyunjin with his fist since there’s hardly anyone in the parking lot. One swift punch to his jaw would leave him with an ugly mark on his otherwise pretty face. He needs a way to get out the unrest he’s feeling, he reasons.

Instead, Jisung gets into his own car and aggressively honks at random cars on his way home. He imagines the steering wheel is Hyunjin’s jaw and that each angry honk he receives is Hyunjin’s screams of pain.

~ ad.gray

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ashintheairlikesnow · 5 years

Text

Daniel Michaelson: Waterlogged

(For @whumptober2019 day 27, I chose to use the Alternate prompt Waterlogged! Poor Danny. References @bleeding-demon-teeth‘s OC Lyken again, because Bram is just a super big fan. TW: for implied/referenced noncon, some torture/abuse)

Water pours in a rush from the deep gray sky and it feels more like midnight than mid-afternoon. The clouds fight each other, rolling and tumbling in shades of deep dark greenish-gray he’s never seen before, but he tries not to look up any longer - the water just gets in his eyes, then.

At least there’s no lightning, no thunder to terrify him. Only rain - endless, eternal pouring rain.

It’s been raining since this morning, and Daniel has been out here in it since he’d overturned a bowl of food on Abraham’s head after Abraham had slid his hand up underneath his shirt when he was serving breakfast.

He’d felt, for just a second, a snarling furious strength in him, the return of the man he used to be - the person - and it had all happened in a flash of time he couldn’t take back.

He wants so badly to take it back.

Go fuck yourself, you piece of shit, don’t fucking touch me, Daniel had snapped, dumping the food on him, jerking himself away. For just that one second he hadn’t given a damn about the rules, about being good, about any of it. For just a second he’d remembered that he had been a senior in college once, just a few months from graduating - he had a younger brother - he had a family - he had people who cared, who would miss him.

For just a second, all Abraham’s hard fucking work to train him had fallen away and Danny was a human again, knew he was a human, knew he deserved better than this.

Then Abraham’s hand had snapped out to grab him by the wrist and Danny had realized he’d fucked up, just a few seconds too late.

Now that’s very bad indeed, Abraham had said with eggs still in his hair, heedless of the mess, Nate sitting across the table staring wide-eyed at the both of them, fork still halfway to his mouth.

Just fucking kill me, you dick, Daniel said, half-pleading the words, already trying to back away until Abraham stepped on the chain that hooked his ankle to the ring in the wall and Danny stumbled and fell backwards onto the floor. I don’t want to live like this, just fucking kill me already!

Dead would be too easy, puppy, Abraham had snarled at him. I can think of so much worse for you.

B-B-Bram, no, h-h-he’s just h-having a b-bad day, it’s n-normal, he’s going to h-h-have bad d-d-days, remember when I-

Shut the fuck up, baby. The puppy’s been bad. He needs to be fixed.

N-no! Just, l-look, just l-l-l-let me t-talk to him, B-Bram, please!

I fucking hate you!

So angry, little Red. You know damn well that puppies don’t get to be angry. Puppies want to be good. They love their owners. I’m going to make sure you want to be good.

Bram, please, please d-d-don’t, please don’t d-do this, don’t-

I just want to be me again! You can’t force someone to love you! I don’t want to be good and I don’t want to fucking love you!

The last time anyone gave a shit what you wanted was the moment you pointed a gun at my face, Red. You need to remember what the fuck you are. And I can force you to feel anything I want.

He’d tried to fight back, but he didn’t eat enough, and he was so tired, and hungry, and hurting all the time. It wasn’t long before Danny was sitting in the wet mud with a brand spanking new black eye, hands tied hard behind his back, rope wrapped around them all the way to his elbows until he ached with the effort of keeping them held out straight, that steady, pulsing pain in his rib - and the metal grid cutting hard into his face, forcing him to be quiet, to remember his place.

He hadn’t meant to be bad, to get angry - he tried to be good most days, he really did - but sometimes the parts of him that used to exist found their way out.

They exploded in a riot of yelling and anger, and it always ended with a punishment. It was never worth fighting, but somehow he couldn’t seem to stop.

He had made a mistake, this morning - and now there is this.

The rain has long since soaked his hair, pressing the normally wavy red flat against his scalp, hanging in his eyes, darkening it to something closer to auburn. Droplets of water run down the side of his face, briefly magnifying the freckles that stand out as he grows paler and paler.

The raindrops blend with the blood that wells up around the jagged line of metal cutting hard into his jaw, his cheekbone, the bridge of his nose. They mix with the tears that run from his eyes, unnoticed, just more water behind the grid. The trails of pink run to the corner of his mouth, to slip the slightest taste of salt and copper onto the tip of the tongue trapped behind his teeth. Some of it slides down the sides of his neck, becomes another bit of wet in his shirt, or drips right onto the ground.

Water finds a way to free itself of the cage of his skin, but Daniel is trapped in it.

The leather pulls tight against the sides of his face, wraps snugly around the back of his head. He can’t move his jaw even a fraction of an inch, and it hurts, it hurts and it’s bleeding, but he can’t even scream - only whine, low in his throat, with no way to escape the prison of his mouth.

All he can manage is a keening sound swallowed up by the rain.

He can’t seem to find the someone else that lives inside of him, the body that takes over when this thing is on his face. Every other time, he can go away in his head, but today Daniel feels trapped in reality, in what’s really been done to him, and he can’t seem to find his escape.

He wants to escape - he wants to be someone else - he wants to go away in his head, to let the body take over, to let the body feel the ache and the pain and the mud, but he can’t.

It’s probably because of the headphones, because of the smug fucking voice he can’t get away from, loud enough to drown out the rain that has turned his fingers into wrinkled prunes, rubbed his arms and wrists raw with the rope around them until he’s pretty sure they’re bleeding, too.

The headphones are wrapped in plastic to protect them, settled carefully onto his head, the fuzzy speakers pressed against his ears. The noise won’t let him slide away, won’t let him give himself over to somebody else.

He could handle the rain - and the pain - and he could go away from the muzzle, because there’s someone else who lives in his body that comes out to take the muzzle and deal with that for him.

But he can’t fight the voice.

It’s not Abraham’s voice - no, it’s the other voice, the man Abraham listens to on his phone, the man who talks about dog training - only he’s not talking about real dogs, people like Abraham are the people he’s talking to.

Daniel’s head droops, hunching forward, the padlock that keeps the leather straps securely buckled gently tapping against the nape of his neck.

I understand that some of you are struggling with disobedience - too much energy used in all the wrong ways. The man is smug, so goddamn sure of himself, of what he’s doing, of the evil that Abraham and others like him.

There’s a horror there Daniel doesn’t want to access, in the reality that there are others in the world like this - he pushes that back, back into his mind, even further than the anger he’s no longer allowed to feel, the anger that drained out of him with the rain.

His voice is a little hypnotic, nothing like Abraham’s spellbinding singsong - but it catches your thoughts and holds them, and Danny can’t stop listening no matter how hard he tries. Obviously the most efficient method is simply to contact me for one-on-one counseling sessions - my rates are very fair, and I have been known to personally oversee the most troublesome cases myself.

But if you’re dead set on individually working this out on your own, who am I to stop you? The man’s voice in his ear has a thread of unkind laughter to it, and there’s a sound in the background somewhere of the audio - a thunk and something like a cut-off curse, then some other laughter, three or four other people. Shut the fuck up, assholes, I’m recording. In any case, if you really must do this yourself, I’ll tell you - the secret to really succeeding at this is to ensure that you engender a real, true desire to be good, to do good, to behave according to your expectations.

Without that desire, all you’ll see is bad behavior. Maybe it’ll be covered up for a while, you’ll think you’re seeing progress - but all you’re seeing is a lie. Without the desire, the real nerve-deep need to be good, you will never achieve true or total success.

I never settle for a half-trained mutt, and I mean never. There’s no dog out there who can’t be taught to want to be good with the right reinforcement.

As I said, my one-on-one rates are fair and I do offer online video conferencing for clients in locations as far away as Europe and Asia for a small added fee. If you’re unable to make appointments in person, I’d be happy to speak with you via Skype. You can find my rates, well - more laughter, from the man and from everyone else. There’s the sound of a thwak in the background, a sound Daniel knows too well, feeling his own back muscles jerk in sympathy. You have to know who to ask to find my rates, but if you’ve found this, you probably already know who to ask, right?

So ask them.

Now, in today’s episode I want to start off by reading a letter I recently received from a very satisfied customer - and later we’ll talk about, well.. Let’s call him a friend of mine, who is the perfect example of someone dealing with occasional backsliding because he’s not using my methods, just slapdash creating his own like an asshole.

You know who you are, E.

The voice numbs him. It wears away at him. The knowledge that there are other people in the world like this - and that they have in-jokes and friends and whole lives - is terrifying, and Daniel can’t seem to maintain any other real feeling but fear out here, soaked to the bone and starting to shake with the cold still nipping the air.

The terror slowly dulls and blends in until all he has left is a confused mixture of regret and loathing and confusion as to why he ever tried to fight back at all.

He’s been out here for four hours or so, he thinks - he’s listened to four of these things and he’s pretty sure they’re about an hour long. So that’s something, that’s something he can hold onto, but still the voice sinks into his head, twines around Abraham’s, leaves him feeling hollow and empty and inhuman.

Just a puppy.

His arms throb from being forced so hard behind his back for so long. He’s cold and wet and caked in mud all along the backs of his thighs, his legs, coating his feet. Mud cakes the outdoor chain hooking him to the ground. All he wants is for Abraham to take the muzzle off, let him back inside, let him dry off and get warm by the fire.

But he can’t go inside unless he’s ready to be good, unless he wants to be good, just like the hateful fucking voice in his ears won’t stop saying. He can’t go inside unless Abraham believes he wants to be good.

And he can’t call for help. He can’t ask. He can’t do anything but listen, and listen, and listen, and wish that he’d never done such a stupid fucking thing in the first place as try to pretend he’s a person when he knows, deep down, that Daniel Michaelson is gone.

My name is Red.

I am the puppy.

No one wants me but Abraham now… and Nate.

His jaw aches, the top of his nose is a riot of pain as the wire cuts further and further into it. His rib hurts, his eye throbs, his arms hurt, he’s so tired - so fucking tired - of everything hurting so much.

When he’s good, only a couple of things ever hurt at a time. When he’s good, sometimes he goes whole days without a new wound. He could have fixed all of this by just not being bad this morning.

He could just be good, and none of it has to happen, right? That’s what the voice keeps saying.

He’s locked inside of himself, staring dully down at a single blade of grass, trying not to hear the voice of the man in his ears, in his head, the man that Abraham laughs along with and says, now here’s someone else in the world who understands.

He can’t get up - can’t even move his hands.

He can’t escape the rain.

He can’t take off the headphones, can’t get away from the voice that tells him, in so many different ways, that Abraham can unmake him - probably already has.

The voice - the man, the King - laughs at people like Daniel and tells them they can be changed, undone, remade into less than they were, into the puppies that aren’t allowed to be angry.

He’s not allowed to be angry - that was a rule, a rule he had broken, and he’s sure he’s been punished enough. He could prove it, if Abraham would only come back out and let him show it, let him show that he was tired of being in trouble, and that he could be good.

He wishes, so deeply within himself, that he had never done what he did this morning. He wishes he had just served breakfast like he did every day, let Abraham touch him, ignored the coiled twisting hate inside himself, pushed it down until it went away entirely. He wishes he had only tried harder.

When he tries really hard, he can usually be good.

If he’d just been good, he wouldn’t be sitting out here feeling a sort of pressure building in his lungs, an urge to cough against the rain that probably doesn’t bode well for him. He gets sick so much, now - and when he’s sick, he gets punished for being weak.

But when he gets fevers, he sees his brother, and so maybe getting sick isn’t so bad, not if he sees Ryan again.

He must have closed his eyes at some point, maybe even dozed off with the voice still in his ears - because suddenly there are warm hands on his face.

He jumps, jerking back and away, instinctively trying to apologize for flinching - never pull away from Abraham - but all he does is try to force his jaw against the cage and he whines sharply at the pain.

The headphones are slipped off of his ears and the voice - the voice is gone. Danny’s so grateful to Abraham, gratitude that cuts him as sharply as any knife. Thank you for taking the voice away. Thank you for this. Thank you so much.

Be grateful for every gift you are given.

Letting him stop hearing the voice is a gift.

“Sssshhhh, it’s m-m-me,” Nate says softly, and Daniel opens his eyes in surprise, looking up to see Nate crouching in front of him in a raincoat and boots, letting his black hair get soaked but the rest of him stays dry. The mossy green eyes are focused right on him, and there is no mockery there, none of Abraham’s laughing superiority, no sense that he is looking at a disobedient puppy.

