#but i have all the presence of a terrified weasel
Text
Nightmares
kai parker x reader
summary: after three straight days of kai having nightmares, you can't take the cries anymore and need to intervene.
≪ originally published on ao3: 3/04/23 ≫
tags: emotional hurt / comfort, alcohol (bc when is damon not drinking), childhood trauma, mentions of abuse
word count: 1.4k
“You guys, I’m kinda worried about him,” you mutter, setting down your glass of whiskey.
“Oh, he’ll be fine. Just give it another ten minutes, he’ll shut up.”
Another whine carries throughout the house. It pangs your heart to hear, but you also don’t know what to do to stop it.
“Better shut up sooner,” Elena eyes her boyfriend, annoyed, “I can’t hear myself think.”
“I’m gonna go talk to him,” you start to stand up, but then Bonnie puts a hand on your knee.
“Girl, don’t. If he finds you in his room, he’ll probably snap your neck. And you’re human. Damon’s right, just give him a couple more minutes. He always stops eventually.”
You guys’ conversation is interrupted by the sound of the wooden doors closing quietly.
“Sorry to disturb,” Jo announces her presence with a small wave. Alaric’s standing behind her, smiling a little. “Mind if we join you?”
Damon raises his glass, “just drinking, come on over!”
“Yeah, I figured,” the now-human joins the group, “could use some drinks and company.”
As they get comfortable, another cry rings out from upstairs.
“Oh my god, who is that? Is everything okay?” Rightfully so, Jo looks alarmed.
Damon, however, just rolls his eyes. “That’s Kai. He’s been doing that for three straight days. But like I told Y/N here, give him ten minutes and he’ll shut up.”
“I still can’t believe you’re having him stay here.”
“Yes, Rick, I can’t either. But we need to keep an eye on the sociopathic weasel, and keeping him here is the best way to do that. Plus, he doesn’t have anywhere else to go, and while I don’t care, I don’t want him to start angry-killing because he feels confused. So until he figures his shit out, we’re stuck with him.”
“Ugh,” is all the man answers.
“Very big ugh,” agrees his girlfriend. “So what’s the noise? What’s his problem?”
“Nightmares? Irritating us? I have no idea.”
“If you guys would let me go check on him, I could solve that question.”
“No, Y/N, you are not going up there,” Damon looks you straight in the eye. “What if it is nightmares? Bonnie’s right, he’ll snap you in two.”
“Only if I startle him.”
“You put wayyyy too much faith in someone who’s tried to kill everyone in here.”
“He’s never tried to kill me.”
“You’re missing the point.”
Another few cries. You can’t take it anymore.
“If I need help, I’ll call out. I need to at least try to calm him down.”
“Your funeral,” Damon seems to give up on convincing you.
As you wander up the stairs, you hear them talking.
“What does he even have nightmares for? He’s probably the cause of most people’s nightmares.”
“He caused mine for twenty-two years.”
“I just wish he’d shut up.”
“Y/N is going to die.”
“I should’ve killed him when I had the chance.”
You roll your eyes at all of them, resting your hand on the knob of Kai’s door. You make sure to be extremely quiet as you turn it so as not to startle him. Then, ever so gently, you sit on the unoccupied side of his bed, giving you enough distance to reach him, but also to jump out of the way.
“Kai,” you whisper, “you okay?”
He doesn’t budge.
“Hey. I’m not gonna hurt you, I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
Suddenly, you become startled when he jolts in his sleep, letting out a terrified whine. Without much thought, you reach out to steady his shoulder, and his eyes snap wide open.
Fear, anger, confusion; these are the emotions painted on his face as he realizes you’re beside him. They happen one after another, seconds after each other, until he’s left confused with your presence.
“Hey, it’s okay. I’m just checking on you. Want to make sure you’re okay.”
“What happened?” He whispers, throat cracking.
“Nothing, baby, nothing happened.” You hand him a water sitting on the nightstand. “But we heard you crying, and I needed to check on you.”
“Heard me crying? How loud? I didn’t mean to.”
The vulnerable side is something new. He must be too tired to hide it.
“It’s okay, sweet. I mean, the house echoes, so we could hear it downstairs, but don’t worry about it.”
“Why did you check on me? How did you convince Damon to let you come up here alone?”
You can’t help but giggle at the truth in that question. “Told him I was going to see you and there’s nothing he could do about it.”
He laughs, for a minute, until his face grows serious again. “But why do you care?”
“Because I care about you, Kai. If you’re upset, I want to make sure you’re okay.”
“Why?”
“Do I need a reason?”
“I don’t know, I just… not used to people caring.”
“Well I do.”
It’s quiet for a moment. Then, Kai takes a risk.
“My dad.”
“Hm?”
“The nightmare, it was about my dad.”
You turn your body towards him, hoping the gesture shows him that you’re giving all your attention to his words.
“I, uh, wasn’t the child he ever wanted. I mean, of course, he wanted children - otherwise, he wouldn’t have had eight of them. But I was the disappointment; the abomination. Could never live up to his standards; could never fulfill my coven duties.”
You swallow hard, nodding for him to continue.
“Only being able to siphon magic led to some… memorable punishments when I was a kid. I hadn’t meant to hurt her, but when I tried to borrow some from my sister, boy was he angry. That was the day I learned there’s a spell for an invisible punch to the gut. And when I was twelve, and had by then learned how to manipulate the magic he’d use to punish me, I learned what a real punch to the gut felt like. Of course, there’s so many great ones that play on repeat in my head, but these two are just top tier… fatherly love.”
Your heart was already splintered by his cries, but hearing his story shatters it completely.
“Kai…,” you impulsively reach a hand up to his face to stroke his cheek.
He flinches hard as you do so, and you draw back.
“I’m sorry. I’m not going to hurt you. You trust me?”
“Considering I just overshared about my family, yeah. Can I trust you?”
“Of course, sweet.” You raise your hand again, and this time, he doesn’t move. You draw your thumb along his cheek and jawline, looking into his eyes softly. “You’re okay now. He can’t hurt you. I won’t let him. And he’s all the way across the country, too. You’re safe.”
“I don’t know why I told you all that,” he admits.
“Maybe it’s because you know I won’t tell. I won’t tell, and I won’t treat you differently because of it. I’m serious, Kai, you can trust me.”
“I do. Thank you. And thanks for waking me up, too. It was just… replaying in my head, over and over.”
“Drink some more water. Maybe play music? Distract yourself. Or do you have a fan?”
“Uh, I don’t know. But, um…” he hesitates to ask.
“What’s up?”
“Can you… maybe… stay with me? I feel less scared when you’re with me.”
“Of course, Kai.”
He lifts the blanket up and around you, then gives you a soft smile. You can’t help but press a kiss to his hand as you feel yourself start to drift into sleep.
“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Y/N.”
◇◇◇◇
“Heyyyy! Brought the bourbon this time. Everyone up for drinks?” Rick saunters into the living room of the boarding house. Jo’s right behind him.
“Yes, please! And thank you,” Damon sighs in relief at the sight of alcohol.
The two join the group. Jo looks around, cocking her head in confusion, “where’s Y/N?”
“Oh, yeah, that one. She’s with Kai.”
“With Kai?!” Rick’s eyebrows furrow in confusion.
“Yep. For five consecutive nights now, she’s been sleeping with Kai.”
“What?!”
“Actually sleeping, too,” Elena butts in, “I’ve checked. They’re dead asleep. Close, but clothed.”
“And Kai has not made one annoying sound since,” Damon finishes.
“So, she didn’t die?”
“Nope! She’s - dare I say - bonding with the weasel. But hey, as long as she’s still kicking, and he’s not baby-crying, I guess it’s fine. That’s what I like to call - a problem for another time!”
“I’ll drink to that, I guess!” Rick pours himself a glass, and everyone else follows suit.
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Not Like Other Unicorns
Kendra and Seth discover Ronodin’s most embarrassing secret—he’s a natural blonde!
I posted a snippet over a year ago in this post!
Ao3 Link 1.7k words
With years of peace under their belt, the Knights of Dawn moved toward rehabilitation for certain enemies. Ronodin quickly weaseled his way into a position at Fablehaven, and although many complained, his presence kept the preserve interesting. At least, he seemed to think so. After all, anyone would be lucky to be graced with his presence.
The plastic gloves crinkled as Ronodin spread the black dye across his light grown-in roots. “Damn it. I wish my hair grew slower.”
Kendra laughed. “I can’t believe you’re a fake.”
She leaned against the bathroom mirror from her perch on the counter. Fondness tugged at her smile.
Ronodin scoffed and straightened. A fake? How rude. The little dye brush that came in the dye box stood tall in his hand as he gestured to her. “I have never lied about my hair color.”
“No, but it was always implied that you were dark-haired due to your darkness.” Kendra accentuated the last word with a spooky tone. “Because, really? Platinum blonde? You’re basically Bracken at this point.”
“Shut up. And he’s literally my cousin, Kendra. If one were thinking correctly.” He paused his application to send her a raised eyebrow. “It would make sense that relatives look alike.”
Kendra shook her head. “But, see, you’re a unicorn. You shouldn’t have to abide by such rules.”
“You act like we don’t have genetics.”
“Fairies look radically different from their parents.”
“Fairies are different and weird. And annoying.”
Kendra clutched her pearls. “Ronodin. This aggression—so unlike you.”
“I am never asking you for help ever again.”
“Hey, can I text Seth?”
Ronodin furrowed his eyebrows. “Text him what?”
“That you’re blonde.”
“Why?”
“I thought it wasn’t a big deal?” Kendra batted her eyelashes.
Ronodin narrowed his eyes. “Fine. Tell him. It’s not like I care,” he muttered.
Ronodin set his paintbrush down and surveyed his handiwork. His roots were mostly covered, but he couldn’t see the back of his head that well. “Kendra, could you—”
The door burst open. Once the young shadow charmer caught his breath, he pointed and laughed at Ronodin. The disrespect.
Ronodin rolled his eyes. “I could smite all of you.”
“Ronodin, you’re literally Bracken now,” Seth guffawed.
“Why did both of you say that?” Ronodin threw up his hands, forgetting he had the brush in his hand. A glob flew off the bristles and straight onto Kendra’s hair. “Oh, Kendra, I’m so sorry—”
She merely used it to slick a few strands of hair. “Now I’ll have a dark streak. Does this mean I’m a dark unicorn now?”
“Yeah, Ronodin, did you dye your hair before or after you corrupted your horns?” Seth teased. “Did the blonde just not go with your brand anymore?”
“Out.” Ronodin pointed to the door.
“Oh, you know what, Kendra?” Seth hopped up on the counter beside her. Those two together were absoltuely terrifying. Ronodin would know—he’s been a victim of their terrorism together. “I bet Bracken knows.”
Continue reading here!
(It was too long and too much of a hassle to format it all here. Please consider dropping a comment or kudos on Ao3 if you enjoyed! It can be tough out here in these small fandoms, but we have strong community <3)
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The Enemy PART 5: (Aemond Targaryen x Reader FANFIC)
Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x f!reader
Summary: (Y/N) remains locked in the confines of her chamber and it begins to take its toll on her, mentally and physically, what she discovers will change the course of her life.
Warnings: forced captivity, worsening mental health, violence, mentions of death, dragon dreams, revenge plot, incestuous relationship between uncle x niece, strong language, MINORS DNI
Authors Note: Happy New Year you wonderful people hope you all have a healthy and prosperous 2023! Hoping we are not starved of Ewan content for too long. If you wish to be added to my taglist let me know angels. Anyway Happy 1st of January enjoy the next chapter.