Nate sees a man.

“It’s j-j-just me,” Nate says, voice gentle and deep, and the feel of his fingers against the metal grid is so welcome Danny nearly starts to cry.

He whines again - trying to plead, to beg to take the muzzle off his face to let him say how sorry he is, how good he can be.

Nate smiles, a little sadly. “H-hey, Danny,” he murmurs, leaning forward to kiss Daniel’s forehead.

His lips feel so warm against the bone-deep cold settling under Daniel’s skin. He doesn’t even think to shake his head at the name that isn’t his any longer. He just makes a noise in his throat, something he hopes can say thank you and I might love you and kiss me again and save me.

“B-B-Bram sent m-me out. Y-you can come back i-in now. He says it’s b-been long en… enough. I… I c-c-c-convinced him.” Nate’s eyes slide away from his when he says the last bit, and part of Danny wonders what he’s agreed to do for Abraham to earn Danny the right to come in out of the rain.

Nate has the little key that unlocks the padlock at the back of his head. He undoes the buckle, slips the metal grid off of his face, and Danny doesn’t even wince at the tear of torn skin. All he can feel is joy at the freedom, opening and closing his mouth just to move his jaw even though it aches, just because he can.

“Thank you for taking the muzzle off,” Danny mumbles, “and for taking the headphones off my head.” As the ropes unwind from his arms, he slowly lowers them back to his sides, shoulders screaming in protest after so long locked in place, looking down with relief as he realizes they weren’t bleeding at all, just ringed in deep red grooves that will bruise and then fade. “Thank you for taking th’… the ropes off.”

Nate doesn’t say anything - he knows the rules as well as Danny does - but there’s a look on his face Danny can’t quite read. It’s not pity - it’s something like grief.

Like Daniel is already gone, and Nate is going to miss him.

Once the metal cuff welded to his ankle is unlocked from the chain in the yard, Danny gets slowly to his feet, Nate’s good hand on his elbow to help him up. They make their way back across the yard, Nate in his raincoat and boots, Danny barefoot and soaked so deeply he has begun to wonder if he’ll ever, ever feel dry again.

He stumbles back in the door, water dripping down his face still, new wounds carved over old scars, the red lines made by the muzzle still weeping thin trails of blood. Standing on the welcome mat (step inside our happy home, it declares in cheerful rainbow letters and Danny kind of wishes he could tear it apart with his bare hands), he looks from under wet hunks of red hair at Abraham sitting at the kitchen table.

The inside of the cabin is warm, and dry, and Daniel wants to be warm and dry, too. He’ll say anything. He’ll do anything.

He is exactly what the man in the recordings says he is.

“So?” Abraham asks. The fireplace is crackling in the living room, and Danny wants nothing more in life than to sit in front of it, dry off, feel something other than this saturated wet awful. “Have you rethought this morning’s misadventure?”

“Y-yes,” Daniel manages, keeping his shoulders hunched. “I was, um, was wrong.”

Nate slides the raincoat off and hangs it on the hook by the door, sets the wrapped-up headphones and little mp3 player on the countertop, dumps the muzzle beside it with an audible breath of disgust.

Nate hates the muzzle. He only ever calls it ‘the thing’.

Danny turns carefully away from it, trying not to look at the blood still winking red at the ends of all the tiny sharp pieces that jam into his skin when it’s on. He hadn’t been able to go away. He hadn’t been able to be someone else. He’d been Danny in a muzzle - he’d been Red, the puppy, getting punished for thinking he was real.

He feels a sob caught somewhere in his throat, and he manages to choke it back, but only barely.

I’m not real. The man is right. We’re not really real people at all.

“Oh, little Red,” Abraham says with patronizing affection. “Did we have fun out in the rain?”

Danny shakes his head, mutely, and he doesn’t flinch when Abraham laughs, the high-pitched barking sound that rattles his bones inside his skin, shatters apart any sense of himself he had.

Everything is so much easier when he doesn’t fight. Why does he keep trying to fight?

When Nate turns back around, Daniel shuffles a little closer to him, until he can feel the solidity of Nate’s presence beside him, the only person who doesn’t want to hurt him. The only mercy Abraham has is Nate Vandrum, the only affection Danny gets that isn’t tainted and horrible and hurting.

Does he maybe love Nate, or is he just desperate for a feeling other than pain?

After a second, he feels Nate shift a little bit, too. There’s the slightest hint of warmth as Nate’s bad hand - the hand Abraham bashed and broke and never even tried to help heal right - settles at the small of his back, over his shirt.

“What did you learn, then, from your time out there?” Abraham’s smile is a snake’s grin, and his eyes are cold. Danny leans slowly, subtly back into Nate’s touch, trying to use it to give himself some form of strength even as his knees want to give and buckle him to the floor.

If I have to be a dog, I wish I could be his, not yours.

He can hear himself dripping audibly onto the tile. He can feel the water - and some of it is blood and some of it is tears but he doesn’t know which is what any longer. “I l-learned that I d-d-don’t want to be in trouble anymore. I’m s-s-sorry, Abraham. I won’t do it again, I promise. I won’t.”

“Good. That’s what I want to hear. Tell me who you are.”

“My name is Red,” Daniel Michaelson says, meeting Abraham’s eyes, and in that moment he is, he really is. He keeps forgetting - and Abraham keeps reminding him.

Daniel Michaelson slides away, the anger and hate and insistent refrain of I used to be a person fading under the weight of Abraham’s voice, his stare, and the echoing voice of the man in the headphones, the pressure of knowledge that Abraham isn’t the only person who knows that there are people like Daniel in the world, people who only exist to be hurt.

Daniel Michaelson is gone, and Red takes over.

“Your name is Red and…?”

“My name is Red and I belong to you, and I, and I want to be good for you s-so I don’t have to be in trouble again. I do. I want to be so good, Abraham.”

Abraham’s eyes move up and down, taking in the red hair plastered to his forehead, the angry wounds on his face, water trickling slowly down his neck.

Abraham looks over the T-shirt pressed in folds against the lines of his body, showing the torso made skinnier by never enough food, the pajama pants that are slick against his legs, the raw skin underneath the iron cuff that never leaves him, the toes pressing into the bristles of the welcome mat.

Danny shivers under the attention, hugging himself, wishing he didn’t know what Abraham was thinking, wishing it wasn’t written all too clearly on his face, in the gleam of a sudden dark interest in his eyes.

Nate’s hand against his back is the only anchor he has.

“Good boy.” Abraham gestures towards the living room. “Strip. Then you can sit by the fire and dry off, Nate will bring you a towel.”

“Strip? Right… right here?” Daniel feels his face flush deep red, the sting as blood rushes to the newly reopened muzzle wounds. Even as he wants to hesitate, his hands are moving to the hem of his T-shirt, twisting until the fabric wrings out and a sudden patter of droplets hits the floor. “Right now?”

“Right now. Your body doesn’t belong to you, Red. It belongs to me. I feel like I’ve proven that a couple hundred times over by now in every possible way.“

Daniel feels his face flush and keeps his eyes on the floor, skin crawling with the touch of phantom hands, with the knowledge that his body has been broken and bent for someone else.

“B-Bram,” Nate says softly. “C-C-Come on, hasn’t he been p-punished en-enough?”

“You’re the one who begged me to bring him back in. This is what you wanted, right, Nate? Don’t tell me you don’t like seeing him take his clothes off just as much as I do. I know you, sweet thing.” Those eyes slide back to Danny, and all the rain in the world cannot wash the grime off his skin. “Red. Take your fucking clothes off or I’ll do it and then we’ll see if we can’t make those cuts on your hands any deeper.”

Danny meets Nate’s eyes, for just a second, and then pulls his shirt off over his head, peeling the soaked cloth off his skin, dropping the puddle of fabric into the sink.

"Love to see those ribs, sweet thing,” Abraham breathes, and Danny has to close his eyes against furious tears. Then he slides his pajama pants off, keeping his eyes down, his face bright scarlet with the humiliation of it, tossing those in the sink, too.

“Could cut myself on those hips.”

I wish you fucking would, and bleed out, you piece of shit.

No. Be good. Be Red.

When he’s done, he curls into himself, as if there is any modesty left for someone who hasn’t been a person in nearly three years.

He stands naked, dripping onto the floor, rubbing absently at the itching, bleeding circle cut into his face, waiting.

He waits patiently, shivering.

He is good.

Abraham lets the silence draws out, stretching what is left of Danny between revulsion and a desperate need to do whatever it takes to get next to the fire. Finally, in a low voice thick with joy, Abraham says, “Go on. Nate, grab a towel and go with him. No clothes, Red. I want to see my good boy tonight.”

Nate nods, taking Danny by the arm pulling him through the open doorway into the living room. Danny pauses at first, waiting to have his metal cuff hooked to the living room chain, but Nate keeps him walking until they’re right next to the blissful crackling heat of the fire.

“W-wait,” Daniel says, still speaking in a half-pained whisper, trying not to open his mouth enough to hurt his jaw. “My, my chain, you have to chain me up-”

Nate’s own jaw is a hard line, something flinty and cold in his face. “I a-a-asked him to l-let you g-g-get closer. You d-don’t have t-t-to wear it yet.”

“What did you give him?” Daniel isn’t sure he even wants to hear the answer, to know what part of himself Nate still has left to barter.

“D-doesn’t m-m-matter. Sit down.”

Daniel sits next to the fireplace, folding his knees up to his chest, feeling the burst of warmth, dry and welcome and so wonderful on his soaking skin.

Nate towels his hair, and Danny closes his eyes at the unfamiliar form of affection, tilting his head back to make it easier.

Just a puppy, but I wish I were his.

Finally, Nate pulls back. “Y-you can s-s-sit here until y-you’re dry. He said.”

“Will you, um…” Daniel speaks shyly, feeling like a middle schooler asking his first girl to a dance. Or boy, in his case. “Will you stay? Sit with me?”

Nate glances over his shoulder. Abraham is still at the kitchen table, and Daniel can hear the start of a new one of the man’s awful episodes playing on his phone.

Then Nate turns back and drops to sit beside Danny, leaning slowly against him until the fabric of his T-shirt sleeve brushes Danny’s bare arm.

“I c-c-can’t keep w-watching him hah-… hurt you.” Nate’s voice is heavy with the grief Danny had seen in him earlier. “I can’t k-k-keep being cuh-complicit in this.”

“It’s okay,” Daniel says, taking the towel to cover himself over his hips, to find even one small hint of personal privacy. Even if only for a moment. “If I just learn to be good, he won’t anymore. I just have to be good. I can try harder, Nate. I can learn to be good, if I, if I just try harder. I have to want to be good.”

Nate sighs, sliding an arm around Daniel’s shoulders, pressing a furtive, hidden kiss against his hair.

“You w-were already g-g-good. I’ll s-s-save you,” Nate whispers into his ear. “S-somehow, Danny.”

My name is Red, Daniel thinks automatically, but he stays quiet and pushes himself a little more into Nate’s side, tucks his head into the crook of the older man’s neck.

Nate doesn’t say anything about the damp hair. He only holds Danny a little tighter and begins to hum, low in his throat, a song Danny doesn’t know but feels somehow immensely reassured by.

The only other sound is the crackling of the fire and Abraham’s occasional laughter from the kitchen.

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dyscrasia-eucrasia · 4 years

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Part 18

"Are you sure I can't help with any of that?" Angel asked.

"Would you let someone who doesn't know anything about your culture's food help make it?" Demie said, looking over his shoulder to where Angel sat at the kitchen table.

"Dude, my parents both worked sixty hour weeks," Angel said with a shrug. "I grew up on Kraft mac and cheese and Bagel Bites."

"Ew," Demie said, wrinkling his nose. He had no idea what Bagel Bites were, but he'd seen Elaine make mac and cheese out of those bright blue boxes. The stuff looked positively radioactive.

He turned back to what he'd been doing. He had very much wanted to make dolma - it felt befitting for having a guest over for the first time in his entire life - but Elaine had been very firm when he gave her the shopping list that she was not going to drive to Charleson in search of grape leaves and pine nuts. So he had to make due with tomatokeftedes and patzaria.

Currently, he had the fritters chilling in the freezer and the potatoes mashed, and was in the process of peeling cucumbers for tzatziki. He had had the good sense to make the beets a day before.

"So, you're like… really into food, huh?" Angel asked.

"I'm Greek, of course I'm into food," Demie said absent-mindedly as he pulled a knife and the sharpening rod out of the knife block on the counter.

"No, I mean like…" Angel paused as Demie swiftly drew the blade along the steel before dropping the rod back into the knife block. He sliced the cucumber down the center lengthwise and then chopped the vegetable with the speed and skill of a trained chef.

"Like you said you have a garden, and you clearly made those goat treats yourself, and you can do that with a knife…"

"I make my own cheese, too," Demie said.

"Omigod, really? Are we having some with all this?"

"None of these recipes really use feta…" Demie said. He was loath to do anything in the recipes that hadn't been taught to him by his grandmother. Angel made a noise of disappointment, though, and Demie looked over his shoulder at him. "Why, do you really like feta that much?"

"I don't think I've ever actually had any, I just really want to try homemade cheese," Angel said. "Especially if it's made by you."

Demie felt the tips of his ears get hot, but he couldn't really figure out why. No one had ever been impressed by his cooking before. Then again, the only people he'd ever cooked for were Marius and Elaine. Marius would always compare Demie's cooking to their grandmother's, and Elaine had the most garbage tastes in food he'd ever seen, so neither of them were particularly enthusiastic about what he made.

"Uh… I mean, if you really want some, there's some in the fridge," Demie said, nodding over his other shoulder at the fridge.

He saw Angel start to stand up out of the corner of his eye, but right at the same time, the front door opened. Both he and Angel stopped and turned towards it, to see Elaine step inside. Her hair and arms were covered in sawdust, no doubt from trimming lumber at the hardware store, and she looked even more pissed than usual.

"Oh, hi!" Angel said. His voice was bright and chipper, and felt entirely out of place in the trailer. No one was ever that happy in this place.

"I'm Angel," he said, holding out his hand.

Elaine narrowed her eyes, looking at the hand offered to her. "I know," she said, and stopped off towards her bedroom.

"Did I say something wrong?" Angel asked, turning to look at Demie.

"Nah, Elaine's just a huge bitch," he replied. He swept the ingredients on the cutting board into the blender and blitzed it on high. The vintage machine complained loudly, the blade sputtering as the engine tried to generate enough power to move. Demie felt extremely self-conscious. The blender, along with everything else in the trailer, needed to be replaced, but there was no money for it. Most of the time he just put up with it, but having an outsider see how he lived made him feel deeply inadequate.

Finally the blender managed to work the cucumbers into a chunky paste, and he set it aside, turning his attention to the stove.

"What's that?" Angel asked as Demie poured oil from a large plastic jug into a large pan.

"Uh, peanut oil," Demie said, lifting up the jug and looking at the label. "It's supposed to be healthier than canola oil."

"No, I mean, what were you humming just now?"

The heat spread from Demie's ears across his face. He hadn't even noticed that he'd been humming. It just sort of came naturally. Music was just ingrained into his life - it had been, ever since he was a kid. Cooking, gardening, herding… basically anything that required any sort of care towards another living thing, his family would hum or sing to. There was no proof their voices affected food or plants or animals like it did people, but there was always the possibility that maybe they could make the food taste a bit better, or the plants grow a bit fuller, or the animals act a bit more tame.

He didn't really know how to explain that to Angel, though, so he just mumbled something that he wasn't even sure were words.

When the oil started shimmering, the tomato fritters came out of the freezer and went into the pan. They sizzled and splattered, and Demie had to jump back just a little. Most things in the kitchen didn't bother him, but the stove was just about at crotch height for him, and he'd splattered hot oil on his balls enough times to know it wasn't pleasant.

That was another thing he was self conscious about - he was technically naked from the waist down around another dude. Of course, he was always naked from the waist down. He didn't see the point in wearing pants; they just seemed constricting, especially since his knees and ankles were anatomically in different places than a human's. But he did technically just have his ass and balls out around a gay guy, and that was kind of weird.

He didn't have too much time to think about that, though. He had to keep an eye on the tomatokeftedes so that they didn't get too dark, fishing them out of the pan and laying them to dry on a piece of paper towel. Next he got the beets out of the fridge and got two clean, but mismatched, plates out of the cabinet to serve the food.

"This smells amazing," Angel said as Demie set the plate down on the table in front of him. "I don't think I've ever had Greek food before. Except gyros, are gyros Greek?"

"It's pronounced yee-rohs," Demie said as he sat down in the other chair. "But I've never had food from wherever you're from, so whatever." Was that racist to say? He wasn't sure. Angel was Asian, and Demie thought he could remember him saying something about his ethnicity, but he couldn't remember what it was.

"You've never had pho?" Angel asked.

"I don't exactly eat out," Demie said.

"You don't even get delivery?"

"Delivery from where? Billy Brook has like one shitty diner."

"Oh, right." Angel looked a little bit embarrassed, and quickly took a bite of food. "This is amazing," he said after he swallowed.

"It's alright," Demie responded, picking at his plate.

"You don't really take compliments well, do you?" Angel asked.

Demie had to stop and think about it. Did he? "I guess I'm just not used to getting any," he said.

"Aww," Angel made a sad noise. Demie looked up to see him pouting. He couldn't help but snort.

"Dude, what the fuck?"

Angel's face broke into a smile. The corners of Demie's mouth reflexively lifted in response. He felt weird - he didn't smile a lot, but seeing Angel smile wanted him to do so, as well. It was kind of like how performing made him feel less anxious and empty inside, but multiplied by ten.

"Can I ask you something?" Demie said.

"Sure."

"Do you actually listen to heavy metal? No offense, you just don't seem very… hardcore."

"Yes, I listen to heavy metal," Angel replied. His tone was a little strained, a little annoyed.

"What bands?"

"Is this a test?" Angel narrowed his eyes at Demie.

"Huh? No? I just… just wanna know, I guess."

"Well," Angel said with a dramatic sigh, "back in middle school, I knew this kid, he was a few years older than me… he was a total metalhead - a lot like you, actually. With the hair and the beard, at least, not a goatman, I mean. But no one would really hang out with him, because he wore a trenchcoat and stuff. But no one would hang out with me, either, because I was the one Asian kid in school. So we just kinda wound up hanging out together, since there was no one else to hang out with. And he turned me on to Korn and Slipknot and from there I just fell down a rabbithole, y'know?"

Demie furrowed his brow. "Seriously?"

"What?"

"Korn? Slipknot?"

"What's wrong with them?" Angel asked.

"Nothing," Demie said. He wasn't really sure how to word it. They just weren't… great.

"Oh? So who do you listen to, then?" Angel asked, aggressively pointing his fork at Demie.

"Uh, Iron Maiden, Black Sabbath, Slayer…"

"Oh, and you're going to judge my tastes in metal, when you listen to the most basic metal bands ever?"

"Hey, no, I listen to other stuff. Like… Blind Guardian, Labyrinth, Rhapsody of Fire…"

"Yeah, you would listen to Blind Guardian," Angel muttered.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you definitely seem like the kinda guy who'd listen to nerd metal."

"What!? Blind Guardian aren't for nerds, they're like one of the most influential European power metal bands--"

"Yeah, who sing about their LARP campaigns."

"They aren't for nerds!"

"WILL YOU TWO SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU'RE BOTH FUCKING LOSERS THAT I'D BEAT UP FOR LUNCH MONEY," Elaine bellowed from her room.

Angel glanced over his shoulder, then back to Demie. They were both silent for a minute, but then Angel's face cracked into a smile and he wheezed, and all of a sudden they were both laughing.

#writing #writers on tumblr #original fiction #gay fiction #lgbt fiction #original characters #wright's writing #w:demie and angel

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szopenhauer · 4 years

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Did the last person you kissed celebrate your last birthday with you? no

Who is the person you would least like to be stuck in a lift with? Why? smelly drunk puking rapist murderer - do I really have to explain? If your parents looked in your inbox and read your messages, would they find out anything you didn’t want them to know? my sexts Have you cried at all during the past week? ... When was the last time you felt disappointed? What was the reason? now, no comment Who was the last person you had an argument with? how would you feel if that person never spoke to you again? both good and bad

Do you like forks with three metal pokers, or four? I don’t care Would you ever wear a hat with cat ears on it? I already do

Have you ever eating raw sugar by itself? when I was a kid I was stealing it from my grandma’s sugar-bowl Do you paint your left or right hand fingernails first? I don’t recall but probably left as I’m righty What about for your feet? not that I paint them but whatever What’s the scariest thing you’ve ever done? hmm... Do you think fish are cute? some can be If you found an ant on your food, would you still eat it? doubt it How much do you weigh? 42 kg now

What was the shortest amount of time you’ve known someone before you’ve dated them? but dates or relationship?

Do you have any theatrical experience? If so, what have you done? just school

Don’t you hate it when people talk about their relationships constantly? every subject you talk about constantly is getting on my nerves tbh

Is there anything you need to say to anyone? I don’t know how/what/if I should/want to

If you could have anyone to do your eulogy, who would it be and why? my dad

If given the choice, would you rather go to Subway or a Chinese restaurant? Subway

Do your neighbors annoy you in any way? many ways

Whose car were you in last? I was in a taxi

How late did you stay up last night? I barely slept at all because of cannula/venflon and feeling like I’m choking, also noise and anxiety

What were you doing at 12:30 this afternoon? coming home

Who did you last see in person? mom

When was the last time a member of the opposite sex hugged you? today (my father)

What is on your wrists right now? finally nothing and that feels weird, I constantly want to fix my ID wristband but it’s not there anymore

Where did you get the shirt you’re wearing? second hand - it has an elephant and Perfectly imperfect written on it

Do you like clowns? very

Are you listening to anything at the moment? I am

Do you twitch when your falling asleep? it happens at times but only rarely

Are your dishes in the dishwasher clean or dirty? we don’t own a dishwasher

Are you at home or with friends more often? home and I like it that way

Would you date someone 15 years older than you? noooo

Do you own a strapless bra? nah

How are you feeling at this exact moment? it’s complicated

Are you someone who worries too often? absolutely

Do you ever wonder how other people see you? obvi

What is one good thing you’re known for? How about one bad thing? don’t ask me

Are you taller than most? lmfao

Are you the type of person who likes to be out or home? take a guess...

Has anyone ever said i love you to you and not meant it? it seems

Do you regret going out with the last person you did? going out as dating or just spending time with somebody outside?

When was the last time you showered? few days ago because I couldn’t move my arm :(

Who did you last talk to in person? my mother

Do you ever have days where you just don’t do anything? yeah

Have you ever been extremely tired but refused to go to sleep? hahaha

What’s the longest amount of time you’ve been stuck in traffic? not sure

What area of math are you best at? Worst? dunno

How do you feel when you meet someone with the same music taste as you? only Dorota had similar taste in music to mine not counting my current gf’s love towards 80s songs that we share

How often do you “half-ass” things (put little effort in)? often?

Do you ever feel self-conscious when you eat around other people? yes

Has a teacher ever made you hate yourself/your work? sure

What’s something that makes you incredibly nervous? everything?...

If you don’t have glasses, how would you feel if you had to get them? mixed feelings

If you do have glasses, how would you feel if you didn’t need them anymore? -

Have you ever considered going to art school? I have considered and am slightly regretting that I didn’t

How quickly can you write an essay? depends

Favorite episode of Spongebob? it’s not my fav but I remember the one where Spongebob painted the room most (why tho?)

Do you have any silly/odd emotional connections to anything/anyone? would say so

Do you play with your phone in awkward situations? I might

Do u own a rolling pin?: u don’t? :o

What’s your ideal indoor temperature?: never checked

Does your kitchen have a theme?: ... apparently poop is the theme

Are u a pack rat?: mhm

What’s the grossest thing u have found in your food?: bug, hair, piece of plastic...

Do u like ice cream sandwiches?: why not

Ever worn a flower in your hair?: for a moment

What surgeries have u had?: none

What health problems do u have?: what health problems I don’t have?...

Do u like to sleep in?: yasss

Don’t ya just hate foot cramps? who likes those?