Aemond had spent many long hours pacing the stone hall outside your chamber thoughts of you plaguing his mind at every waking moment of the day. He had lost count at the number of times his knuckles had grazed the rough tread of your door, wishing he could find it in himself to just knock the god forsaken door and see you.
But alas you refused to see him, you refused to be in his presence and you refused to hear of him. If he was going to hold you captive in this chamber then you were not going to let him simply weasel his way back into your life.
However it pained you, despite his wrong doings you still loved Aemond Targaryen with every fibre of your being. Being apart from him was physically painful a hollow pit had nestled its way into the shallows of your stomach. You fought a constant battle in your mind when you heard his exasperated cries and fits of rage on the opposite side of the door to your chamber, he himself also having a conflict of the mind whether to enter the chamber and be damned with you or whether to respect your boundaries and pray to the seven that you would come around to the notion of him again.
You had not seen a single person in days, not even your chamber maid who had grown to slide the food through the slit in the door. The silence of the room had become unbearable and the loneliness you felt was all consuming, your feet had grown tired from the arduous pacing you had been doing, the tread of your feet worn down but had memorised every groove and slant of the floor beneath it. You were slowly losing yourself to the screams in your mind, their volume drowning every one of your senses until it was just as paralysing as the loneliness you felt .
That night you buried yourself beneath the softness of your sheets and lost yourself in sleep hoping for a few hours of peace. It worked for a time until your body tossed and turned covered in a cold sweat, flashes of rain and the clap of thunder echoed round your head. The flap of wings and the sickening sound of maniacal laughter resounded and you saw flashes of your little brother Lucerys. The dream was so vivid, you could feel the terror Luc and Arrax felt as the rain lashed against them both and the shadows of something far more terrifying than the down pouring of rain darted in the darkness. A sickening crunch forced you out of your dream as you flew up in bed sobbing and wailing, your entire body was violently shaking when the Kingsguard who was tasked with watching your chamber flew in to the room with blade drawn and worry painted on every feature. Your chamber made following suit heading straight for your trembling figure, her hands on your shoulders she shook you gently to bring you back to reality.
“My Lady, are you alright? Are you hurt, was there someone here?” She rattled off the questions in quick succession searching you for wounds to explain your sudden distress.
“My brother…” you could not finish your sentence as your face paled and tears began to stain your cheeks once again.
“My Lady, I don’t understand what about your brother?” She turned to the Kingsguard brow raised in question.
“Where is Aemond?” You were becoming enraged because you knew his temperament, he had never forgiven your brother for taking his eye.
“Where the fuck is he!” Aemond was not one to let things go easily as evident by your captivity.
Without a moments thought you leapt from your bed barrelling towards the door, you would find him even if it was the last thing you done. The Kingsguard caught you his grip around your writhing form strong as you thrashed violently like a woman possessed.
“AEMOND, AEMOND YOU FUCKING COWARD COME AND FACE ME. I WILL KILL YOU FOR WHAT YOU HAVE DONE!”
That was a promise you were intending to keep, he would die for this. If its the last thing you ever do then you will go to your grave knowing your sweet little brother was avenged even if it meant breaking your own heart in the process.
And so you got to work with your plan to lure Aemond back in, your performance would begin now.
Taglist: @xcharlottemikaelsonx @glors3 @sacredburial @yearninginpages @schniiipsel @lomllino @ohitsthemaster @cl-0-vr @m00n5t0n3 @literishdegree99 @ninarosebloom
#aemond one eye#aemond x reader#prince aemond#aemond fanfiction#aemond the kinslayer#aemond targaryen#aemond smut#aemond imagine#aemond x y/n#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond angst#hotd aemond#my fic
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3. Eyes wide shut
WARNINGS: MENTIONS OF PEDOPHILIA
WINNIE slammed her locker shut and turned to the little rugrat that hadn't stopped following her around since she arrived on campus. Since she had just a few minutes before the third period started she thought she could give him the time of day.
"What do you want, young Sheldon?" She dared to ask, clutching her books.
"Can't I talk to a mentor of this great establishment?" Milo Sparks, everyone.
He might've been small due to his preadolescent age but he was deadly, he knew things and knowledge was power and coming from such a slimy bloodline, who would've expected any less?
"I only focus on one poor and hopeless child at a time," Winnie spoke, sighing as she towered over him.
"Does Zoya know you made it up?" He retorted, holding his coat close to his chest and staring up at her dark brown eyes.
Winnie's sharp stare didn't bother him like she hoped. He was a weasel, a cute one but a weasel nonetheless. He actually preferred it when she didn't wear shades, even if she wasn't easy to read if levelled the playing field.
"Does she know that you hacked into her phone?" She replied, quietly yet the fierce tone had his eyes narrowing.
He stepped closer aware of the students who passed through the halls on their first break of the day.
His brows furrowed. "Only on your request."
"Yes and I found a few things from that so thank you," she rushed out, wanting to be rid of his presence. "Is that why you're here?"
"You owe me," Milo declared and she knew it was the truth.
"I sent you a grand when you did the job."
"Money isn't the currency I want," and you know that, "Secrets are my preferred form of payment."
"Name the person," Winnie demanded, growing more impatient, despite having respect for his craft.
He pondered for a moment, glancing around, "Ginny."
Her face hardened, "No."
"Worth a try. Zoya?"
Winnie didn't have any loyalty to the girl, especially since it had been a week since she last heard from her. Their relationship ever since the heiress prevented Zoya's exile had been rather estranged, like any normal relationship Winnie's opinion.
"You could hack her phone if you want the dirt," Winnie thought aloud.
"No, I want her to ask me for help," to require my services so then I can gain another favor. That went without saying.
A brief look of pride flickered through her eyes which had Milo smirking.
"When?" Winnie gave in, tapping her heel against the floor.
"Soon."
"Deal now scram, talking to short people cramps my neck," Winnie didn't leave any room for objection.
Luckily Milo already took a step back, "Always a pleasure."
With him now on his way, Winnie grabbed her phone, apprehensive of any gossipgirl updates. She always received the most whenever she was on school grounds which had her wondering, was the anonymous blogger truly a student or another? Back when she was in 8th grade she started up many fake pages all dedicated to Julian's worst outfits. She was protected due to the best software for parents provided so kids like Milo Sparks couldn't even attempt to hack her servers without an arrest warrant.
A dark smile tickled at her lips because of the memory.
"Pooh bear ready for religious studies and classics?"
She glanced up to see a familiar scruffy uniform, belonging to none other than Max Wolfe.
Winnie knew there was no point trying to correct his god-awful nickname for her. It started back in kindergarten and stuck, despite the threats she made against his name, the tweets and hashtags that hit her fans hating on him with every post. He was unfazed which pissed her off more.
"Of course, learning the most infamous ways to control the masses has always been my favourite," she stated, flashing him a fake smile as they started walking towards their class.
He chuckled, "Your mind is terrifying."
"Just like your body count."
"Is that shade or slut shaming?"
"Both."
He feigned appreciation, "The love you give me is endless."
"Keep telling yourself that," she grumbled, checking the time. "Judging by your attire Ginny received a mediocre fuck."
"Why? Jealous?"
"She's hot but not my type," she rebutted.
He smirked, "And who is? One of the many unanswered questions on this Earth, what gets the gorgeous Winifred Dubois dripping like the Hudson River?"
"Easy. People who look like me," and Winnie wasn't lying.
The pair walked past Audrey and Aki, the former's blue eyes shot daggers at the girl, whilst her boyfriend's face scrunched up in confusion before they turned away.
Max mumbled, "Well that's a lot to unpack."
"You do that. Don't pay attention in class. Fail," she snickered, allowing him to push open the door for her, revealing a few students who had already gotten there early.
"Who said I'll fail?" Max questioned, fully amused as they took their seats at the front of the class.
"Let me guess Wolfe, you'd get on your hands and knees for a grade?" Winnie set her textbook and notebook on her desk whilst he did nothing but take off his empty bag and settle it on the back of his chair.
"No different from your parents getting out their chequebooks is it?" Max's smug smile was so slappable but she conceded just this once and hummed.
"Touché."
Their teacher along with the rest of the class all filed into the room just as the bell rang, irritating the young heiress, who shifted in her seat. Her nails tapped the desk growing louder until their teacher, Mr Caparros started doing what he was paid to do. Max turned to her and smacked her hands, only gaining a sharp glare in retaliation, which made him laugh into his own.
"Everyone take their seats," Mr Caparros calmly said and with reluctance the rest of the students did.
The class went on as normal, with him retailing insightful facts and quotes without using the PowerPoint for help. Max didn't even take out a pen, no his gaze, one that might be described as heated, stayed on the man, trailing up and down his form.
The heiress next to him, occasionally took pictures of her notebook for her Instagram story and one of her 'private' Snapchat stories which contained over 200 people.
Winnie then noticed the lust-filled sparkle in Max's eyes, that wasn't surprising, but what came as a revolting shock was that their teacher was trying to suppress his whenever he looked their— no — Max's way. Turned out she was wrong, she wouldn't be learning about the cult following of millions of people, no, this was a different kind of lesson.
How to stop a predator.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
(@gossipgirl tweeted)
This just in: Manhattan's elite learning the world's oldest lesson. Those who go digging for the truth might not like what they find.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
"I'm at dumbo hall and guess who I've seen tongue fucking some random by the bar?" Ginny spoke excitedly through the phone.
"Gin I don't care," Winnie put her on speakerphone and picked up a nail file after putting down her laptop.
She was situated on the balcony attached to her room, a blanket bunched around her waist as she surveyed the horizon.
"Monet."
Winnie stilled and exhaled a jarring breath. We're not a couple so why do I feel so pissed off?
"And do you have the name of who she was mouth fucking?" She spat, picking up her phone to stalk Monet's socials.
Ginny giggled, "Oh so now you care? Interesting."
"Who was it?" the heiress' fingers practically punched her screen.
"Some random, didn't you hear me?" Ginny paused, growing curious, "I thought you hated Monet? Or is she the one that's tickling your bean?"
"No," Winnie snapped.
"Sure. You can tell me if you were."
Winnie took a moment to reply, and instead of coming clean, she deflected, "Moving on. Your used condom of a man is how do I put it — getting played like a fiddle by a teacher."
Ginny choked on her cocktail, "What?!"
"There's speculation."
"Is this you? Are you the one speculating?"
"Maybe. But am I ever wrong?" Winnie scoped Luna's finsta to see Monet making out with some... random.
How disgusting. Winnie kept telling herself that she wasn't mad. Wasn't jealous. But was that the case?
"Yes."
"When?" Winnie snorted when she didn't hear a response. "You're trying to come up with something aren't you?"
"Maybe, but I doubt a teacher would do something like that." the alcohol was certainly talking. Ginny wasn't exactly surprised by the turn of events, considering she was hit on by a teacher a couple of years back and the man in question was hastily fired and fled the country.
Winnie knew she was choosing to forget, "You know they have, so when this comes out and I'm right you're gonna be thanking me."
Ginny sighed, "Poor Max."
Winnie scoffed, "Poor me, I had to see them eye fucking during class."
"If you're right —"
"—I am —"
"Only expose it when I know he's okay please."
"I'll think about it."
She heard Ginny sigh from the other side, "Fine."
Winnie hung up and angrily pressed on another contact.
Winnie
Kissing commoners all
because of a disagreement.
From: M
It wasn't a disagreement.
It was a violation of my guidance.
Winnie
Fine. Stick to your unremarkable
taste in women. No more fuel
from me.
From: M
I'm not biting the bait.
Winnie
You won't be biting anything
for a while.
She got up off the chair, walked in and then out of her room and out onto the hallway, feening for a snack but as she approached the top of the stairs she glanced over the balcony hearing muffled voices along with the faint sound of barking no. More meetings at this time? It was almost 11 pm.
She saw her mother emerge from her office, her father and another man in tow.
A man she recognised.
"Good to see you again Margaux, Luc," his gravelly voice spoke.
"William," her father patted his shoulder.
William Van Der Bilt? What was he doing here? Winnie wondered. She'd have to do her monthly spying on her parents a week early.
She heard Margaux softly laugh, "Nice to see you. Tell Nathaniel that his work is inspirational. It's been years since he was first appointed."
Winnie rolled her eyes at her parent's asslicking.
"Young Winifred might follow in his footsteps. The first female mayor of the city," William replied.
Luc disagreed, "She's been too busy learning from us, the inner workings of our legacy."
"That's true I suppose."
"Similar with your boy."
William nodded, "Billy?" He chuckled, "I should hope so. But he only focuses on lacrosse nowadays."
"Kids eh?" They all chuckled at Luc's response. "Have a lovely night."
"We'll speak soon at the next luncheon," William insisted, bidding them both farewell as he was escorted off the estate, leaving Winnie taking a step back.
What the fuck was that about?
___
"You told gossipgirl that my family sells placebos?" Monet whisper-yelled to the Dubois heiress in the main library.
Winnie put back a book, "That could've been anyone. Allegations like that could be taken to court. It's defamation of character."
"Your character is highly problematic so that won't be a problem," Monet's lips taunted Winnie, they were as frustrating as they were enticing.
"You're being mean," Winnie remarked, shrugging at the scoff she received, "You know I like it when you're like that but as of now, you're public property."
Monet was more than offended, she was hurt by the insinuation, "Watch it. Just because I kissed another girl doesn't mean you can slut shame me like we're on some CW show."
"No, it just means you don't belong to me."
"I never belonged to you."
Winnie silently cursed, recognising the look in her eyes, making her almost feel bad.
So she said, "Then I guess you loved to trip and fall between my legs whenever you felt like it."
"We're not a couple, might I remind you. You said it yourself. You can't pretend to like me enough to keep me on your hook. I'm not at your beck and call, and you can't stand that," Monet snapped, stepping closer and unintentionally inhaling her signature scent.
"I can't stand a lot of things, dating a follower of one of them, so I guess you're right just this once. I'm glad we're not a couple."
Winnie took Monet's astonishment as her sign to strut away, keeping her composure as she surveyed the aisles, then grumbled when she caught Luna and Zoya at the entrance table.
From what it seemed, tips were being exchanged, why else would Luna's botox needle be out?
"Traitor."
Zoya and Luna jumped back when the Dubois teen materialised in front of them.
The freshman gulped at the look in her eyes, "She was giving me tips on —"
"I don't care," Winnie shut it down, then nodded at her classmate, "Luna."
Luna smoldered, "Winifred."
"I guess that Zugly hashtag has got you desperate," Winnie observed, eyes zeroing in on the Zoya.
Luna was disgusted by the insult, "Excuse you, I'm not the second choice."
"Yet," Winnie countered, her stare hardened as she manoeuvred around the table, "Try to have fun with the woke parade."
Zoya and Luna watched her walk out of view.
"Doesn't she intimidate you?" the freshmen squeaked.
"No comment, although you should aspire to be as intimidating as that, without the casual bigotry that gets you cancelled quicker than Rachel Zegler who can't catch a fucking break."
___
"Make it quick, I'm off to trick a blonde," Winnie impatiently rocked on her heels as she stood by Ginny's locker.
The Wellington blonde scoffed, "And I thought I was your fave."
"Nothing personal Gin."
And Ginny knew her smile was farthest from genuine so she said, "I'm here to tell you that dirt you got from Pygmy Sparks is explosive. Zoya's popularity is rising despite the backlash. You should use it soon, or when she becomes a problem."
"She's already a problem, but she's not ours," Winnie stated, leaning against the lockers and looking out of the busy courtyard.
"So? Use it for destructive. The catalyst to another battle."
A grin threatened to break out on Winnie's face, "Do you hate the preteen?"
"Not hate. Just find her inclusivity nauseating," Ginny argued, applying some gloss.
"Careful, anyone hears you saying that and you'll be judged faster than you did when you went to the Maldives during COVID and wore a diamond mask," Winnie replied, stifling a laugh.
Sometimes she found that coming from wealth and privilege wasn't all that it was cracked up to be and that some people AKA her closest confidant lacked brains.
Only some but still, it was hilarious.
"It was a mask," Ginny huffed out, shutting her locker to face her friend.
"Once that really stops the virus spreading right?" Winnie drawled, "Just listen. I'll release that tape of her whenever I want to. Just keep an eye on your lover boy. I know the teachers at this school are weird. But predatory? That's something else entirely and that needs to be shut down."
The blonde folded her arms, "Who knew you cared for Max."
Winnie grimaced, "I care for chaos, only when I cause and simultaneously thrive off of it."
"There's that sociopathic nature, and here I thought you were getting character development."
Winnie rolled her eyes at the girls teasing, "I've been tested and I'm fine."
"Don't lie to yourself," Ginny called out, smirking as her friend strutted away, "know yourself or whatever Drake said."
"Shut up!"
Winnie's struts grew louder as she neared her namesake library. Gossip Girl was quite quiet today and she needed noise, so she messaged the account and made sure they stayed tuned for a tip.
She turned up her nose when she had to push open the door, usually, she would have someone else do that for her, but she was on a time crunch and tennis practice was in 20 minutes.
Her lips quirked up in a sly grin upon seeing a mop of blonde hair.
Aurdrey's bangs were the next thing that came into view and the book she was reading was next.
Winnie's strides stopped when she stood on the opposite side of the table the blonde sat at.
The heiress cleared her throat but was ignored.
So she said, "Oh come on, we all know you're not reading anything, put the book down and speak to me like a big girl."
"Your condescending tone is aggravating and I tend to avoid people like you," The Hope teen snided, annoyed by her presence.
Winnie gasped, slapping her hand against her chest gaining the attention of those around them.
"People like me... you mean black people!" the blonde scowled at her words, "For shame Hope. And I thought we were in progressive times. I just wanted to say hi, but it's clear you only can stomach being around the lighter bunch... take care and do better."
She excited the library, grinning down at the recording on her phone and faintly hearing the commotion behind her. She pressed send and it was only a matter of time before a gossip girl blast would appear.
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(@gossipgirl just tweeted)
Despite Miss Hope mixing her roots in the various palettes our latest source tells me that maybe she isn't as inclusive as we all thought. Turns out having money isn't the only that can win you St. Audrey's approval. You must have...let's say... a certain glow to your skin.
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She slapped a hand over her mouth, laughing at the tweet. Fuck trigonometry, she was gonna have a field day with all the retweets and hashtags.
Her laughter unfortunately beckoned Julian over. The Calloway girl stormed out of her class and was scouring the school for the girl in question.
"Dubois!"
She snapped her head to the side when she heard her name as did a crowd of students in their free period.
"Oh shit, I thought you were Caesar," Winnie mocked, putting her phone into her pocket and mischievously beaming at the other influencer.
"Cut the shit, Dubois," Julian snapped, holding her phone showcasing that Audrey was a trending topic on Twitter. "Are you done? Fucking with my friends?" her questions earned more laughter, "What's so funny?"
"The way you phrased that question, but if you are demanding an answer, You really don't know the half of it," Winnie replied shaking her head.
Their bickering had people pulling out their phones to record.
Julian reeled back, "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Oh nothing, have fun with your travel-sized Paris Hilton," Winnie taunted, backing away.
"Audrey is not a racist!"
"And neither is the Confederate army!"
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(@gossipgirl tweeted)
Spotted: Julian Calloway being dragged away by Manhattan's richest heiress. It's clear to me that JC hasn't learnt that it ain't over to the cunning lady sings and Winifred looks like she's warming up her vocals.
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Tonight was the Van Der Bilt's charity luncheon; a small get-together, policitans were going to be the majority, which made Winnie question why the hell her family were attending. Sure the Dubois' and the Van Der Bilts were friendly, they had to be, oil was a political debate as it is a socio-economic one.
So that's why Winnie stood in the foyer, dressed in a nice black Versace number, and hair curled to the side like she was a 50s movie star. Her fans were gonna eat it up. Her father was already in their car outside, but she was currently being reprimanded by her mother for having a certain guest around.
"Yes Mother, don't worry, I won't embarrass you in front of the Van Der Bilts."
"Then get her out of here," Margaux angrily whispered, adjusting her pearls and tugging on her wrap.
Winnie was amazed by her mother's silk press, it effortlessly swayed with every word.
"I need 10 minutes and that's it," she tried, almost flinching back at the rage in Margaux's eyes.
"Fine, then meet us outside. And you get 5 minutes, nothing more or I'll tell Caesar to drag you out."
"How maternal," Winnie grumbled, turning around and walking into the sitting area, where she found Monet playing with Abaddon.
She signalled for a maid to take him away so Monet's attention was solely on her.
Monet's face lit up at her attire as she stood from the chair and made her way in front of the heiress, smirking and looking up and down.
"How tempting," she looks glamorous, she thought, reaching out to tuck a thick strand before her ear.
Winnie shuddered at her touch, making goosebumps kiss her skin.
A warm feeling skimmed against her chest, "Obviously."
Monet playfully rolled her eyes, "How long do we have?"
"We've got 5 minutes. Why are you here Miss De Haan, to get me to change Hope's narrative?" Winnie mocked, then sucked in a deep breath when Monet's fingers traced her collarbone.
"I don't care about that. It was hilarious. But stop sending tips into gossip girl, it's not on the theme for you," Monet's voice was more alluring than any dress she could wear.
"Because you know me so well," Winnie mocked, wanting to move away but she couldn't.
In fact, she wanted to bring Monet along to the Luncheon but she knew how many bridges that could burn.
"I'd like to think so," Monet murmured, pressing a kiss to her neck, then jawline and ever so close to her lips.
Winnie rasped, "Sex doesn't mean you know me."
"But it does tell me how sensitive you can be or how to make you cry," the whimper that escaped the Dubois heiress's lips nearly made her drop to her knees. "Look, I'll let go of the placebo slander," Monet batted her lashes, "If you tell me what you and Milo Sparks were discussing yesterday."
And like a bucket of cold water, Monet's suggestion dragged Winnie kicking and screaming from their fantasy.
"No."
Monet huffed, "Ah, my least favourite word from you."
"I would apologise but I don't want to. Go and ask your new lover for that info," Winnie's amusement had faded away.
"Would you get over that shit? Don't tell me your jealous... still?"
"I wasn't jealous."
Monet rose a brow, "Possessiveness isn't a symptom of jealousy?"
"No. I'm not telling you anything. You'll go and tell your leader."
"For the last time, I am not a follower. I'm her P.R. representative," Monet fiercely stated, "all these insults will just make me stay away."
Winnie deeply sighed, turning away, "Fine. I'm sorry."
Monet was stunned, never had she received a genuine apology from the Dubois heiress. She needed to savour the moment.
"It's fine. I guess I only like slander when we're between the sheets."
"I know," Winnie suppressed the urge to smile. It was hard, especially around Monet, but it had to be done.
"But what you need to know, is all the theatrics between you and Julian won't last long before she's back on top." Monet said, rolling back her shoulders, "I'm not warning you. It comes from a place of..."
Winnie stared with furrowed brows, "What?"