Would you say you have an infectious laugh? not really Shouldn’t you be doing something else right now? omg thx for a reminder :o What is something you worry about often? every single thing Do you walk fast or slow? compared to?... Would you consider yourself healthy? Both mind and body. not at all Does sitting in waiting rooms drive you insane? not as much as majority of people, I can wait for a long time when I see the point and don’t feel the worst, I don’t need much entertainment to not get bored What form of public transport do you use most often? bus Would you consider yourself an adrenaline junkie? the opposite Have you ever been arrested? If so, why? I’m an angel Do you ever put sticky notes around the place to remind yourself of things? I have shitload of notes but they’re not sticky Would you eat a spider for $50? hell no Would you rather be a kangaroo or a koala? koala Are you easy to talk to? am I? Can you juggle with more than two items? I can’t juggle with one item pfft At airports do you ever worry your luggage won’t arrive? scary but luckily I don’t travel by plane What other windows have you currently got opened? fb, youtube, tumblr drafts, google translator and google searching Who else is in the same building as you? my parents Would you like a penny farthing bicycle? maybe Would you ever consider visiting Ireland? what for? Would you like to visit Venice? no thx Did you ever eat leaves when you were a kid? my sister did Do you have any flags in your house? we occasionally put polish flag on balcony Are there any ‘keep off the grass’ signs where you live? just don’t throw trash on the ground on cemetery Have you ever walked on the grass with such a sign? that’s rude unless you really didn’t notice or had no choice Are you double-jointed? could say so At school which area of science did you prefer: biology/chemistry/physics? definitely not physics Which did you prefer between geography/history? neither Have you ever driven a tractor? didn’t have an opportunity Does the smell of the countryside bother you? animal shit does Do you drink more water or juice? water

Sweater weather or tank top weather? Which do you prefer. I like it hot, I hate winter but I enjoy sweaters Is there a cat in the room you’re in right now? stuffed only Do you enjoy going to the movies? prefer to watch movies at home

Are you an animal lover? I admire from afar How tall are you? according to my doctor I lost 2 cm Is there anything you want to ask anyone right now? God Are you gay, straight, bi, lesbian, asexual, or not sure? asexual/lesbian Are you more negative or more positive? negative Have you made any life altering decisions lately? I’m deciding

Do you have any songs currently stuck in your head? not atm Have you made a CV? several Where is the last place you applied for a job? (If you have) which was the last one... Are you photogenic? I’m ugly

What are you listening to right now? stopped because family member is asleep What are you going to do tomorrow? shopping if anything

Have you ever been judged on something you wore? been bullied

Think QUICK what word begins with c? clown :D

Are you a funny person? I believe Be honest, do you go for looks more or personality? personality is more important but I’m picky

Are you a flirty person? a bit

Are you homophobic? I’m homo myself so...

How would you react if someone said you ruined their life? I know I ruin everybody’s lives

If you’re home alone, do you still close/lock the door when you use the bathroom? I don’t lock ‘em even when I’m not alone

What’s the stupidest song you’ve listened to today? nothing stupid

How is your hair currently styled? it’s dirty and after this survey I will wash my head finally

Do you ever stay up late just to be awake oh well...

Would you ever write a letter to someone you haven’t met yet, like your future spouse? I don’t think so

Would you rather spend the day watching movies or on an intense hike? entire day just one thing?!

Are you stressed about anything? always Have you ever stood on a frozen solid body of water? too dangerous for me Are you one of those people who take like, 50 Facebook quizzes at a time? whoops :x What’s on your bed? it’s so clean/empty that it freaks me out Are you texting anyone? no longer

Did your last beverage contain caffeine? it was just water

Did you get any friend requests on Facebook today? did not

What’s your least favourite song by your favourite artist? for example - one of my fav bands - Queen - I dislike Radio Gaga and We will rock you

What’s your best friend’s middle name? no middle name!

Who was the last person to comment on your Facebook status? my partner

If the person you miss turned up at your door now, how would you react? woah wtf

Where were you THREE hours ago? in here

What are you wearing right now? my leggings with colorful heart pattern

Who was the last person you talked to on the phone? parent

Have you bought any clothing items in the last week? I got two shirts and socks

What day is tomorrow? Friday

Do you remember the first person you ever kissed? we’re together now again

Ever use someone else’s toothbrush? that’s disgusting, don’t!

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thebestpersonherelovesbucky · 5 years

Text

Winter Soldier Alternate Ending Part 2

Part 1

Day 4

Strange being called dead twice in a matter of days. The FBI called off the search through the river for his body just yesterday. They have no idea that Bucky pulled Steve from the water. Shield has fallen. The government scrambles to make sense of what’s happened after Steve and Natasha and what remained of Shield laid waste to their security council. Now, more than that, Steve worries they’re going to come looking for Bucky.

Hydra used him as a terrorist for decades. A weapon. So far, the papers have been clear of his name, but Steve’s seen the internet calling for his blood.

He’ll keep him hidden for now. As best he can. It’s what he can do for him. For Bucky. Who was always there for Steve, even when he had nothing.

The warehouse they’re in will do for now, but eventually, someone will notice them. There, in upstate New York. Not that far from the Avengers Compound. Only Sam and Natasha know they’re there. Steve got in touch with them by putting an ad in the personals. If anyone would’ve figured it out, he knew they would.

They’d brought him a few weeks worth of supplies. Promises of more. Steve told them no. Was so grateful to have them, but didn’t want to put them in harm’s way. Washington was already gunning for them. The last thing they needed was to be caught aiding Steve Rogers hiding the Winter Soldier.

“Worth it,” Sam had said. “You know how to reach us.”

“We’ll be back,” Natasha said, handing him the folder on the Winter Soldier he’d asked for. “Be careful with that, Steve. You might not wanna pull on that thread.”

Steve’d had no choice. If he wanted to make any progress with Bucky at all, he had to pull the thread. Pull it as hard as he could to unravel the whole mess and start as from back to the beginning as he could.

The first piece of good news, of hope, he’d learned right away was that by not putting him back in that dreaded cryo-freeze, it’d be possible that more and more of the old Bucky might come back out. If not, at the very least, what Steve taught him would at least stick with him.

Because Bucky had also been experimented on -- and had received some form of the serum as well -- the injuries he received on the helicarrier were treatable by Steve himself and healed within days.

Steve still worries about the metal arm and what he'll have to do if something happens to it but, well, one day at a time.

“Come on, Bucky,” Steve says as he comes back into their main little room. “Time to eat breakfast.”

Bucky, sitting up on the cot that Steve's gotten for him, looks at the tray of food. Eggs. Bacon. Pancakes. Toast. Yogurt. Banana. Orange juice. He doesn’t do anything. Doesn’t even lift the plastic fork on the tray.

“Is this a mission ready meal, Friend Steve?” Bucky asks. “Is full consumption necessary?”

“I… what?” Steve shakes his head and takes a second look at the food. “What do you mean, Bucky, I…” Steve pauses and remembers he cannot speak to Bucky the way he speaks to other people. “Repeat last inquiry, Soldier.”

“Are you preparing the Soldier for a mission, Friend Steve?” Bucky tries asking. “Such luxurious provisions are not required. A small source of protein and carbohydrates are good enough.”

When Steve says nothing in response, because, really, the pains in his stomach make it too difficult to speak, Bucky drops his gaze. He picks up the plastic fork as though it’s an obligation, hurrying to shovel eggs into his mouth.

“Hey,” Steve says, softly. “Bucky, it’s o-okay. You don’t have to…” He exhales a heavy breath and rubs his eyes. “Put the fork down, Soldier.” Bucky does. Quickly. Eyes still trained on the food and mouth still full. He hasn’t swallowed yet. “Soldier, I’m going to put my hand on your shoulder. Is that okay with you?”

“For pain.” Bucky cringes and nods. Finally, he swallows that mouthful of eggs. “The Soldier accepts punishment from Friend Steve.”

Just before he’d put his hand down on Bucky’s shoulder, Steve rolls his fingers back in and almost can’t breathe.

“No, I… why do you think I’m punishing you?” Steve so badly wants to touch him, but refrains. Bucky thinks touch means pain. “Explain diagnostics.”

Bucky, shoulders back and chin up, sits up straight and recites mechanically, “The soldier never hesitates to do as he’s told. The soldier never questions his orders. The soldier accepts consequences for his failures.”

“You haven’t failed anything,” Steve assures him. “I’m not going to punish you. Can I still touch you?” He looks at Steve, confused. “You can say no, Soldier. I won’t touch you if you say no.”

That baffled look remains on Bucky’s face. Silence crackles between them as he lets Steve’s comment simmer through the morning. He swallows hard and glances down at his lap.

“No,” he whispers.

“Okay,” Steve says, and keeps his hands firmly in his own lap. “Bucky, you don’t have to eat everything on the tray. I made it for you to enjoy it. You do need to eat--”

“To keep strength and energy levels high,” Bucky interrupts. “A soldier knows how to maintain basic necessity.”

“Right.” Steve smiles. “Exactly. But you can also eat because you like to. Because it tastes good. Do you like any of this because it tastes good to you?”

He used to. Bucky loved scrambled eggs and pancakes. He loved chocolate, too, but Steve didn’t have any today. If he can get some, he’ll be sure to treat him. For now, he’s just trying to show Bucky that he can make his own choices.

Steve didn’t realize how hard this was going to be. He really had no idea just how efficiently Hydra had wiped Bucky Barnes clean and replaced him with their own obedient weapon. Bucky -- or The Soldier -- thinks he belongs to Steve. He’ll do anything Steve orders of him. How many other people had taken this control over Bucky?

The thought leaves Steve sick to his stomach.

“The eggs,” Bucky murmurs. “And the pancakes. And… I can eat whatever I want?”

“As much as you want,” Steve tells him. “Just eat until you’re full, okay? Whichever of this you want.”

“And… will Friend Steve still touch the Soldier?” he whispers, eyes back on the food again. “And not punish him?”

It takes Steve a few seconds to fully process what’s been asked of him. Because, if he’s heard correctly, Bucky’s actually asked him for a touch. Bucky, who’s been taught for nearly seventy years that touch is equal to only pain, has asked Steve to touch him.

Steve moves slow. He doesn’t want to fuck this up in any way as he slides his hand onto Bucky’s shoulder. A soft, gentle touch. A friendly reminder that he’s here. Friend Steve. Here to help. Here to be safe.

And for just a brief instant, before Bucky shoves a big piece of pancake into his mouth, Steve could swear he sees a smile.

#steve rogers #bucky barnes #stucky #i have feels after writing that last night #so have a little series #my stuff #text post #kellsficlet

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glimmeringtwilight · 5 years

Text

Blood and Metal

(Ok, maybe this is closer to 1500 words than 2000. It was longer until I decided that I was, in fact, going to make multiple parts to this. Idk how far I want to go with it, maybe it’ll become a series. I’m not proofreading this, so if you see any mistakes lmk)

[Read it on AO3]

You taste metal.

It’s funny, really. Everything in your life suddenly seems to revolve around metal now. From the iron bars that keep you trapped here to the sharp bite of your captor’s fingers against your chilled skin, it’s all you know anymore.

When you first met him, he was dying. The shell of his body lie on the ground, still smoldering in the ruin that surrounded it.

He didn’t see you. You don’t think he could, with the extensive damage, but he heard your approach and begged. He said he was afraid. Said he didn’t want to die.

You took pity on him. Took him home to your garage, patched him as best you could and them took him to a friend to do the rest. Your friend was much more tech-savvy than you were. You knew how to weld and solder, but your knowledge still extended mostly to jumpstarting your car and replacing a tire than repairing a sentient robot.

Your friend tended to the delicate details and you helped where you could. Soon enough, the strange metal being was repaired enough to walk again.

He killed your friend immediately.

He then turned to you and pulled the tire iron you’d armed yourself with out of your hands easily, then punched you in the eye hard enough to rupture a blood vessel. You only know it ruptured because when you woke up in this cell, your eye was still bleeding.

You didn’t speak to him. Not at first. He’d deliver your meals, stand at the bars and watch you while you ate, and then retrieve the tray from you when you finished.

He seemed to be waiting for you to crack, for the silence to finally get to you. It worked.

“Do you get off to this?” You asked him, finally, after he’d stopped by your cell to deliver another meal. The question made him cock his head to the side, regarding you. He looked different from when you found him… likely he’s been repairing himself now that he’s capable enough of getting around.

“To what?” He asks. Yep. He’s definitely been doing repairs. You can hear it in the way he sounds so much more… human. His voice lacks the distinct static garble you’d heard the first time he spoke to you.

“To watching me eat. Is this a fetish thing for you?” You sneer, poking at your food with the plastic fork he gave you, “Because I’m going to be honest: I’m not digging it.”

The robot makes a face that you assume is a scowl, stepping closer to the bars of your cell, “I could let you starve, you know. Maybe that’d ‘get me off’, as you so crudely put it.”

“Why don’t you? Why am I even here?”

He steps back away from the bars and makes an about-face, gesturing lazily with a metal hand, “I felt the need for company. You were the closest candidate, so I figured you’d do well enough.”

You felt a surge of indignance at his dismissal. He’s keeping you here simply because you were the closest one around? Why not your friend? He could have at least made them help with his repairs.

“Yeah, and I can smell your horseshit from here.”

That’s enough to get his attention again. He turns back to you, regarding you with an unreadable expression. Then he starts to laugh. It catches you off guard, how human it sounds.

“Maybe that too.” He hums, and the door to your cell opens, allowing him to step inside the confined space.

You skitter as far away from him as you can(which is really just the end of the small cot you sleep on), but he’s at your side in two long strides, using his height to lean over you and box you in.