"It's a caution," Monet rushed out before it could be questioned. "Be kinder."
Winnie's shoulders uncharacteristically slumped, "So don't be myself. My followers would see through that, they're almost as savage as me. And you know the boardroom of Velocity Inc. believes my social media has attracted more revenue for them."
"Really?" Monet realised how sceptical she sounded until she saw her pained expression.
"Look who needs to be kind now," Winnie sneered, growing frustrated with the doubt she received.
She checked the numbers and sales were up by 4%, it was partially because of her following, and she didn't gain any praise from her parents. And so she hoped, rather stupidly that she would get it from Monet and boy was she wrong.
"It's advice," Monet attempted to reach out to her but was rejected with haste.
"No, you just don't want me to be a bigger threat than I already am."
"You know that everything Julian does impacts me. Impacts others," Monet explained, narrowing her eyes.
"So you want to mould me. into your idea of who you think I should be. This isn't what we do," Winnie gritted.
"Haven't you heard of change, development or evolution?"
Winnie scoffed, "I'm not Julian. I'm not a project, I'm a person."
"Could've fooled me."
Winnie's face dropped and that's when Monet knew she made a mistake.
"See yourself out. I have a luncheon to get to. Big plans for my future and such."
"Winnie. Win," Monet called out but the girl was already out of view.
The Dubois heiress stormed towards her family's car, Caesar pulled open the door for her as she heard Monet leave the house seconds later.
Winnie slid in next to her mother. Luc was on the phone, opposite them as they began to drive away.
Margaux noted her daughter's aggrieved expression, "All that girl is cause you pain. Now look at you, frowning, since when did you frown?" Winnie remained quiet. "Winifred, I've allowed you to dither with those below us for far too long. Only very few families that derive old money that I recognise and the biotech empire isn't one of them."
"Then maybe you should," Winnie uttered.
"What was that?" Margaux hissed, satisfied when silence was all she heard. "This social media bullshit supposedly makes you happy, so I allow it. The board members believe it works for us. You it run on your own because I allow it. If you mess up I'll hand over all your socials to a media representative and let them handle it."
"You can't do that. My followers know me."
"The only person who knows you is me," Margaux hissed.
Luc continued chatting away on the phone, not getting involved in their squabble, even when a single tear trickled down their daughter's face.
"No one is entitled to know your true self, make sure you keep it that way. You are a Dubois, heiress of a fortune that billions would yearn for. I did not raise you –"
"-- You didn't raise me." You watched me.
Winnie's eyes flashed with panic when her mother's lips curled into a snarl.
"If I knew you were going to be ungrateful, I would've opted for a son, but you're here now. So listen. Leave your personal life at the door, your father is devising something big and you will not ruin this for us." Margaux awaited a response. "Winifred!"
Winnie flinched, "I won't ruin this for you."
"Good," Margaux plastered on an unnerving smile and turned away.
Winnie locked eyes with her father who she could see was no longer on the phone, yet continued holding it to his ear.
So she quietly scoffed and looked out the window, wiping another tear away and wishing she was in the comfort of her own room, but no, she was walking into the lion's den, which begged the question, would she have to sit back and take it...
Or bite first?
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a/n:
you've noticed by now how winnie's relationship to all the main characters differs. you could argue that she's only nice to max because of the "relationship" he has with ginny or because he's naturally charismatic and even winnie gets along with him just due to being classmates. her and audrey are another story. she dislikes her because audrey is julian's bestie. that's it. and the same reason extends to aki. however with aki, considering his father is as influential as someone like logan roy and is on friendly terms with her family, she doesn't do much to stir the plot. however, she does think very aki as a dull person. (his character was so dry in my opinion).
two legacies this chapter, milo and william and a brief mention of nate. i was debating whether i should include nate or not but he's too nice for winnie. i did name-drop an oc of mine that you won't see for a while (billy).
monet and winnie's relationship is odd as is it is turbulant. monet knows what to do to get ahead and julian is the biggest way in (according to the season 1 plot). she knows winnie is the biggest threat as is zoya but she's close to winnie and hopes to subdue her power and influence for her personal benefit. i hope that it's clear.
which interaction was your favourite? i'm partial to mummy issues so I'll go for margaux and winnie.
#wattpad#fanfic#black reader#catfight gossip girl reboot fanfic#catfight gossip girl reboot wattpad#catfight wattpad#black girl#winniedubois#monet de haan x black!reader#monet de haan x fem reader#monet and winnie#gossipgirl reboot#gossip girl 2021
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Actual thing I (a 175cm person) just said to my (157cm) friend: "Height advantage is for losers use your mental fortitude cowards."
#hypocrisy?#ah#what a sweet word#seriously though#i may be tall#but i have all the presence of a terrified weasel#yet my smol friends#are like freaking lions
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defilement -- bailey
rq: "what are ur thoughts on bailey i want him to fuck me in his office so bad 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺"
warnings: virginity loss, dubcon, essentially prostitution, unprotected sex, mild degradation, bruising, rough sex, sex over a desk, afab reader.
word count: 2.4k
"It's time to pay up."
Bailey's breath puffed against your skin, raising the hairs on the back of your neck. It wasn't going to be an easy task to get out of this one.
You had been weaseling your way through every payment, whether you had the money or you had some creative way to get around it, and last week you'd only just gotten lucky by managing to pawn off some "lost" items to that greasy fence in the back of the pub. You were just lucky some of it was pretty valuable, and you wouldn't have to try and sleep with him to get the last of what you owed.
But not this time. Between your debt and Robin's, you knew there was no way you were gonna scrape up enough to pay by Sunday. That didn't stop you from trying, but at last that hand had come down on your shoulder and you felt yourself shake in Bailey's presence. Anyone with a brain knew not to fuck with him when he was owed something. You opened your mouth to speak, but it wasn't even worth trying–he could tell what your answer was by the fear glimmering in your eyes, and his lips split into a shit-eating smirk as he reached into his jacket for what you knew he always kept on hand.
"W-Wait-! You can have me! I'll pay you with…with…"
You fully expected him to ignore you and tie up your wrists anyways, but he actually stopped. However, the narrowing of his dark eyes down at you did not soothe your worries, and in fact, it only frightened you even more to feel him lean in enough for a few loose strands of black hair to brush against your cheek.
"And what makes you think your body's worth it?"
Suddenly, with his face so close to yours, you found it much more difficult to breathe normally. Your chest heaved and you started to shake as he drew the coarse rope down the skin of your arm…and it was then that you managed to speak out.
"M..My virginity…you can have it."
That silence was by far the most stressful few moments of your entire life, amplified by a thousand compared to the adrenaline you felt just before you robbed someone blind. Bailey's lack of expression blinded you to his true feelings, blocked you from the thoughts that swirled in his head and the decisions he was making that would decide your very life, and yet you first felt his answer not in his words but in the deep, shaky breath he exhaled as his eyes drew downwards towards your skirt.
"Well, I guess it'd be remiss for me if I didn't bother to check first."
He grabbed you by the arm and half-pulled, half-dragged you down the hall towards his office, either oblivious to your stammering and pleas for him to loosen his grip, or just so apathetic he couldn’t bring himself to care. If only you had caught a glimpse of the crazed expression that flashed across his face as he did so, so unlike him that it undoubtedly would have terrified you, maybe even to the point of trying to get away after all. But within seconds he had shoved you through the office door and slammed it shut behind him, looking down on you with a sick glee that he was quick to smother as he loosened his tie with deft fingers. You rendered yourself momentarily useless by falling forward and landing on your hands and knees, pain shooting up your legs in a way that made you stop and whine on the floor, but Bailey remedied that by grabbing a fistful of your hair and yanking you back up to your feet. His strength was just as intimidating as ever, and even more intimately so when it barely fazed him to throw you forward hard enough that you had to brace yourself against his desk to keep from crashing into it.
“Bailey-”
Your caretaker silenced you with a deep kiss as you turned to face him, lustful and fueled by passion like you didn’t even know he was capable of, even if this was just going to be a business transaction.
It certainly didn’t seem so, though, by the way Bailey tore your skirt off your body and let it fall to the floor, his destructive hands only stopping when he got to your panties and his fingers hovered over your hips. He lifted you with relative ease on to the desk itself, but when it came to him ridding you of your last item of clothing separating the two of you, he simply changed his course of action at the last moment and slid a finger underneath them to prod at your slit.
“Hm…mmh?”
His noises seemed performative, the hum of intrigue he let out accompanied with a terse glance up to meet your gaze, before he shifted it back down to your nethers. But the wicked chuckle that erupted from him when he prodded deeper and found what he was looking for…nothing could have prepared you for the anxiety that it spurred within you. Something that sounded like “So you are…” escaped his mumbling lips, and with his other hand slipping from where he’d placed it on your thigh to keep you from closing your legs, he pulled your panties all the way to the side and bared you completely to him. It seemed the semi-gentle fingering was not for your preparation but entirely to confirm his own inspection, and in a gesture that seemed almost magical by how quickly he freed himself from his tight pants, Bailey removed his offending hand from its place inside you and replaced it with the tip of his cock, rubbing stiffly against your clit before sliding it downwards to press into you.
“Brace yourself against me,”
Perhaps you really did garner some sympathy in his eyes, as Bailey paused for a moment to guide your arms up and let them hook around his neck, your faces suddenly so much closer for the second time as he started to split you apart.
“Too tight….loosen up, for fuck’s sake…brat,”
How he could be complaining at this moment was lost on you, when you were the one gritting your teeth and squealing uncontrollably as he tried to push his way inside you with something far too big to take. Your body guarded you from him two or three times more, his efforts not to tear you causing him to slip back out each time he tried…but with one good, harsh thrust that ripped a shriek from your throat, Bailey finally bullied his way into your cunt and moaned so deeply his eyes rolled back as you felt each other for the first time. He could do nothing but breathe, his dick twitching so violently within you it seemed like he might not last, but with a minute or so to even himself out he brought his eyes back to yours and stared right into your soul. It would seem within the bounds of his character to say something derogatory, to mimic your sniffling or mock your tears–but he instead pressed his mouth to your cheek, kissing each one dry as he started to move. He muttered in your ear that you would get used to it, and you did as soon as a few thrusts in, his slow pace gradually picking up faster and harder until his desk legs were scraping against the wood floor in time with him.
This was it. The purity you had so closely protected all this time was sullied, taken by someone you didn't even like, much less loved. Both emotionally and physically it still hurt, you wouldn’t lie–but somehow Bailey’s brief moments of tenderness actually served to calm you, and you managed to squeak out a bitter moan of his name into his lips as you met them with yours. And thankfully he seemed to enjoy that, his fingers digging into your hips and leaving what you knew would be bruises you’d have to try and cover from your friends, especially Robin. God, what would Robin think if he knew what you were doing–that you were willingly having sex with the man who was extorting you, and enjoying it?
It was a horrible image, but you couldn't stop yourself from imagining it--Robin's shocked face as he watched you through a crack in the office door, humping yourself against Bailey's cock as he ordered you to keep your mouth shut. He would be absolutely devastated, completely appalled, and you wouldn't be able to stop because it….it felt really, really good. Was sex always supposed to feel like this? Like your mind was being stirred up and dizzied with pleasure, and your body craved so much more that you were meeting each thrust eagerly? The stretch of his cock forcing itself inside you was once painful, but now you just wanted more, you wanted him to fuck you loose enough that it would never sting when he first slid inside again. Each movement inside you was like he was molding your cunt into his own toy, and even though you felt that deep sense of shame inside you for thinking it, the warmth of him holding you and pushing you into kissing him made you cling so hard to him that you didn't want to let go.
“Wrap your legs around me,”
Bailey grunted with a kiss to your throat, pushing you back far enough in the process that it proved easier for you to lift each of them and rest them on his hips, keeping them in place by hooking your ankles together against his back. It seemed to allow him deeper access, since by now you felt the ache even more in your deepest reaches as he battered your cervix with that monster he called a dick. If it wasn’t biologically impossible, you would have been worried about him squeezing himself right past that soft little barrier and plunging his cock into your womb, to leave absolutely no boundaries between you to prevent his seed from spilling inside you. That was not a worry you wanted or needed to fret about for the moment, so you said nothing as he threatened you with his orgasm, and demanded you tell him whether you were close or not.
“Useless brat..”
He groaned, and much to your mixed pleasure and displeasure he found your clit with ease, and ground his thumb into it in circles that sent your head spinning. He managed to find a rhythm that had you clenching your walls around him in sync with his relentless bucking into your pussy, creating a pace with which you couldn’t even think of keeping up with. And when he angled himself all different ways until he hit that spot that made you grind back against him and cry out…it was all over for you. Your end came quickly and without warning, the orgasm so hard and sudden that you couldn’t hope to keep your legs up. You couldn’t even speak, barely breathing as your body convulsed and your cunt spasmed around him, Bailey’s hoarse promises of cumming inside you falling on deaf ears. He did as he pleased, and held you down against him like a lifeless doll as he let loose torrential spurts of hot cum, each one splashing inside you like molten liquid and blowing every sensible thought from your ecstasy-addled mind.
Such a turnover from the world you once knew to the one you had now been introduced to, it was understandable that you would black out for a little while, your body exhausted up until the very moment you opened your eyes and realized they had been shut for a while.
"Fuck…fuck, shouldn’t have gotten carried away..”
Bailey’s mumbling to himself was just barely audible, his face obscured as he fiddled with his cuffs, which now seemed to be the only thing out of place. Your eyes fell closed again and when you woke with a jolt, you found yourself cleaned up, but still half-naked. All traces of what Bailey had done to you were gone, save for the fact that your skirt was still gone and your panties were damp with sweat. And the man himself stood by, his hand having rested on your thigh up until the moment you opened your eyes. Despite that, he seemed calm as always…and before you could say a word, your heart jumped into your throat as he produced that dreaded length of rope from his jacket and blocked your escape out of the room.
"Well, it'll be a little easier for you in your new home, with that little doozy out of the way."
He snickered, and grabbed you by the collar as you jolted forward to try and get away. It proved no issue for him to slam you back down into the desk, and he stood once again between your legs–but this time, it was his arousal over yours as you flailed and squirmed to try and get away, while he took great pleasure in the way you inadvertently ground up against his cock through his pants. It was obvious you wouldn't be able to pull the same trick twice, though.
"I won't lie, that tight little cunt of yours was worth it–but you're just so naïve it hurts. Stay still."
"I-I'll do anything, Bailey, please!"
You choked out, panic leaving your mouth dry and making your stomach churn as if you were going to throw up, even moreso when he dragged the length of rope back across your skin. You had no idea what he planned to do with you, but you really, really did not want to find out, and you swore to yourself that you would do absolutely anything to avoid that terrible fate that he had lined up for you.
"...Fine. If you're gonna go that far, then go sell yourself. You've got one day, I wouldn't fuck it up if I were you."
And like a miracle, the rope slid off your skin once more and Bailey moved back, but not before you felt the twitch of his cock inside his trousers from being pressed up against you. That was all you needed to get off the desk in the hopes of getting out as soon as possible, although you found yourself stumbling on unsteady feet that resulted in you grabbing hold of Bailey, and leaning against him as you quivered and willed the strength back into your legs. He was like a brick wall, unmoving and stoic as you clutched at him for support, until he leaned down and muttered into your ear in a way that made your blood run cold.
"If you do, I'll make sure you really hate me next time, brat."
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Don’t Go |Hawks x Reader|
Pairing: Keigo Takami x Reader
Summary: Keigo’s life is plagued by traumatic events. Life is constantly throwing cruelties his way and in the dead of night, it is this that plagues his dreams and turns them into nightmares. You have become one of the last bits of life in his life. Treasure him well.
Warnings: None. FLUFF and Hurt Comfort Fic.
Word Count: 1 304
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The night air is surprisingly warm during this time of year. The smell of spice permeates the air, no doubt seeping off the individual dozing silently besides you. Hawks, surprisingly, does not sleep with all of his feathers clustered together on his back or perhaps he simply shrugs them off every night to give you some space on the bed. It has been two months since Hawks began crashing at your place. Despite your initial reluctance with having a hero barging into your space every week, you have actually grown rather fond of him.
Originally when he first pleaded to stay in your house, you argued that he should sleep on the couch.
“But shouldn’t a guest take the bed?” he asserted
“Yes”, you, shot back, “when they’re invited.”
Like hell were you about to let him barge into your house uninvited to sleep in your bed while you took the couch.
But the Villain attack had been brutal on him so eventually you agreed to let him sleep in the bed with you. Of course, you had conditions, to which he agreed to. Your bed was a double bed, so he took one side while you took another and a “great wall of pillows” would keep the peace between you two. In the morning when you woke up, the wall of pillows was gone but so was he. He didn’t say anything else about it and neither did you until he asked to stay again.
With a little bit of persistent prodding and teasing you agreed to let him stay and since then he’s worn you down to the point where you actually went out and bought extra toiletries for him. Whether you like it or not, the sly hero has weaseled his way into your heart. One thing always bothers you though. Despite having a night where you’re perfectly comfortable in each other's company, Hawks is always gone by morning. Perhaps Hero work just starts early?
However, today when Hawks showed up at your door, you didn’t offer the usual snarky remark about how he’s secretly a hobo and he didn’t offer any back. He walked in with the fakest smile you had ever seen him possess in your presence. He’s trying to act natural, you thought to yourself when he made a passing joke about the toiletries. You had simply joked back that you would eventually start buying him clothes too.
But in that moment, the smile he sent you didn’t hold any usual teasing. They were soft and yet at the same time held a deep rooted sadness. He chuckled before disappearing into the bathroom.
When it was time to go to bed, Hawks asked you if the pillows were still necessary. He gently thumbed the corner of the pillow sitting between you, in a manner that made you feel as though he secretly wished to rip it to shreds.
Stubbornly, you refused. The pillow was necessary for so many things like a peaceful night of sleep. Without it, you would be too awake, too aware of him, too terrified that you would wake up encircled in his arms and enjoying it.
You climb into bed with the pillows in position and whisper a soft goodnight. After a pause he whispers it back. You lay awake until his breathing becomes shallow and even. Till the tell tale sounds of sleep are the only noises in the room. You reach out a hand and gently grab the pillow but do not move it. Perhaps you should? This is the first time he has ever asked for its removal. He’s acting weird and his headspace is probably all wrong right now. But why does he want the pillows gone? What difference is it really going to make? Your thoughts lead you nowhere and eventually you roll over and let sleep wash over you.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Harsh, short gasping breaths. The smell of sweat filters through the air.
“Wait.”
A gasping whisper slides into the air. Repeating itself over and over again along with strings of incoherent words stumbling over one another. Desperate pleas and gasps of breaths.
“Please…no… Dabi...don’t want…not… help me...Y/n…”, he mutters out. The last word rousing you out of your sleep. Drowsily you try to make sense of the situation. Over the pillow Hawks, shivers in place. His trembling shakes the bed slightly and you desperately try to wake yourself up. To make a decision. To do something.
He gasps out a sharp breath of air before shooting up. His breathing begins to slow down as he drinks in his surroundings, slowly relaxing. You remain still, terrified to spook him any more. As he calms, he seems to realize something and he turns to look at you. His face is ashen white, even in the dark only illuminated by pale moonlight, you can see his blanched face. He takes note of your state and looks away.
“Sorry”, he whispers. His voice is so gentle. Could it be that he is terrified of scaring you any more? He does not look at you. He doesn't even move for a long moment but you can tell that he is simply trying to pull himself together. You don't need a hearing quirk to be able to tell how he’s trying to conceal his ragged breaths.
Slowly, ever so gently, he turns and begins to crawl out of bed.
“I’ll go”, his voice cracks.
In your drowsy state you lunge forward and grip onto his wrist. He stills beneath your hand and looks at you bewildered. You tug him back into bed and he follows like a sick dog on a lead. You grab the pillow between you with your other hand, not once letting go of his wrist, and chuck it across the room. The pillows were dumb anyway.
“The pillow”, he protests.
“Fuck the pillow", you mutter, “Come here.”
Hawks falls into the bed easily. His wrist is ice cold and his breathing is still somewhat uneven. Although he is no longer gasping for breath, the light tremors you feel from him tell you enough about his current composure. Whatever that nightmare was about it is enough to severely shake this hero apart.
Although he climbs back into bed, he still maintains a distance and doesn’t move any closer. But he’s still terrified. Still not okay and so you tug him closer. He hesitates for a moment. He looks you in your eyes, still frosted from sleep, and doesn’t move. You sit up a bit more and reach your hand to let it rest on his cheek.
“Hawks”, you whisper, “it’s okay.”
Your hand slides past his cheek cups the back of his head. With as much gentleness as you can muster, you pull him towards you and tuck him into your side. Chin resting on his head as he caves and curls into your soft embrace. His light scent of spice fills your nose as you listen quietly to him. Although sleep hangs above you like a burden, you force yourself to remain awake and listen to the sounds of his breath. His breathing slows down, little by little. His arms wrapped around your body begin to relax. Your fingers thread through his hair savouring the feel of his sun kissed locks.
“Hawks, in the morning, please stay”, you whisper into his hair.
For a long moment, you believe that he has fallen asleep. He says nothing, simply breathes deeply into your neck.
“Okay, we’ll stay together”
“Mhm”
“Don’t leave me.”
“I won’t.”
In your dazed and sleepless state, you place a kiss on his forehead hoping to comfort him. To convey how much you care. To let him know that even though he always disappears in the morning, you won’t.
“Go to sleep, I’m not going anywhere.”
____________________________________
A/N: New Drinking game. Take a shot every time I use the word “pillow”.
@jinxqsu
#hawks x reader#bnha#mha#my hero academia#my hero x reader#my hero hawks#my hero fanfic#bnha hawks#mha fluff#hawks fluff#fluff#hurt comfort#boku no hero academia#boku no hero x reader#boku on hero academia#keigo x you#mha takami keigo#keigo x reader#keigo takami#bnha fanfiction#bnha fic#sfw#soft#soft!keigo#keigo is in pain#just a little bit#its okay
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Sleep and Other Things
Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader
Warnings: SMUT, Grinding, Fingering (with them metal fingers babbbby), Oral (f), Mentions of Masturbation (f), Sergeant Kink, Praise Kink, Cockwarming, Light spanking, Sub/Dom, Hair pulling, Pining, Sexual tension/frustration, Language, Classic Tropes (I will not apologize), Fluff
Word Count: 11K+ (I really went on on this one I’m sorry)
A/N: It’s been TOO long since I’ve written for my bby I apologize
-
This sucks.
Royally, royally, royally sucks.
And if you could choose from any supernatural powers at all known to man, you’d choose the power of sleep.
Because for the past few nights, it just hasn’t struck you. You’ve tried everything you can think of: punching and kicking away at the bag in front of you in the training room until your knuckles started to bruise, drinking a nice, hot cup of tea, hell even meditation. None of it seemed to work in your favor, and you wanted to punch the force that was holding you back from a full night's rest.