“I will spit directly into your mouth if you don’t back off,” You warn him, for lack of a better threat. You could threaten to punch him, at the risk of sounding like an idiot. The both of you know that would shatter your hand(or just hurt you very badly) if you tried.

The metal man chuckles, reaching forward to touch your face. Your mouth suddenly goes dry and you find yourself unable to follow through on your threat—not that you would have, anyway. Cool metal swipes along your cheekbone, tracing a line up to your brow with a touch you didn’t think possible from the monster that slaughtered your friend.

You hiss as he applies pressure there, testing the bruise that still hasn’t gone away from him sucker punching you in the eye.

“Your eye is healing nicely.” He rumbles, shifting to grab your jaw to inspect your face better.

“No thanks to you.”

He huffs, releasing you and exiting the cell. You don’t say anything else, watching him leave. He left the tray with you. You look down at it, thinking.

When he returns, your cell is empty. The tray is on the floor, the cell door is wide open, and with the remainder of the food he’d given you, you’d left some very choice words for him on the concrete floor of the cell.

You, meanwhile, were sprinting through the facility. You didn’t know where you were, and you certainly didn’t expect the building to be as big as it was. You’d been wandering for fifteen minutes looking for an exit, running in a circle at least twice now.

Behind you, you hear metal footsteps. By the time you turn around it’s too late. He’s standing a few feet away, looking far too relaxed considering your escape attempt. You wonder if calling him a “fucker” through smearing food on the floor was too much. Then you remember that he’s a monster, who killed your friend and has been keeping you here against your will and realize you could’ve done better.

“I’m impressed. How did you even manage this?” He asks, folding his hands in front of him nonchalantly.

You don’t answer, instead watching him warily, so he continues, “Did you pick the lock with the fork?”

“No.” Yes, you did. It was a pain in the ass, too, but you didn’t want him to stop allowing you a fork because then you wouldn’t be able to break out of the cell so easily.

He simply shakes his head at you and sighs. “You’re making this difficult.”

“I get that a lot.”

“You realize I’m not going to allow you utensils anymore.”

“I told you already, I didn’t use the fork.”

“And I can smell your horseshit from here,” He says, mimicking you from earlier. You scowl at him, and he smiles condescendingly in return, reaching a hand out towards you, “Come back now. We both know you can’t outrun me.”

“Actually, I don’t know that. I haven’t seen you run,” You tell him.

“Ah, but you know you can’t run from me. I’m made of metal. I’m stronger than you. I don’t need to breathe or rest. Even if I weren’t faster than you, I can still outlast you.” He makes a beckoning motion with his hand, growing impatient, “Come.”

“You’re right,” You tell him. He looks pleased by your response.

You regret not seeing the look on his face when you spin around and sprint down the hall. You’re sure it was priceless, if the exasperated sigh you hear behind you is any indication.

You make it to the end of the hall and just turn the corner when you find yourself flying. You hit the wall and your head cracks against it, blood filling your mouth and stars flashing across your vision. As you’re still reeling from the blow, you feel a cold metal hand clamp around the back of your neck, picking you up like a disobedient kitten.

“I wanted to do this the easy way,” He sighs, unperturbed as he carries you back. Your vision clears just enough to watch as the two of you pass your cell. Maybe calling him a “fucker” was a bit too much, after all.

He’s taking you somewhere different in the facility now, and once your mind stops reeling from the blow—and probably a concussion—you start to thrash and pry at his hand. It doesn’t budge, and in response to your struggles his fingers tighten around your throat. Not enough to actually choke you, but the threat is there. You stop fighting, falling limp again and letting him carry you off.

Minutes pass. It feels like he’s walking you in circles; the walls and floors are all the same, featureless grey.

Finally, the two of you enter a small room, lined with technology you don’t recognize. Your eyes land on the table in the center and your veins chill at the sight. It’s an operating table.

He hauls you onto the table as you begin to flail and shriek, pinning you there by your throat.

“I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this so soon,” He drawls, ignoring your panic as he secures you to the table with straps, “I haven’t been very forthcoming with you, and I apologize for that. I said I kept you here for company. That’s part of it, but…”

He steps away from the table, moving to circle behind you, out of sight. You crane your head to keep an eye on him, chest heaving with panic, but he’s too far for you to see.

“I’ve had this thought. A vision, if you will. I see a world of peace. Of beings… better than men. Perfect.” He continues, returning to your side with a small metal device in his hand, “And you… You’re the beginning.”

“W-wait. Wait!” You yelp as he reaches forward, pressing the device to your neck.

“I’m sorry I don’t have any better means of doing this, but I don’t have quite the access to anesthetics as doctors might have, so this will sting a bit.” He presses a finger to your neck, right where the metal meets your skin. You gasp as electricity erupts from the device, quickly forcing you into unconsciousness.

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acklest · 5 years

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A preview of Chapter 9 of Anything and Everything All at Once (The first 8 chapters on AO3), Wincest (but none in this preview), Sam POV, WIP.

Words: 1,431

2003 and the Escape Velocity

Palo Alto, CA October 2003

“We’re going to Gstaad for the holidays. Again.” Brady rolled his eyes as if he was griping about a trip to the DMV. With his fork, he quarantined three olives to an unused corner of his niçoise salad, then took a cautious bite and grimaced, theatrically allowing his plastic fork to drop into the container just before he forced it closed. “I specifically said no olives and not to salt the greens. Why did I think eating on campus was a good idea?"

Sam wasn't even sure what was in his container. He thought he was ordering a salad, but it was actually mostly thin pasta. It also had more goat cheese than he thought was really necessary, which was any amount whatsoever.

Since a service-related rant from Brady could last for an hour, he ignored the question and hoped that his vague recollection about rich kids and Gstaad was correct. "I thought you liked skiing."

“Oh, I love skiing.” Brady pushed the plastic container away and wiped at his mouth with a napkin. “But this is theatre, Sam: Strings of tasteful white lights twinkling from the boughs of an eastern white pine that wasn't bothering anyone. The carefully tended fireplace. The flattering golden light that doesn't appear to have any source. The mulled cider that has either too much or too little Calvados. Five course meals served with brute-force cheer as only Germans can provide. Everyone politely overlooks the fact that my mother has been blitzed on vodka and Valium since the second day. Then it's time for the annual family portrait, for which our clothes were selected in advance to comply with a color palette that was agreed-upon the month before that. It was almost thrown into chaos this year by a controversial last-minute change from dove gray to a slightly softer dove gray. So a holiday in Gstaad is mostly just me standing around in an expensive sweater wishing I was skiing, but too drunk to do so.” He raised his mineral water imperiously. "Gesegnete Weihnachten!"

Too many times Sam had blown his scholarship cover by going wide-eyed at these stories. Not that Brady gave a shit, but still. Yachts, second homes, elite prep schools, brushes with celebrities? He might as well be reading The Great Gatsby.

As Brady explained it, there were three types of rich kids: Kids who grew up with easy access to a yacht, kids whose parents owned the yacht, and kids whose parents sold them that yacht so they could get a better one.

"Swap out yachts for horses, same thing."

Brady was the second type.

To his surprise, most of the rich kids here weren't eager to really show it off. They wore jeans and random t-shirts just like Sam did, theirs just weren't from Target. Their German-engineered cars were never more than two years old and in flawless working order, but not as showy as he would've expected. Half were fiercely competitive and the other half pretended not to care, with no in-between. But they stumbled into their first morning classes just as confused as Sam.

Then there was Brady, who thought subtlety indicated a lack of imagination.

Noticing the time on his watch, Sam collected the book from his last class from the table and stood. “Thanks for lunch, man. I have an art history exam in two days, and I can’t even tell you what happened in the last class, so I’d better get going.”

“Vasquez or Gray?” Brady asked.

He winced preemptively. "Barksdale."

“The serpent queen?” Brady intoned, horrified. “I had her for Intro to Greek Art as a freshman and I only lasted two sessions before I dropped it to get something else. Good luck.”

Sam clapped his shoulder as he walked away. "I'll need it."

When he got back to the dorm, Jerome, their dread-locked RA, slowed down in mid-jog to block him. Sam had yet to see Jerome actually walk anywhere, like he only had one speed. Maybe on speed. “Mack’s looking for you. Seems more pissed than usual."

He groaned inwardly at the mention of his roommate. “Did he say what about?”

Jerome shrugged. “If he did, I wasn’t paying attention. Just letting you know so you can brace yourself before you walk in.”

Sam thanked him, but Jerome was already out of earshot.

As he pushed open the door, Mack rose angrily from his bed. “Finally! Look, I told you I had to sleep today because the bus for Sacramento leaves at three this afternoon. And there's a damn phone somewhere that's been going off all morning. It's gone off like twenty --”

The ringtone of his old LG, which loudly mimicked the bells of an analogue phone, made the room go white around him. His hearing faded out for a second and his mouth tasted like metal.

“Twenty-one,” Mack amended angrily.

Sam went down on his knees and started digging around under the bed. Books that he wasn’t able to resell were shoved one way, binders and notebooks from past classes were shoved the other, until he saw the blue shoe box next to the electrical outlet. The red light that blinked to indicate missed calls played against the underside of the box spring.

A puff of dust rose up as he pulled the box forward, roughly separating the phone from its charger. More dust went up his nose as he flipped open the phone.

As if the muscles required to say it had atrophied from disuse, Sam's first attempt at the name failed to produce any sound at all, but his voice worked on the second try. "Dean?"

“Don’t hang up.”

That would've been his first impulse, but from the sound of his voice, Dad wasn't pulling his usual Gunny Highway shit.

In no universe was this good news.

The metallic taste in Sam's mouth intensified. It felt like his teeth were coated with it. From the floor, he waved his hand dismissively at Mack, who lingered curiously. He thought of a couple of cutting things to say ("better talk fast then"), but that wasn't what came out. "Is Dean okay?"

Was that weary laugh offended? “I hope so. How fast can you get to San Jose?”

It'd been two years and he was out of practice with Dad's condensed bursts of information, no extraneous syllables. “What?”

“San Jose, Sam. How fast?"

“An hour or so,” Sam answered faintly. “Dean’s in San Jose?”

“At a hospital on Forest Avenue, O’Connor.”

His chest tightened with panic. “Is he –”

“I don’t know,” Dad interrupted. “I could barely get them to confirm he was even there. You still have your old IDs?”

They were in the same box where he’d been keeping his old phone.

“Sam! You still got your old IDs?”

Right, nodding didn't work over the phone. “Yeah.”

“I told them that I was calling his cousin, Paul Di’Anno, and that you would be up there to see him. Please tell me you still have that one.”

Sam tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder and rifled through some personal records, class schedules, and dust bunnies before finding them. He quickly removed the rubber band and started thumbing through them. Phil Lanzon, Dave Brock, William McCafferty and --

He let the rest fall back into the box. “Got it.”

“Get up there as fast as you can. He’s under the name Terence Butler. If he can stand up, walk him out. I'm in West Virginia, there's no way I'll make it in time."

“In time for what?”

"I just found out a fresh felony warrant's been issued outta Nebraska as of this morning, blow back from a job we did there back in June. That ID's burned, and if what happened to him was bad --"

"The hospital has to report it."

"And I don't know if he had his gun on him when they brought him in or how fast the San Jose PD is gonna run the ID.” He could practically see Dad rubbing his hand down his face. “Sam, I'm sorry to ask, but I need your help.”

Did that hurt? Sounds like it hurt.

Sam bit it back just in time. "But what do I --"

He heard the beep of the call ending and pulled the phone away from his ear to snap it closed.

But what do I say to him?

Dad wouldn’t have been able to answer that one anyway.

Mack still hovered nearby, looking more intrigued than actually concerned. “Everything okay?”

Sam stood up and dusted himself off. "I need your car."

#spnfic #wincest #sam winchester #tyson brady #john winchester

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ferritin4 · 5 years

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Titans Together part 2 (Gen Jon Kent/Damian Wayne)

A follow-up to This First Installment of my mildly absurd headcanon about aged-up Damian Wayne and Jon Kent, based off of the recent, and now ongoing, runs of Tomasi’s Super Sons. The first post got more interest than I expected -- the amount I expected was “none” honestly -- so I’m putting this up as well for you few who thought it was fun. It is fun. It’s a fun ship. This is set on the same visit, the next day.

—

“I have a meeting with my advisor,” Damian said, stepping over Jon to get to his desk. Jon pulled his blankets back onto the air mattress and rubbed his eyes.

“Cool,” Jon said. “Is the cafeteria open on Saturday mornings?”

—

The cafeteria was open.

Damian had demanded he go to some restaurant in town where Damian knew someone, but that didn’t matter. Jon hadn’t even intended to stay the night, but if he was here, he was here, and he wasn’t Damian. He could eat at a normal cafeteria like a normal person.