Please God, or you know, whatever is out there listening. All’s I’m asking a normal fucking sleep schedule, is that too much to ask?
The blaring flashes sting your eyes with every white, vicious transition of another rerun on TV. It’s the only light in the otherwise dark room, and it’s dimmed with the volume low so that every stupid little background laughter is dull instead of blaring. And judging by the big red 3:30 on your alarm clock, you’ve been awake for approximately ten hours with no hope of a fulfilled slumber. You believe this is your third night in a row.
You sigh for what seems the hundredth time, flopping onto your right side and shoving your pillow under your arm. The soft fabric and the fresh smell of your favorite laundry detergent is doing nothing to soothe your mind and your body alike, but maybe keeping up the facade that it does will lull your eyes to remain shut and your brain silent; in the back of your mind, annoyingly, you already know that it will not work.
“Fuck it.” You mutter to yourself and throw your covers off. The floor is slightly chilly against your bare feet, but not too terribly cold, and the compound is stable and quiet; more alone time for you, more time to watch the clock slowly tick by as yet another night—day you should say given the time—drags by thorough dark circles and irritable mood swings.
The door is silent as you creek it open, though it doesn’t make one sound and you’re grateful for that. No use dragging everyone down with you.
You’re not exactly sure on what you’re looking for, but it feels right to be where the food is. It’s a start, at least. The good news, too, about going to the kitchen is that it’s not that far from your room, a blessing to you now.
The hallway is dark, too dark for you weak eyes you realize as you stub your toe on a corner of a wall. “OW—oH fuckfuck what the fuckity fu—”
“Shoulda paid attention, doll.”
You whirl around mid-tantrum, hopping on the uninjured foot rather ungracefully towards the raspy voice you recognize in a heartbeat.
The root to your problem is sitting there—short, chopped dark hair, eyes that are sometimes grey and others times blue, like a storm and a ocean living and correlating together to create a beautiful color that you often dream of, and built, toned body hiding behind a black tank top and you’re going to assume matching sweatpants—with a coffee mug in his hands, sitting by the kitchen island and stifling a shit-eating grin as you wallow.
Normally, you’d be very happy to see Bucky. Over the year that you’ve been on the team, Bucky has been nothing but kind to you, even after a rocky start to the friendship. As quiet and closed off as he is, you had managed to weasel your way into his circle; you leave him alone whenever you sense he needs it, not wanting to overwhelm him. Watch TV with him on the couch when it’s just the two of you; sometimes you’d barely say a word to each other at all, happy with the comfortable silence. He jokes around with you if you manage to burn another pancake or whatever concaussion you could scramble up or he’ll invite you to have drinks with him and the others—others being Steve and, despite the pranks and banters, Sam, and so, so much more. It’s as easy as breathing, just being with him, and the comfort and stability that you find in him never fails to put you at ease.
But it’s like somewhere down the road something shifted. You don’t know when or how it happened, but when it did it hit you like a freight train. There’s a pull towards him when you catch yourself paying extra attention to the way his body moves, alerting yours with a sudden new and ferocious need; the daydreams that come from it are even better. The soft, barely there brushes as you pass by or the barely fingertip touch when you’re standing next to each other. The longing stares that makes you wonder if there ever could be more. There’s no denying that you can’t stop looking at him differently now, as more than just the friend you cherish deeply, but as someone who could become more than just.
Sometimes, you even dream of his hand between your legs.
What makes this even worse is that you’ll occasionally catch Bucky doing the same thing to you; he may be faster than you in oh so many ways thanks to his enhancements, but there are moments where you catch him looking quickly away and towards whatever was in front or next to him, eyes glaring like he’s—he’s scolding himself.
“Sexual tension.” Wanda told you when you first explained your worries to her. “That’s what’s happening.”
You shook your head, laughing it off. “Nooo it can’t be Wanda. We’re just—”
“Friends?” She smirked.
“Yes.” You defended. “Just friends. I mean maybe—maybe we’re just going through a phase, and everything will soon go back to normal.”
Wanda rolled her eyes with a smirk. “We’ll see.”
Deep down, you knew that she was right. And that terrified you. Still does, actually. Why would you want to ruin such a good thing over what may be just a stupid, silly crush?
Now, exhausted, frustrated, and hopping around like a moron in the dark, the smug look on his face heavily annoys you more than ever.
“Thanks.” You snarl.
He puts his hands up in mock surrender, easily taking in your disdained mood. “Sorry.”
You finally let your foot drop back to the ground, your toe still stinging. Bucky continues to watch you as you limp towards the cabinets and reach for your favorite mug, setting it too harshly down on the marble counter before opening the fridge.
“Try drinking tea,” he says. “It’ll be better than…Dr. Pepper.”
You shrug as you uncap the bottle and pour the sweet soda into your mug. “I’ve already tried that.” You mutter. “Nothing’s been working.”
You hear Bucky shift in his chair, hear the clicks of his metal arm as he stretches it out; he rarely does it when there’s too many people around, letting himself be free with the metal prosthetic. You feel special knowing that he’s comfortable enough to be free in your presence.
“How long has this been going on?” He asks quietly.
You lean your back against the counter and bring the cup to your lips. “Almost a full week now.”
You see him nod from your peripheral vision, straightening his back and taking a sip from his own up you didn’t realize he had until now; it smells like green tea, with a hint of something sweeter. Honey, most likely.
You expect him to ask you more questions but he stays silent as you both take small sips of your drinks. Your eyes are heavy and your body is on the verge of completely slumping against the small space behind you, but you’re still too wired to sleep—okay, Bucky was right on the soda, but you’re not going to admit that to him.
“Why are you awake?” You ask him.
He just shrugs. “Same reason as you.”
That gets you to snort. Yeah right, buddy.
“Tried sparring?” Bucky suddenly breaks the silence, causing you to jump from the intrusion.
“Sorta.” You iffley say. “Still didn’t help me much…I really don’t know what my problem is.” Liar.
He hums softly. “Well,” he puffs as he sits up from the stool. “Let’s go then.”
You raise your eyebrows. “Really?”
For such a heavy man, it still surprises you when he walks silently towards you, so quietly that if you weren’t looking you’d had no idea if he was moving at all. The familiar smell of his soap overwhelms your senses as he leans in, his left arm stretched to put his cup in the sink. You can’t help but inhale the alluring musk, which causes a shiver to run through your body.
“Sexual tension.” Wanda’s voice rings through your head.
God he really does smell good and he’s warm...stop it!
“So?” He scares you again out of your thoughts, and when you look up he’s close. He’s really close—well, closer than you anticipated for only putting away a dish. He’s looking down at you with an expression you can’t quite decipher, but that smirk of his returns and your heart flutters at the close proximity of it.
You set your now empty mug in the sink next to his with a sigh and nod your head. “Take it easy on me. I’m not exactly coordinated right now.”
Bucky only chuckles, hearty and gruff, at your warning. “Whatever you say.”
You really like the way he says it. It sounds stupid, but you do.
He leads the way to the training room, turning every now and then to make sure you’re still following—and that you don’t stub your toe again.
“Turning the lights on.” Bucky warns you just seconds before the lights blare your vision, making you wince and blink against the onslaught.
When you can finally make out the shapes moving around, Bucky is already standing in the middle of the mat, watching you with his signature smirk. You can’t help but give him a small closed lip smile of your own as you make your way towards him.
“I’m totally gonna kick your ass.” You tease with a slight slur.
He grunts, face squished as he rolls his eyes playfully. “Yeah yeah, hurry up.”
“Don’t act like you don’t want to be here, Barnes.” You chide as you start to wrap your knuckles. “You’re the one who suggested this.”
“Doesn’t mean you gotta be a turtle about it.”
You give him the best glare you can muster as he struggles to hold in his laughter. Your grimace deepens when they finally escape, and his face is really fucking adorable when he laughs like this; without a care in the world. That makes you stare at him longer than necessary as he recovers.
“Okay I’m sorry!” He gasps, putting his hand up. “I’ll stop, I swear it.”
The scowl doesn’t disappear even as you start to adjust the strings on your sweatpants; tightening them. You know you look like a child right now with the way you’re stomping dramatically heavily towards the ex-assassin, but you’re too tired and slightly agitated to care.
“Alright,” he huffs. “Just come right at me and don’t hold back. Think you can handle that, doll?”
You smirk despite yourself and prepare a simple stance; attack. “Sure, ice bucket.”
Bucky doesn’t flinch from the playful tease. What he does is pat his chest with a closed knuckle and says, “I’m waiting.”
You watch him, take in his posture and immediately go for the legs. You’re a good agent, not the best, definitely in need of improvement, but you’re good. What you’re sort of forgetting here, a habit with him it seems, is that he is. in fact, a super soldier.
The air leaves your lungs with an oof as you land flat on your back. His hand, warm flesh that feels like is scorching your skin through your shirt, holds you down by your upper chest. You blink dumbly up at him as you struggle to catch your breath, your body jolted from its heavy, sleepless form.
“C’mon,” he says your name disappointingly. “You know better than that.”
You roll your eyes and grunt, swatting his hand away and standing yourself up. “I don’t see the point of this.” You complain. “If anything, I feel more awake than tired.”
“Oh you know what the point is.” Bucky scoffs. “Stop complaining and fight me.”
“Fine!” You growl.
The next charge at him, you honestly thought that you’d get the upper hand. Where he goes to block, you quickly change course and go for a punch. It all happens in a blink of an eye, and suddenly his metal arm is wrapped loosely around your neck in a lock, the other locking your wrists in his wide grip.
“You’re not even trying.” He breathes in your ear.
“I am.” You say through gritted teeth.
He finally lets you go with a small chuckle. It makes you angry. “If you’re just going to keep laughing at me then I’m—”
Bucky lunges at you. Your body reacts on instinct and ducks away from his attack, bouncing on your feet to the other side. The muscles in his back strain as he runs his fingers through his hair, flashing you a grin as he turns around.
“There ya ‘re.” His brooklyn accent runs thick through his praise.
That praise—and it’s not like you’ve never heard it from him before, always in playful banter—raises goosebumps and there’s no way he doesn’t notice it. You fight the rush of blood flooding to your cheeks.
“Here,” you try, bouncing around him and playfully trying to grab him, distracting yourself from your own confusing thoughts. “Just stand still and let me punch and kick at you until I pass out.”
He laughs with you and dodges your weak attempts with liquid ease. “Oh I’m sure you’d love that.”
“I would, actually.”
“You’re jus’ bein’ a sore loser.”
“So what—” You grunt as he slides to his right and pushes your hit lightly away from him. “—if I am.”
You do this for some time, aimlessly throwing weak kicks at his shins as he teases you—you’re really fucking jealous at how he seemingly floats with each bounce to his dodges. You finally manage to knip him around the ankle, causing him to wince and curse.
“Ha!” You cheer. “I bet that hur—”
Bucky takes your short moment of victory to sweep around you and kick your legs out from under you. You land ungracefully yet again on the hard mat, but this time you quickly recover and loop your legs around the arm closest to you and pull him down with all your strength. He flips hard on his back, gasping as soon as he makes contact and now you’re the one laughing at him as you have the upper hand.
“Well Barnes,” you tsk. “Looks like you’re losing your touch.”
“Don’t get cocky.” He warns as his hand flexes still in your grip. “Or else this happens.”
You blink and feel a harsh tug at the back of your neck. Everything is a blur as you feel yourself being lifted and flipped into the air, like you weigh nothing at all. Your eyes automatically shut and your body awaits for the hard impact.
It doesn’t come.
Bucky softens your fall by quickly rolling his body into yours and wrapping his arms around you, practically caging you in. Your hands reach for the first solid thing they can find, which happens to be soft skin and hard muscle. His legs cage yours between his, his hair lightly curled and there’s a strangled noise coming from somewhere and holy fuck he’s—
“You alright?” He asks, panting.
Your breaths mix together as you stare into each other’s eyes. You hear what he says, the words playing through your ears but your brain doesn’t register the nerves to actually respond to him. It feels like you’ve never been this close to him before, not like this anyway. It feels… suffocating. In such a good, intoxicating way that you don’t want him to move.
And then you realize that the reason why he must be asking that question is because he thinks you’re hurt; that strangled cry was from you.
He shifts, just slightly to adjust, that gets his arms to tighten around you for a split second. Your jaw clenches as you struggle to hide the hitch in your breath and the pool of arousal flooding between your legs.
“Y-yeah.” You finally answer, swallowing thickly. His adam’s apple bobs as he does the same, and that gets your body tingling with a familiar sensation that has your eyes widening. “I think I’m tired now.”
The second those words escape your lips you want to take them back. His eyes fall as he shakes his head and chuckles, looking shyly down as he sighs. He unwraps himself from you and holds his hand out for you to take. It takes you a moment, still reeling from—well from whatever the hell that was.
Now it feels awkward. You both can’t keep your eyes on each other, looking anywhere’s else like it’s fucking interesting. You gotta stop this.
“Than—”
“Can I—”
You both say at the same time. Bucky’s soft, harmonic—in your very humble opinion—chuckle joins yours and you shake your head to clear away the fuzziness clouding your brain.
“Sorry, uh what were you going to say?”
Bucky hesitates, and there’s something in his eyes that tells you that he’s nervous. It worries you, and instinct takes over to walk to him and comfort him.
“No it’s—,” he inhales sharply. “It’s okay. We can talk about it tomorrow, when you’re more…awake.”
“I’m plenty coherent, Bucky.” You scoff. “Just tell me. I’m your friend.”
He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes; it goes without the same brightness that usually greets you and that makes your stomach drop and your heart clench with an uncomfortable grip.
“I know.” He says softly. Then his eyebrow raises in a mischievous arch. “Need me to walk you to your room?”
This time it’s you who hesitates. On any other circumstance, you would’ve immediately said yes and that would be that; no awkwardness, no tension or—or whatever the fuck is going on between the two of you.
“Um… yeah. Yeah s-sure.”
You curse yourself mentally and berate yourself to keep it together. The walk back is quicker than the walk to the training room, and a part of you is entirely grateful for it. Bucky stays close as he paddles softly through the hall until your door is in sight, and you’re standing with one hand on the handle while chewing on your bottom lip. Now what?
“Goodnight,” he says your name softly, so softly you can barely hear him.
“Goodnight Buck.” You whisper back.
He gives you one last smile and walks away, and as simple and normal as this is, it feels wrong. Like he shouldn’t be walking away, because there’s something obviously going on between the two of you and you have no idea how—well, you know one way—to fix it because you’re a goddamn coward and that smile isn’t the same smile he gives you.
You lean against your bedroom door as it shuts. Your eyes sting with unshed tears and the aching pressure between your legs is long gone, but the evidence of it sticks to your panties. Ignoring it, you hop onto your bed and fling yourself against your lush pillows, and the rest of the morning is spent with you staring at the tv screen overthinking every interaction you ever had with the man responsible for your turmoil, and fall asleep with frustration seeping through your veins.
When you come to, early afternoon you think, the ache in your pussy is too much to ignore and you cum with Bucky’s name a sigh from your ecstasy. It’s the first time you do.
–
“You look…better.”
“Thank you.”
“So what was the trick?”
I masturbated thinking about my best friend. “Training. With Bucky.”
That gets her eyebrows rising up as she ahhh’s at you. “How are things between the two of you?”
“Good.” You feign. “Really good, actually.”
“Mhmmm.”
“I’m serious.”
“Just fuck already.”
“Wanda—”
“Seriously, I’m getting pretty sick of watching you mope around like this. You’ve got to talk to him.”
You sigh through your nose, throwing your head back against the couch cushion. “I know.” You groan. “It’s just—I don’t know how, you know? I mean, what if this ruins our entire friendship? I can’t…I can’t live with that.”
Wanda purses her lips and rubs your shoulder comfortably. “I know,” she coos. “But don’t think you’ll feel better getting it off your chest? How do you know that he doesn’t feel the same way?”
A pause. “No.” Yes. Another pause. “And no.” One more. “How did this happen?”
She understands what you mean when you say it in a whine. She opens her mouth and is about to reply when—
“Did what happen?”
You freeze, eyes going wide as Wanda stares back in equal horror; you also detect the glint in her green eyes that spells nothing but trouble for you.
“She just agreed to have a movie night with Vis and I. My pick, which she’s still sulking about.” She throws in, so casually that you’re kind of surprised and impressed. “We were just talking about asking you to join us.”
You should’ve seen this coming. Really, you should have. It pisses you off.
‘Calm down.’ Her voice whispers in your head, a skill she’s been working on. ‘I’m sorry, but this is for your own good.’
“Yeah?” Bucky says, all rich honey. “When?”
You roll your lips and force a smirk as you turn towards him. “Tonight, around nine.” If she was going to force you into this and pick the movie, you wanted to at least have some control over this situation.
His eyes meet yours and the crinkles around them washes away the annoyance that was starting to build. He nods while shoving his hands into his jeans pockets and grins towards Wanda.
“Alright. Pick a good movie, would ya?”
Wanda laughs. “I will!”
Your fingers twinkle in a wave as Bucky awkwardly waves back. Once you’re sure he’s gone and out of earshot, you nudge Wanda’s leg with your foot. “What the hell was that?” You hiss.
“Oh hush,” she clicks her tongue. “I just gave you an opportunity, and who knows maybe something good will happen, and you’ll be thanking me after you fuc—”
“Alright alright I get it!” You stop her, a part of you still scared that anyone will just waltz in and hear. “I’ll stop complaining under one condition.”
“Okay.” She says suspiciously with narrowed eyes.
“I get to pick the movie.”
—
Your legs hurt.
Curled up crookedly under your blanket, back at an awkward angle as you stare at the moving faces and listen to the screams as they run through the forest.
The Blair Witch Project has always been one of your favorites, and you figure there’s no sex, no nudity, nothing that could put you in a weird position with the man you can’t stop thinking about sitting right next to you on the plushy loveseat. Yeah, why not?
But of course, Wanda had to be Wanda, and insisted that the two of you lounge on the small couch while her and Vision take over the other, bigger one. As if they needed the space.
Bucky, although, doesn’t seem to sense your discomfort, and if he does he’s kept quiet about it. He seems just as stiff as you are, but more relaxed and attentive.
It’s been almost an hour of this.
There’s a little giggle from the couple to your left, and when you look over you see Wanda putting her finger to her lips, shushing Vision as she holds in more of her laughter.
Glad she’s having fun.
Stop it. You’re doing this to yourself.
You let out a soft sigh and shuffle to your right, closer to Buck as you gingerly uncurl your legs and sit them criss cross. Much better. You can pay attention to the movie better now that you’re more comfortable, so lost in the panic on the screen that you don’t hear him move but rather feel the brush of his thigh against your knee.
Once you realize it you decide to ignore the onslaught of the electric shock rushing through your core—it’s embarrassing that a touch of his leg of all things gets you going.
Bang!
You gasp and jump, gripping onto the first thing your flying hands find. It happens to be Bucky, naturally.
“Sorry!” Wanda whispers yells.
You roll your eyes with a loud, annoyed sigh and settle back into the loveseat. Your hands still grip onto his bicep, and it’s his subtle clear of the throat that brings your attention to it.
“Sorry.” You flinch and let go of him.
“It’s okay.” He sounds off, a little dejected.
You’re about to over analyze it—because that’s what you do best—when Bucky scooches closer to you and hands his arm up to rest on the back of the couch, the tips of his fingers barely reaching your shoulder. Willing yourself to relax and focus, you don’t notice the side glances he’s throwing you or the hushed whispers of your friend, who is no longer paying attention to the movie at all, but rather at you and Bucky.
“We’re gonna turn in.” Wanda announces.
Your mouth opens in a small o as you stare at her in disbelief. “Are you sure?” It’s hard to hide the plea. “It’s almost at the end!”
Vision gives you an apologetic shrug and mouths ‘sorry’ as Wanda drags him away by his hand. “Yeah, we’re sure. Don’t have too much fun without me!” Her accent thrums with pure tease and you can only blubber like an idiot while watching them disappear to their room.
“Well,” Bucky sighs and shifts lower until he’s more comfortable. “Just us.”
“Hm.”
You don’t mean to sound so annoyed. You can tell it hurts his feelings because his arm moves back to his side, effectively putting more space between you. Your heart clenches at the fact that you’re the one doing this, no one else, and seeing him now, eyebrows furrowed and teeth gnawing at his bottom lip as his leg starts to bounce anxiously, makes you feel even worse.
“I think I’m going to bed, too.” Bucky says.
He stands up before you can say something, though you’re not exactly sure what you want to say to him; there’s so much and your brain is in too much of a scramble of self wallowing and fear that it’s hard to put them coherently together.
“Goodnight.” He doesn’t say your name, or give you your smile. An awkward wave and heavy steps is all you get, and when they become more faint do you curse yourself and fight the stupid tears clogging your throat as you sit there in the dark.
–
It’s been a week since that night.
Wanda, much to your relief, has left you alone about Bucky, but you know with every look when he enters the room that she’s still thinking about it; still scolding you for not taking the leap of faith into what could lead to so much more. To be honest, you don’t blame her; you’d be doing the same if you knew she’d be happy.
This time it’s so bad that the rest of the team starts to notice yours and Bucky’s sudden thrift. Steve, bless him, has been the most frequent next to Wanda.
“You know you can tell me anything Buck,” Steve’s voice rang through the empty room.
This was the night after the movie incident. Restless once again, you decided to punch out your feelings and frustrations at two in the morning with the hope that you would be alone. You almost walked in on them, not paying attention, when you heard him.
“I know.” Bucky said. “But I’m telling you, it’s not going to happen. There’s nothing there.”
Your heart leapt in your chest and your stomach dropped. Somehow, you knew they were talking about you.
“What do you mean?” Steve asked; you imagine he did so while crossing his arms.
A bang, followed by a grunt. “Nothing. Just as I said it.”
A stab deep in your heart with a jagged edge made your knees nearly buckle.
“Buck—“
“Listen punk,” Bucky interrupted. “I know you’re just looking out for me and I appreciate it, but I don’t want to…I want—“
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” FRIDAY interjects robotically. “But I’m afraid Rogers has a call waiting for him and it’s very urgent.”
You heard Steve sigh and something moved or fell, but you hurried away before you could get caught.
Ever since, you can’t get those words out of your head. They play over and over like a broken record, chasing you to insanity.
Why oh why did FRIDAY have to say something?
It was like a sign from the universe itself. Whether it was good or bad, you weren’t quite sure yet.
Tonight is a particularly warm night, which you’re not complaining about, especially with Stark’s AC. It looks to be another night of staring blankly into space until you get tired of that; covers thrown haphazardly across the room, cool air breezing against your bare skin, a new set of dark bags under your eyes brewing. A typical night for you.
This time you debate on whether you should move. It’s getting old, just sitting here but you’re too afraid of running into—well into anyone at this point. You just don’t think you have the energy for it.