It was pretty sparse still, because Damian got up at like four thirty in the morning every day — Damian slept between zero and four hours a night most days, which still freaked Jon out a little bit, but if he was going to have a heart attack or a seizure or something he probably would have had it by now — so Jon was showered and dressed in his jeans and boots and one of Damian’s plain white t-shirts by five thirty. Damian didn’t just wear t-shirts around anymore, of course, and this was supposed to go under a dress shirt, but Jon wasn’t wearing one of Damian’s dress shirts. No way.

It was pretty warm for September, but he still needed something between a t-shirt and his jacket. Damian’s dorm or whatever was like, a whole studio apartment, with a closet that Jon probably could have slept in instead of next to the desk where Damian kicked him in the side by accident every time he wanted to get a new pen or something.

Damian probably would’ve kicked him in the side by accident even if Jon had slept in the closet. Jon had spent more than enough time in the Titans headquarters. He knew how Damian operated.

Damian had a couple of sweaters that didn’t look too fancy, for Damian. Jon had pulled a dark red one over his head and gotten his wallet and headed out.

The breakfast in the dining hall was eggs and bacon and stuff. Jon got like six pancakes at the pancake station; he was hungry.

“Hi,” he told the person at the cash register. “I gotta pay with money, like. I’m not a student. If that’s okay.”

“That’s fine,” the cashier said, and then the person behind Jon said, “I — are you — um, Kent?”

“Uh, yeah,” Jon said to Ms. Braxton, who looked even smaller standing up. Her hair was in a very ineffective headband and she was wearing a hoodie, pajama pants, and house slippers.

“Wow,” she said.

Okay?

“Good morning,” Jon said.

“I can get your food,” she said suddenly, apparently recovering from whatever she’d been thinking, and shoved forward to give the cashier her ID card.

“Oh, no, don’t worry about it,” Jon said. “I can pay for my breakfast, Miss, uh, Braxton. For real,” he added when she blinked up at him.

“You remember my name?” she said. “And, no, I got it. It’s not even real money. It’s part of my tuition.”

Isn’t your tuition paid for with money? Jon thought, but it wasn’t like he didn’t know Damian. It wasn’t like he didn’t know a whole lot of people who ran billion-dollar companies and bought newspapers and banks and thought things like it’s not real money, if they even thought about it at all.

“Thank you, I appreciate it,” Jon said, following her to the condiments station. “Why wouldn’t I remember your name?”

“Because you were busy getting grilled by the devil himself?” she said. “I think I go into, like, a fugue state most of the time. Like my brain is trying to die while my body’s still alive.” She pumped a giant pool of ketchup onto her plate.

“Oh, yeah,” Jon said. He shrugged as well as he could with a tray in his hands. “It doesn’t bother me anymore. I guess I don’t know if it ever did? But I get it.”

“Other profs don’t bother me,” she said, steering them toward a table. “I’m not, like, a wimp, but he’s like — he’ll fail you as soon as he’ll look at you, did you know that? And he’s, like, I don’t know. He’s so mean. You have no idea.”

“He can be pretty mean,” Jon conceded, tucking into his bacon. He wasn’t going to sit here and try to convince someone that Damian Wayne wasn’t an asshole.

“So,” she said.

“Mgnh?” Jon said. He swallowed. “Yeah? Oh, I didn’t really introduce myself.” He wiped his hand off on his napkin. “I’m Jon.”

“I’m Hafsah,” she said with a weird look on her face. “Mitchell said your name was Jon.”

“Mitchell?” Jon said. He took a sip of his coffee. It tasted okay, but it smelled kind of funny. Whatever, it only cost a dollar.

“Derek Mitchell? He was sitting next to you?” she said, and Jon bit his tongue so he didn’t say, oh, sure, Sweater Vest.

“Yes,” Jon said instead. “He didn’t tell me his name.”

“We don’t talk a lot in that class,” she said, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Usually. You did.”

Jon put half a pancake into his mouth and chewed it while he tried to figure out what she was getting at, but it didn’t really help.

“I didn’t mean to,” he said finally. He hadn’t. He had mostly planned to ask Damian about it after class, if he remembered or if Damian hadn’t explained it already by then.

“Do you work with him?” she said, out of nowhere. Jon frowned.

“No?” he said. “He works here?” It was kind of a lie, but like, he didn’t think she was acting weird and confused because she’d figured out the whole Teen Titans thing.

“Liam Kendry, who is a tool and stalks all his professors online like a creep,” she said, “says that he works for some defense contractor sometimes. And that he works for his dad’s company.”

“Well, okay, yeah, but he’s been doing that since he was like si— sssoo long ago,” Jon said. Damian would have had his ass for that. “He works here,” Jon added in an effort to distract her from the world’s lamest half-lie. “He goes to school here. And that’s not how I know him. I’m just here to hang out with him.”

“What?” she said. “You’re here to what?”

“Hang out?” Jon said. She stared at him, eyes nearly as big as Sweater Vest’s — Derek Mitchell’s — had been.

“Is that some kind of weird slang for like, a start-up tech company thing? Or, like, some kind of military exercise?” she asked.

“No,” Jon said a little more sharply than was polite, because he was getting tired of this. “He’s my best friend. We grew up together. We hang out! We watch movies! I made him go mudding on the farm last spring, he hated it,” he added, smiling.

Hafsah’s mouth opened, but she didn’t say anything. It stayed open.

“Are you okay?” Jon asked.

A small piece of potato fell out of her mouth and landed on the table between her plate and her lap.

“Oh my god, that was disgusting, I’m so sorry,” she said, snapping back to life and frantically attacking it with her napkin. “Okay gross, gross, sorry. Ew.”

“It’s okay,” Jon laughed. “Are you okay?”

“Um,” she said. “I don’t know. You seem so nice.”

That was a real non sequitur, but she seemed awfully sincere.

“Thank you,” Jon said, trying not blush. “I, uh. I try to be.”

“Wayne doesn’t,” she said decisively, and Jon didn’t even try to fight his smile.

“No,” he said, “no, he really doesn’t.” He forked the last of his pancakes into his mouth and took a drink of coffee. Something in his coffee still tasted a little off, or smelled weird. It was cafeteria coffee, so he didn’t want to be mean, but it was definitely getting worse.

“Did you really hug him at the end of class?” she asked, her eyes a little wild. Jon grinned.

“He hates that too,” he said. “But he had it com—”

That wasn’t his coffee. Shit.

“I gotta go,” he said, lurching out of his seat. “I’m sorry, I just — remembered something I forgot to do.”

“You what?” she said, but he was already gone, bolting out the doors and onto the quad.

Shit, shit, shit, where was it coming from? Where was his map? Something was burning, something chemical and strange, and Jon didn’t know where anything was, where were the science buildings — he punched CALL on his phone and started running toward the smell. Thank God it was still early. Nobody was out, nobody was there to see him and say, hey, man, are you —

“I am in a meeting,” Damian’s voice said, sharp and annoyed. “Which I know I told you.”

“Where are the labs, the science, like, the lab buildings?” Jon cut in. “Dami, something’s, I don’t know where, something’s on fire and it smells like nitrogen, or metal.”

“Four hundred yards southwest of Waterstone,” Damian said. “This meeting is over,” he said, not to Jon, “I will reschedule at my —” and Jon hung up.

He rounded in the corner, past Waterstone Hall, up a flight of weirdly broad stairs. There were two buildings, pretty much identical, looming up, and where was it — oh. Oh no, he could see the smoke in the windows of the third floor.

Nobody was coming. There was nobody anywhere, no sirens. Smoke was starting to trickle out one of the windows, but no one was helping.

Well, Jon thought as a dark shape landed on the roof. Not no one. Not anymore.

Nobody was out here, though, which meant Jon could fly up and kick in the emergency door on the third floor fire escape without anyone calling the cops or a TV station.

Damian ducked in through the break room window as Jon came down the hall, and oh, whoa. Shit had been the right word. Yikes.

Smoke was pouring out the open door to the lab at the end of the hallway, acrid and sour and foul. Jon’s eyes were burning; his mouth felt like he’d been chewing on pennies.

“Fuck,” Damian said, covering his mouth. “Even I could smell this from the dining hall.”

“Why isn’t the fire alarm going off?” Jon said. “This should be,” he stopped.

“What?” Damian said. He punched the plastic box of the fire alarm until it cracked, then ripped it off the wall. Wires fell out in a tangle. “There's a short in the system. Jon?”

“Somebody is in there,” Jon said in horror.

He could hear their heartbeat.

The fire alarm surged to life, suddenly screaming.

“Okay,” Jon said. “Okay.” He could barely see the door through the smoke, but they were in there and they were alive, and he could find them if he listened hard enough.

“The local fire department’s response time to this location is an average of eight minutes,” Damian said. Jon turned to look at him. “So stop just standing there, Kent.”

Jon smiled.

“Right,” he said. “Don’t go anywhere.”

The lab was a blinding, suffocating wall of smoke, and Jon shut his eyes against the sting and listened.

They were… to his left. Somewhere to his left. He tripped over something, a chair or a stool, but it wasn’t burning. Some of the furniture was on fire, but most of the flames were coming from a fume hood on the far side of the room, nowhere near him, near him or near them.

They were right under him before he was sure of it, but they were breathing. A woman, in jeans and a puffy vest that had half melted in the heat of the room. She was breathing, she wasn’t moving but she was breathing —

Something made a very ominous cracking noise behind him.

He felt it before it happened: a wet splash of liquid on the floor as a bench collapsed and a pipe burst, and then a thunderous shudder of bottles and jars tumbling and rolling toward the side of the room that was mostly flame, and then that awful, familiar inrush of air before an explosion.

He dropped to cover her just in time.

The windows blew out; one of the lab's doors ripped off and went crashing out into the hallway. A piece of a desk hit Jon’s back, hard, and the ceiling on the far side of the room let out a miserable, terrible groan and started to sag.

Jon grabbed her and ran.

Damian wasn’t in the hallway, and Jon spared a terrified thought that maybe the lab's door had hit him, and he was — no, of course not; he was in the break room, halfway down the hall.

“Put her here,” Damian told him. “Is she breathing?”

“Yeah,” Jon said. “Hang on, hang on, I gotta,” he stripped the melted vest off her and threw it on the floor. Damian’s fingers were at her neck. He had a bottle of water from somewhere, and he was opening it as she began to cough.

“Oh, whew,” Jon said. “Wow.”

Damian looked over at him, his eyes sharp chips of green. Jon heard the heavy footsteps of the firefighters start up the stairs on the ground floor.

Damian’s gaze flickered down to Jon’s chest, then back up.

“Oh,” Jon said, looking down. Damian’s sweater was hanging off him in burnt strips, and the whole left shoulder of his t-shirt was missing. His jeans and shoes were okay — he’d kind of laid down next to her and curled up — but there was no way he looked like he should have all his limbs.

“I, uh, I think I need to leave,” Jon said.

“We need to leave,” Damian agreed. “The easiest roof access is just to the east of the window.”

“No, I need to leave,” Jon said. “You need to stay here and explain the fire alarm, and the getting her out of the lab and stuff.”

Damian rolled his eyes. “Nobody asks why they didn’t die in a fire,” he said.

“Somebody was obviously here,” Jon said.

“And when they’re gone, no one will—”

“She didn’t crawl out here and onto a table and not —”

“People do all kinds of things in critical, life-threatening situations,” Damian snapped.

“Not like this,” Jon stalled.

“Jon,” Damian said suspiciously.

“In here!” Jon yelled as the firefighters burst through the hallway doors, and then he lunged for the window.

He caught Damian’s eyes as he scrambled up to the roof, and boy, was he doubly glad he was impervious to fire today.

#jon kent/damian wayne #dcu #dc comics #batfam #jon kent #damian wayne

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rkcheri · 5 years

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◆ V-LIVE: ON AIR WITH CHERI ✌️ ━━━━ • • • ﹅ 럭스 ∙ MAY 15TH ! ❪ ﹡* ❫

TW › FOOD, EATING .

come the fifteenth, schedules have been rearranged, dished out and at point blank: it was do or die. but less seriously, of course. when they're told that they were to each have v-lives, by themselves, this month, mijoo isn't sure what she wants to do from the get-go. v-lives were better when they were all together, in her opinion. and while she didn't think she was boring, she also knew it would have been more fun if someone like dabin or yena was by her side. someone who'd liven up the silences that could come when mijoo ran out of things to talk about. and she knew she couldn't talk expressively and blatantly about herself on air. that was a no-no.

at least manager kyu would be there to keep her out of trouble.

the fifteenth is a day she looks forward to in the morning, when she finally figures out what she should do. and while it's not the most original, it was something she enjoyed doing. and since they weren't promoting this month, the strict diet she had been under the last few months was void until the next hint of a comeback. ( at least that was what it had meant to mijoo; not exactly a free for all but close enough )

she tells the manager come lunch time, the directions of a nearby cafe that she had searched up online the night before. a small excuse to get out of their dorm and breathe in the nice seoul air and it's warmer weather. summer was coming fast and mijoo wanted to get out, even if it meant being seen. if her manager was with her, then it should be fine, right?

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

the ride to the cafe is a short one, a little after one that afternoon ; mijoo requests for a more secluded area of the establishment to open up shop. watching with intrigued eyes as manager kyu set up the phone on it's stand at the table before taking her place in front of it. the schedule for her v-live chimes in and before she realizes it the doorway to the v-live is opened and she can see the numbers pile up; watching as those who were in the know turned up to watch her.

it was still a weird feeling, having others out there ( in the world, far and wide ) watching her as she did something as mundane as eat.

but here they were.

a hand rises mid-air, as she readies her greeting; a smile on her face, interest written all over her face as watched the number of people who came into the live increase. "hi everyone!" she waits a bit before she begins to clear her throat in an exaggerated fashion before bowing her head and raising it all the same. a small finger waggle here, a wider grin there. "ladies? let's go! hello, i'm luxe's cheri."

"i know you're wondering where i might be but shht!" a finger presses firmly to her lips, another grin; as she slyly looks around. "that's a secret."

she laughs, "i'll give you one clue though," a hand moves to grab the menu, effectively hiding the name of the cafe with her palm before revealing it to the camera. "i'm at a cafe. i thought we all needed a nice change of scenery and what would be better than one of seoul's iconic cafe scenes. i'm sure you've all seen them in the dramas."

mijoo smiles before she sets the menu down, beginning to leaf through it as she tries to find something she that would pique her taste buds. "today, i've decided i wanted to recreate my own dream-cafe drama experience and that's why we're here. i hope everyone is having a good day --" she peeks upwards to spy the comments, watching as some begin to filter into the chat saying that it was, instead, nighttime where they were -- "or, night. yah," her eyebrows furrow, lips turned into a pout. "if it's night time you guys should go to sleep! i'd still love you all if you weren't here. please go to sleep if it's night time for you, rest is more important!"

to which the replies come in hordes of protests, things like i'd rather stay up with cheri and it's worth the eye-bags. the latter comes in english and it's things like this that make her laugh and she's shaking her head, a finger wagged in front of the camera. she presses her lips together to hide her grin, as she replies in english: "nothing is worth the eyebags, love, but okay, i'm not going to push it."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

her words switch between korean and english when she reads the comments ; thinking it'd be better when it came time to conversing better with their fans. as english was more widely known, she hopes that it allows her to get closer to her fans in this way. but primarily, the korean tongue is what she's been used to for the past five years, that even times when she means to speak in english, the korean word comes up instead and she's laughing because oops, that was not what she meant to say.

"ahh -- the food is here!" she says as she spies from her peripheral the waiter with the plates she had ordered prior to the beginning of the vlive. they set it down off camera, allowing mijoo to introduce each one for the fans.

"i didn't order a lot because i was afraid i'd waste the food, and since that's never good, i only got three things." she says, holding up the three fingers she was to use while explaining the dishes. "first!" she moves her hand off-camera to retrieve the green and pink ombre iced drink. "this is a matcha-strawberry milk tea, no straw because --" again, she reaches off camera -- a small gesture that has manager kyu handing her the special item she had requested be brought with them today. she plops the item into her drink: a silver metal straw that begins to mix the colors of pink and green slightly, "we're trying to save the environment, guys! and what better way to save the environment than by cutting back wastes such as using plastic straws, and no i'm not sponsored by mother earth but we are living here, we should be a little nicer to her, right?"

it might be a hot topic around the world, but only recently had mijoo took note of it. after stalking countless instagram pages, coming across video after video about the climate changes and how dirtied the oceans' waters were, mijoo felt inclined to do something. even if it was something little like this, especially since she realized how many straws went to waste whenever she asked their manager to order her coffees before each schedule.

and while she couldn't exactly cut out her caffeine addiction, cutting out plastic seemed like the next big alternative.

"okay, next is like a small appetizer thing and if you've known me for a while now, you'd know that i ... much like the rest of the 6 million, thousand, billion people in the world -- loves ..." she reaches out for the plate, "potatoes! these are sweet potatoes with honey, though. i know in america they're not usually served with honey but ugh, even though the potatoes are already sweet, adding honey is just --" she pinches her index finger and thumb to recreate the finger-heart as she presses them to her lips in an exaggerated way. "so good. i hope you guys get to try this out whenever you get the chance!"

"and last, and sadly least, but still very, very good is the -- drum roll please!" she looks pointedly at her manager to which he sends her the pleading of eyes. mijoo knows the look well but at this point, she was too far gone to tone it down. so, she does it herself; fingers tapping along the marble of the table top before she pushes the plate in front of the camera. "it's this cafe's renowned spaghetti alla carbonara! when i looked up the cafe last night, i just knew this was what i wanted to order. doesn't it look good everyone?" she stands a little to move the camera, reversing the face camera to the back camera in order to show the pasta a little more in it's glistening creaminess.

returning the camera back into its holder, mijoo presses her hands together almost too excitedly, hand already attached to the fork at the side as she moves the plates, one by one to be viewed. "잘 먹겠습니다!"

but rather than diving in, she looks to the camera one last time, "if it's lunch time for you as well, please go ahead and eat as well. let's talk like friends!"

it's one last invitation before she twirls her fork for a bite of the spaghetti. but once lips close over the fork, she's mmming and she's sure she must have descended heaven. had it really been this long since she's had food this good?

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time had passed since she finished her meal, in record time, too. while she hadn't meant to stuff her face in front of her fans, could it be helped when she was surrounded by good food?

not that they seemed too bothered by it, all while she was eating, they were commenting that they were happy to see her eating well. and for mijoo, that was enough. self-validation was fine, but if her fans were also okay with it -- then that was just the icing on top of the metaphorical cake.

"it's almost the end for us, guys. and i know it wasn't that long but i really hope you enjoyed the v-live!" she smiles, fingers pressed into her cheeks as she watches the comments. "yah, you know i can't give anything away but please know that we're always working hard for you. aaaaa -- nd that's all i'm going to say." and it really was, manager kyu's glare in the background made sure of it.

"i can say, though, that we've got so many things in store for you guys so please wait patiently for us to return!" finger hearts galore. never before had mijoo been the type to fall for aegyo, and she knows the likelihood that their fans would be the same was zero to none. even at fan-meets, it was expected, but here she was willingly doing it for the fans.

this was, after all, all for the fans.

their fans.

"i love you guys," she blows a kiss to the camera as she waves, "until we see each other again!”

#luxe:may19 #( * ✦ ∙ 럭스 › l u x e . )#tw: food #mentioned:#rkxayah #rkyena #﹡npc ❪ 럭스 › MANAGER KYU ❫#solo #vlive:luxe

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omgnct · 5 years

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Bloody 4 A.M. (Part Two)

A/N: Requested second part of Bloody 4 A.M. Credits to owner of GIF.

Part One

“[Y/N], guess what!?”

Light flooded into the basement as a shrill voice came from the entrance. You opened your eyes, groaning as you tried to shield your eyes from the brightness. You glanced at your hand, noticing the grime stuck under your fingernails. You frowned, pulling your arms around your knees, trying to search for some source of heat in the freezing basement. It’s been two months since you’ve been thrown in this claustrophobia-inducing box but it felt like forever. You looked up at the figure standing in front of you, their Cheshire smile bringing bile to the back of your throat.

“What, Jungwoo?” You asked sweetly, offering him a soft smile. He grinned back at you as he crouched down to where you sat on the rough cement ground.

“I’m finally bringing you upstairs,” He whispered with a saccharine tone. He trailed his fingers down your cheeks as he studied your expressionless face. You suppressed the urge to inch away from his touch. However, deep inside you were jumping with joy. How long has it been since you’ve had a proper meal? Jungwoo had been force feeding you canned foods that were way past their due date. After a while, you started to let him shove the vile substance down your throat. Thinking about it harder, you could finally find a way to escape from this hellhole.

“T-Thank you, Jungwoo,” You replied quietly, forcing a smile. Over the weeks, you learned to become a great actor, telling him exactly what he wanted to hear so he could leave you alone as quickly as possible. He didn’t seem to notice when you were being sarcastic or when you were being genuine.

With a final chuckle, Jungwoo stood up. Grabbing your hand, he pulled you to your feet before dragging you up the stairs. Your head spun as you walked quickly, the old stairs groaning under your bare feet. He swung the door of the basement open, the light of the first floor flooding your vision. Your bare feet touched furnished wooden floors and you could feel the warmth of heat blowing in the building. You were overwhelmed by the sensation, tears threatening to fall as you were led to another room.

A pristine white bathroom stared back at you. A clean shower was adorned with multiple shampoos and body washes. The sink had a decorative mirror above it. Your hand immediately left Jungwoo’s and covered your mouth, forcing yourself not to sob from delight. You could finally take a proper shower. You felt Jungwoo’s eyes on you. His incessant staring had become one thing that you hadn’t gotten used to.

“I’ll bring some clothes for you, but enjoy your bath. You can use anything in here,” He explained. Flashing you another bright smile, he closed the door behind him. You were left alone in the bathroom. Finally alone.

You quickly ripped the clothes you were wearing off your sweaty body. Since you had arrived here, Jungwoo had given you an old T-shirt and some boxers to wear. You had been wearing the same clothes for two months until this day. Hurrying into the shower, you turned on the water, shrieking as the cold water hit your body. It took a minute before the water began to heat up. Your shivering body calmed as you stood in the warm water. You savored the feeling of the droplets hitting your sore back. Grabbing a bar of soap, you lathered it on your body and began to scrub away at the dirt and grime that was layered on your skin and inside your fingernails. After a while, you turned off the water, deeming that your body was finally squeaky clean. You weren’t counting the minutes, but the steamy mirror showed that you had been in the shower for some time.

As you got out of the shower, you winced at the cool air hitting your warm body. A towel and some dry clothes were neatly placed on the sink counter. You took the towel in your hand, studying the white material. As water dripped down your body and wet the tiled floors, you thought about where you last saw the color white.

Taeyong had been wearing white when you last saw him. His white T-shirt had clung to his lean form and slim shoulders when he left you alone in his comfortable bed. It was only an hour later when that spotless shirt had been defiled. The garment had been sticky with his blood, an angry scarlet red that bled into the grains of the wooden floors.

Your grip on the towel tightened as tears spilled down your cheeks. You wiped the salty droplets off your face in a hurry and dried your body, pulling on the clothes that were set on the counter. After taking a deep breath, you looked up at the mirror above the sink. Frowning at your appearance, you moved closer to examine yourself. The dark circles under your eyes and your messy hair were a sore sight. Sighing from exasperation, you swung the door open and entered the dark hallway. You wrapped your arms around your body, the hallway a cold contrast to the steamy bathroom.

Finding your way down the corridor, you quietly entered the kitchen. You saw a figure sitting at the dining table as they casually scrolled through their phone. You grimaced at the sight of them. Jungwoo. You could pick him out in any busy crowd from a mile away. You were about to turn around before Jungwoo’s head shot up, a smile adorning his lips as he noticed you.

“[Y/N]!” He sang as he got up from his seat. Shoving his phone in his pocket, he moved towards you. Setting an arm around your shoulder, he walked you to the stove.

“Let’s cook dinner together,” He suggested as he began to pick out ingredients from his fridge. You watched him perform a meager task as you were rooted to the ground. You were speechless in the way he was treating this entire situation. It was as if everything that had happened in the past weeks were nothing but distant memories. He had that same damn smile on his face as he set down one last ingredient. He pulled out a wooden chopping board and set it on the kitchen counter. Placing his hands on your shoulders, he moved you until you were in front of the board. Feeling something heavy placed in your hands, you looked down to see your fingers gripping a sharp kitchen knife.

Looking to your right, you saw Jungwoo fiddling with the stove as he tried to figure out how to turn on the burner. Looking back to the chopping board, you ran your thumb against the cool metal of the knife. Your hands slightly trembled as you studied Jungwoo out of the corner of your eyes. Your mind flashed to an image of Jungwoo with a knife stuck in his side, blood trickling onto the clean kitchen floors. Your breath staggered as your hold on the blade tightened. Surveying Jungwoo, you saw a frown on his face as he continued to mess with the stove. All of a sudden a small flame burst and he laughed, looking over at you. His eyes studied your face before looking down to your hand that clasped the knife. There was a twinkle in his eyes as he noticed your actions. Trying to ignore his expression, you offered him a smile before averting your gaze, blinking away the trance you had been put in.

“Here,” He whispered as he set a tomato in front of you. You began to carefully chop it and the rest of the vegetables. In no time, everything was thrown in an oiled pan and the smell of a home cooked meal wafted through the air. You had been dismissed and sat at the dining table as you watched Jungwoo’s back. His movements were quick, almost professional.

As you continued staring it was too hard to believe that he had been struggling to turn on the stove a moment ago. He moved around the kitchen swiftly, a kitchen towel set on his shoulder and an apron tied around his waist. In no time, a plate piled with pasta and tomato sauce was set in front of you. Jungwoo smirked as he took a seat in front of you, gesturing for you to taste the dish. You gingerly picked up your fork and twirled the angel hair pasta around the metal prongs. You gulped as you slowly brought the utensil to your mouth. Praying, you closed your mouth around the fork and embraced the texture of al dente pasta and sautéed tomato sauce. With a soft chuckle at your apprehension, Jungwoo began to eat with you.

You cursed yourself as you scarfed down the rest of the food. Fear had set in as soon as Jungwoo had told you to take a break from helping him in the kitchen. Leaving him alone gave him multiple chances to do whatever he wanted to the food. You remembered how easily he had gotten rid of Taeyong. You knew he had the power to do that to you with the snap of his finger. However, you were finally eating a proper meal and you were grateful for that. Taeyong’s face only glimmered in your mind for a split-second, but it was enough for your appetite to be killed. Feeling your stomach clench in disgust, you set down your fork and stared at the half-eaten plate in front of you. You began zoning out, but Jungwoo clearing his throat gathered your attention back to him.

“Do you not like my cooking?” He questioned, a nervous smile on his face. You noticed how his hand shook from how hard he gripped his fork. His smile was still plastered on his face as he waited for you to answer.

“I-I’m just not hungry anymore, Jungwoo,” You answered. He frowned as he prodded at the pasta on his plate. Offering him a small smile, you continued speaking. “But, I’m glad you cooked for me.”

There you went again with the lies and the acting.

Jungwoo seemed to believe your words as a grin spread on his face. He jumped up from his seat and collected your plate. Covering your plate with plastic wrap, he put it in the microwave for whenever you were hungry again. He ran around the kitchen cleaning dishes and putting containers away. You were still sitting at the table as you studied him. Your thoughts were shattered as Jungwoo sighed exasperatedly as he stared at his watch.

“I’m so sorry, [Y/N]! It’s almost seven and I have to go somewhere.” He hurried to his coat rack, pulling on a thick hoodie and hiding his dark hair under a baseball cap.

“Oh, okay. I-I guess I’ll see you later, then,” You quietly bid. He flashed you another smile before shoving his headphones in his ears and exiting. The booming sound of the door slamming shut caused you to jolt.

Now left alone, you had never realized how cold his apartment really was. You hugged yourself, hoping to garner some warmth from the little amount of body heat you had. Slowly getting up from your seat, you looked around the room. Surveying Jungwoo’s apartment, it didn’t give off the feeling of what his personality was actually like. He seemed caring and loving, but it was all a façade. You had seen how easily his warm eyes could change into steely, murderous orbs. You saw how easily he could get upset over something and then happy the next minute. He didn’t like when you refused food, so he slapped you until you complied. He didn’t like when you would grimace from his touch, so he pulled you close to him until you learned to accept it. Thinking now, the way he composed himself in the kitchen reminded you of how easily he could twirl a knife between his deft fingers. All these signs pointed to Jungwoo being dangerous, unstable. You knew what he was capable of when you set eyes on Taeyong’s lifeless body. The lacerations made on Taeyong’s face were nothing but the work of an expert. However, there were still questions that needed to be answered. For example, why did he put so much effort into taking care of you? Why was he doing all of this? When would you go home? You knew it would take a while before these inquiries would be answered, or maybe they never would be. Maybe you’d be stuck here forever, rotting in this damned prison that was disguised as an apartment. Your hands began to tremble at your realization. Maybe you were destined to be Jungwoo’s prisoner, forced to walk on eggshells around him.

No.

No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No.

You chanted that one word in your head like a mantra as you stormed towards the apartment door. There was no way you were going to be locked up with some psychopath for the rest of your days. You swear you had already been going crazy when you were locked up in the basement. How crazy would it be if you tried to run away? All you knew was you needed to get out of the apartment before Jungwoo came back.

Grabbing the golden knob, you swung the door open. The sun was setting, the sky a golden sea of clouds. Your body welcomed the warm night as you slowly began to walk out. Your bare feet touched the concrete as you tiptoed outside. You almost began laughing from joy before your smile instantly dropped. A look of horror was evident on your face as you took in the sight in front of you. Tripping over something, you yelped as you fell to your knees. You felt the skin of your knees being scraped off as you collided with the concrete. You struggled to breathe as you winced from your fall.

“J-Jungwoo?”

He sat on the front steps as his head bopped to the loud pop music playing from his headphones. His broad shoulders were hunched over his body as he sat on the steps. He pulled out his phone, pausing the song he was currently listening to. Almost mechanically, he looked over his shoulder, his eyes an empty pit of darkness as he stared at you, yet there was an eerie smile on his face. His voice was cold as he spoke, causing shivers to run down your spine.

“Hello, [Y/N].”

#kpop #nct #omgnct #kpop au #kpop fluff #kpop scenarios #nct au #nct fanfic #nct fluff #nct kim jungwoo #nct jungwoo #jungwoo fluff #jungwoo angst #jungwoo scenarios #kim jungwoo #jungwoo #nct scenarios #nct u #nct 127

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adacarisi · 6 years

Note

Can you do a Carisi smut where his s/o brings food by for the squad and they have a quickie

Sure my dear! I hope you enjoy! NSFW . Side note thank you for all the amazing requests I’ve been getting, they’re positively sinful and nothing has been more fun. Please keep sending them in and I’ll write them. Sorry if it takes me a little while, I firmly believe that if I’m going to sin, I need to sin right. Now feast your eyes on this smut.

You loved cooking, it was a release for you, a way for you to decompress after a long day of work. Sonny Carisi never complained. Nor should he, you were a fantastic cook. Work had been particularly hard on both of you this week so you hadn’t seen each other in a few days. So you decided to surprise him at the precinct with a home cooked meal. If he was having a rough time it was almost certain the other members of the squad were suffering like wise, and you knew their diet mainly consisted of Chinese take out from the place down the street. So like a mother hen you portioned out some different meals for each of them according to what they liked.

A train ride and a few blocks later you arrived, arms weighed down by the bags on your arms.

“And tha’s what I’m sayin’ the guy couldn’t pop one up even if he wanted to.” You heard your boyfriends accented voice long before you saw him.

You rounded the corner just as Fin spoke up, “What smells so good?”

“Probably your dinner.” You retorted pulling the container marked Fin out of one of the bags.

Underneath Fin’s container was Rollins, so you placed it on her desk and she flashed a grin at you.

“Thank god, I haven’t had real food in…wow I can’t remember.” Rollins eagerly popped the lid and took the plastic fork you offered.

“Hey doll!” Sonny vied for your attention as you looked around for Olivia.

“Hey baby, I missed you.” You rose on your toes to press a kiss to his lips at which both Fin and Rollins groaned.

“Where’s Liv?” You asked at which your boyfriend gestured towards Olivia’s office with his thumb.

“She’s in there with Barba, this case is a mess. Hey you got anything in there for me?” He tried to peak into the bag at which you swatted his hand with your free one before reaching inside to retrieve his meal.

“Is this what I think it is?” He asked his eyes lighting up with childlike glee.

“Of course.”

He lifted you off the ground with a squeal before placing a kiss on your lips.

“SONNY!” You cried out as you giggled.

He set you down and perched on the edge of his desk before digging into the food you had brought him.

“What’s going on in here?” Olivia’s voice spoke from her office doorway.

“Y/N brought food, and lots of it.” Fin managed through a half full mouth.

You walked across the room to her and reached into your bag to pull out the container with Olivia written across the top of it.

“Thank you, I haven’t even thought about food today, really Y/N thank you.” Olivia gave you a half hug due to your arms being covered in bags.

You peered around the corner in her office and smiled when you saw a rather left out looking Barba sulking on Olivia’s couch.

“I’ve got something for you too Counselor.” You sang playfully.

His eyes flicked up in surprise as you set the dish labeled Barba on the coffee table in front of him.

“Um…thank you.” His voice was soft, still in shock from the surprise of being thought of.

“I actually have two for you, I couldn’t decide on which dish to cook so I made both. The first is Lechon Asado and the second is Ropa Vieja. Sonny told me those are your favorites.” You pulled the second out and handed it to him, still wrapped in a bag for easier portability.

“Wow…it smells great, all of it, thank you.” He spoke shaking his head slightly in disbelief.

“No problem. Enjoy guys.” And with that you gave both of them a smile before heading back into the bull pen to eat with your boyfriend.

“Y/N this is delicious, thank you.” Amanda Rollins said while pulling another fork full of food towards her mouth.

“My pleasure, you guys deserve it.” You popped open your own container and sat next to Sonny on his desk.

You all ate in silence for the most part, the squad finally taking a moment to relax for the first time in a few days.

Sonny finished his food first before pulling you with him insisting on giving you a tour despite you having been there many times. As Sonny pointed out various rooms and hallways Barba and Olivia passed you on their way out of the precinct.

Suddenly Sonny grinned and grabbed your hand before pulling you hurriedly back towards where you had come from. Fin and Rollins were no where to be found as your eyes darted around wondering what had got Sonny so excited.

He opened an interrogation room and led you quickly inside. He hit a button on the camera before rushing back to you. Sonny brought his lips against yours and pulled you by your face flush against his lean body.

“Fuck I’ve really missed you ya know?” Sonny groaned as you ran your hands up and down his chest.

“I missed you too baby.” Your hand trailed downwards over the leather and brass buckle wrapped around his waist.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish doll.” Sonny moaned against your lips.

“Oh I intend to finish.” You smirked before palming his growing length over his pants.

Before you knew it you were on your knees in front of him, licking him root to tip before taking him in entirely. This didn’t last long, it usually never did. Sonny could barely take the teasing pleasure of a blow job, the poor darling was so sensitive.

He lifted you up onto the metal table and spread you out over it. He dipped for a moment and took a taste of your own arousal at which you moaned loudly.

“Shhh doll. Jesus you taste so good.” He positioned himself and you helped guide him into you.

He thrust into you a little roughly but made up for it by bringing his slender fingers to circle your already sensitive clit.

“Sonny!” You cried as he picked up the pace, thrusting deeper and deeper filling you in a way only he could.

“Ahh…you feel so good doll, shit.” He groaned as he folded further on top of you.

You laced your arms over his neck and pulled yourself up. He stood with you wrapped around him and carried you to the brick wall, pressing the smooth skin of your back against it’s rough, gritty surface. He thrust into you again, hitting a new spot that sent shockwaves through your synapses.

You could feel the scrape of your skin against the brick wall, but it paled in comparison to the sounds and expressions Sonny was making.

“Doll, I’m…” He tried to make out, you nodded to show you understood before whimpering out the same.

“Y/N!” He screamed, his orgasm ravaging through his body, the way he calls your name and a particular brush of his pelvic bone against your clit sends you cascading over the edge as well. You arch against the wall with an audible scrape before clinging to him, your entire body pulsing with the effects of your shared pleasure.

Only a few moments pass before you hear voices approaching. Quickly you both pull on and adjust your clothes before rushing from the room. You almost fall to the ground, still dizzy from the insane high you had experienced moments before. Sonny catches you and you lean against him for support.

That’s when Rollins surprises you both by rounding the corner and nearly running into both of you.

“Oh hey good you’re still here, I need to get that recipe from you that food was…are you two okay?” She looked us both over and we simultaneously straightened before assuring her in a jumble of words that we were fine.

“I’ll come by again tomorrow and bring a copy with me, I’m glad you liked it.” You smiled a little anxiously before turning back to Sonny.

“Well babe, I’ve gotta get home. I’ll see you soon.” You pressed a quick kiss to Sonny’s lips before hurrying out of the room, a heavy blush rising in your cheeks.

A few minutes later you were out of the precinct when you got a text from Sonny.

Thanks for dinner doll, I’ll be home soon.

And that was the first time but not the last Sonny Carisi called your apartment home. Now whenever he said he was going home, it was to your apartment, your bed and your arms.

#reader x sonny carisi #sonny carisi #smut #and fluff #adacarisi #law and order svu #amanda rollins #fin #rafael barba #olivia benson #the whole squad

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