So you decide on sitting by your window and watching the cars drive by, lights flashing through the busy city. Count the stars that barely shine through in the dark sky, too many city lights blocking out the natural brightness. Finally, after several long and agonizing minutes, you throw on a pair of shorts and quietly open the door, peering at the hallways to the best of your ability without any light with ears straining to detect any type of sound no matter big or small, and once you’re satisfied that you’re alone you close the door and blink.
Where to this time?
You could try the training room again, but the last time makes you hold out on that. The living room maybe? Kitchen? Game room?
Suddenly it hits you, and you want to wack yourself on the head for not thinking of this sooner. Quickly tiptoeing back to your room, you grab the fluffiest blanket you own and wrap it around yourself.
You usually prefer taking the elevator up, too lazy for the stairs, but it’s too late for that so, stairs it is. Thankfully, it’s not that many flights and when the first breeze of fresh, cool air hits your skin you immediately sigh and inhale deeply. The night is filled with miscellaneous noises of the common city, but after being here for so long you’re more than used to it. You can see the moon now, hiding behind slivers of a dark cloud, and to your right a gruff,
“What’re you doing up here?”
It’s not unwelcoming, just a question out of curiosity. You turn to him, shocked to find him up here.
“Uh.” You drawl, mouth hanging open as you think of something to say. “Well—well I…” Why is this so hard?
“Why are you up here?” You ask instead, wrapping the blanket tighter around you.
Bucky shifts in the lawn chair—a cheap brand that creaks a little under his weight—and offers you a timid smile. “Don’t you remember?”
You shuffle through your memories, trying to understand the meaning behind his question. He’s patient with you, even shuffling deeper into his stance as you stare quizzically at him. What the fuc––oh. Oh you know what he’s talking about now.
“Oh Jesus Bucky I’m––” you run a palm over your face in shame. “I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to say sorry for,” he assures you.
But you do. You do because he’s your friend, one of your best friends even, and with all of this going on, he deserves to have a good friend.
So it makes you feel terrible that you forgot the quite frankly huge significance of this roof, and even more specifically the very spot he’s sitting in right now; this is where he goes when he has nightmares. When he wants to be alone. This is where your friendship started.
You had snuck up to the roof in the middle of one of Tony’s parties, clad in a simple short blue dress and an armful of drinks and snacks for yourself.
It wasn’t that you weren’t having fun, you were never one to turn down a good party. But that night you had just wanted a little alone time, and the roof was one of your sanctums of escape from the world and its responsibilities.
Balancing everything awkwardly and praying that you wouldn’t have to bend down and pick any of them up, you finally twisted and pushed the door unceremoniously.
It should’ve banged against something with the amount of force you excurted—out of pure annoyance—but instead it was stopped by flashy, shiny fingers, curled against the rim of the door with quiet clicks.
“Fuck!” You gasped. “I’m sorry, didn’t know anyone was up here.”
Bucky stared down at you wearily, eyes full of surprise and wonder as he eyed you up and down, particularly taking in the overflowing variousity of items in your arms.
“Yeah,” he grunted. “Just needed…to get away for a moment.”
At this point you already knew how Bucky was with large crowds; you didn’t blame him for coming here, especially on warm summer nights such as this.
“Yeah,” you repeated. “Me too.” You looked down at your feet, shifting your weight. “Do you… would you like to join me?”
He froze. The blood to your cheeks was prominent, you could feel that from the heat of it. You shifted again, lifting a foot to help shove a box back into your arms.
“Okay.”
You smiled then, bright and toothy. “Here,” Bucky said, reaching for the snacks. “Let me get that.”
That night was filled with nothing but small talk and laughter, and it was one of the best nights of your life in a long, long time. From then on, you and Bucky grew closer and closer until you started to dream about riding his cock until he screamed your name and you started to push him away.
“Buck.” You sigh, shaking the perverted thoughts away.
“Just come here,” he says, reaching his hand out. “I want you to see something.”
You hesitate, but only for a split second before you find yourself walking towards him. His eyes, grey tonight, bare deep into yours like he’s trying to see into your soul; to figure you out, more likely.
Once you’re within hand’s reach he gently tugs at your blanket and your heart skips a beat at the sheer…domestically of such a minuscule motion. He tugs again, gesturing with a tilt of his head to the armrest.
“That chair is gonna break as soon as I sit on it.” You argue.
“It’s not,” he defends gently.
He still senses your hesitance and clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “Can I—?” He scrunches his eyebrows and carefully wraps his arm around your waist, guiding you to the left side of him. You let him guide your body until you’re half seated on his lap, legs practically curled over his thighs while his arm stays wrapped around you.
The heat from his body is searing, even through the extra layers of fluff you have on you. His breath ghosts over your cheek, casting a whiff of something sweet and minty on his breath. The hard, metal muscles dig into your back, although not uncomfortably, but enough for you to have to fight the urge to rub your thighs together at the thought of his arm tightening around you as he pounds into you—
“Look up.” He suddenly whispers in your ear, husky and deep. It causes a delectable shiver to run down your body and your pussy clenches around nothingness.
Keep it together.
Bucky must mistake it as you being cold because he pulls you tighter against him, which for you only makes it harder to control your thoughts. Your heart pounds and your ankles cross to try and relieve the increasing pressure growing in your pussy; thank goodness you brought your blanket out here.
You finally muster your eyes to follow his pointed finger and squint. “What am I looking at?”
He shifts a little more to the left. Closer to you. “There.”
You try to ignore the way his words literally hit your lips. A brush of his breath that feels like an imprint on your pink flesh and gets your mouth watering; you start to wonder what he tastes like.
“That?” You stick your hand out to the pointed stars.
“You know what that is?”
Your eyebrows furrow as you think. You’re not an expert in astronomy by no means, but you took a few classes back in the day, and somehow this piece of information resonates high and mighty in your memories.
“No.” You say before you can stop yourself.
He smiles again, that toothy smile that you love. “Cygnus. The swan, I believe. Mostly comes out during summer months and it forms this triangle,” he traces the stars. “See?”
And that is why you said no. The way he describes it, giddy and excited because he learned something new and he’s telling you…you hate yourself even more for the way you’ve been trying to avoid him.
“It’s beautiful.” You murmur.
Bucky hums in agreement. Your eyes scan for any more constellations, but you can feel him staring at you. You want to look down, your neck is even starting to strain from it, but you just…
He says your name. It comes out a whisper, and he sounds… scared. You slowly, very slowly, look down and find a swirl of gray and blue. Facing him like this makes you realize you’re closer to him than you thought; tilt your head a little down and you’d be kissing him.
As if he read your mind, he licks his lips and, unconscious or not, you start to lean forward.
This is it.
Bucky’s leaning up and holy shit you’re about to—
“Hey, lovebirds!”
The both of you jump and turn towards the intrusion, you with shock and Bucky, a murderous glare. Both his arms are around you, as if to shield you from the outsider.
“Emergency meeting.” Tony smirks. “I don’t like it either but,” he shrugs. “Duty calls. Let’s go.”
Bucky’s jaw clenches out of your peripheral vision, and you find yourself filled with the same agitation because fuck you were so fucking close.
“We should go.” You tell him, like it’s not obvious that the moment is already ruined.
“Yeah.” Bucky grits out.
You miss the safety of his arms as soon as you leave them.
–
This time you find him on purpose.
You start by going to his room. It’s late, but not too late this time. You knock softly against the door once, then twice and wait.
“Bucky?” You call out softly.
A sharp, defined meow answers you back from the otherside. You grin and give the knob a try, twisting it open slowly as you glance around the room.
“Buck?” You try again.
Alpine, Bucky’s white feline, greets you with a purr and rubs against your legs. You bend down with a coo and pick him up, scratching his head as he closes his eyes and continues to purr.
“Where’s your daddy?” You whisper to the cat.
He meows like he understands you, making you chuckle. The cool floor feels nice against your bare feet this time, a nice contrast to the heat flaring through the summer air. Alpine settles himself in your arms as you search for Bucky. Everything is quiet, no signs of anyone up and moving around, and you start to wonder if Bucky is up on that roof again when you walk by the kitchen. There’s a dark figure by the corner of your eye, but you don’t register it until Alpine starts squirming and you do a double take.
“Hey.” You put Alpine down.
Bucky nods at you and follows Alpine with his eyes as the cat rubs up against his owner, adding an arch to his spine.
“I was looking for you.” You explain when Bucky doesn’t say anything.
“Hmm.” He hums nonchalantly.
You nod, because you don’t know what you want to say now that you have him and twindle your fingers together. This is… a lot harder than you expected it to be.
“Soo,” you start out. “How… are you?”
He shrugs. “‘M alright.”
Okay. You got that out of the way. Now let’s—
“Let’s go to my room.”
He’s whizzing past you before you can even blink, Alpine in tow. It takes you a moment before your muscles move and you’re following him. Your heart thuds wildly against your ribcage and you take a deep breath when his door comes into view.
Bucky has always been in a state between organized and messy. Most days you can’t even call it an organized mess, it’s more separate if you can make any sense of it. You’re reminded of this as soon as you walk in, stepping over a t-shirt and combat boots. “Sorry, sorry.” Bucky mumbles as he quickly ducks down to pick them up. The rest of his room is about the same, but it’s not too bad to make a big deal of.
“Can’t really sleep.” He offers an explanation.
“Ah.” You nod. “You got my problem now.”
He smirks mischievously and it shamefully sends a wave of blazing arousal through your body, ending at the pulsing ache quivering in need.
“It seems I do, doll.”
Is this—is this a double entendre? Is Bucky messing with you right now? Enjoying the way you’re trembling with a hold that’ll give everything away?
If so, he’s doing a fantastic job.
“So,” you clear the lodge in your throat. “S-so do you want to, uh, train? Like last time?” Okay, that might not be such a good idea—you won’t be able to control yourself then, you’re positive of it—but you genuinely do want to help him, so you’re willing to fight your animalistic pulses for the sake of your friend. No that—that doesn’t sound right. Just calling him your friend. Now, it’s leaving a distaste in your mouth.
He sits down on the edge of his bed—dark covers that match the aesthetics of his personality—and plants his elbows on his knees as he, dramatically you have to add, thinks thoughtfully with a slight pout to his perfect lips.
“Push ups.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Alright?”
“But I’m gonna need a little help.”
He leans forward, just a bit more, and—and maybe it’s just your uncontrollable imagination—his eyes are dark and blown wide.
Okay, your pussy is throbbing now, the pulse achingly worse in your clit. “O-okay.” You lick your dry lips.
His smirk widens and stretches to put his cup onto his nightstand, making his shirt pull up, showing you a sliver of chiseled abs on his toned stomach.
Holy fuck. You’re not going to make it.
Bucky catches your eye before he gets down on the carpet, the muscles in his back straining deliciously and mouth watering as he stretches his legs out and holds himself up by his palms.
“Sit on my back.”
“Wha—” You sputter with a slight giggle. “What just…just sit on you?”
“On my back, yes.” Bucky teases and glances up at you. “It’ll tire me out faster.”
It makes sense. Logically. And he does have more of an immunity than most. But you just can’t help but feel that this is part of a game of his, thinking of any and every way to torture you and watch you squirm in your helpless state.
You’re silent as you take short steps towards his crouched form and place a hand steadily on his broad shoulder. You check on his face, still as lucid and beautiful as ever, and carefully settle your weight atop his.
“Good?” You ask.
“Yes, so you can relax sweetheart.” He says without a strain. So you do as he says, sitting more comfortably on him and crossing your legs.
He bends his elbows and leans down, your fingers automatically gripping his shirt to gain more balance, and pushes himself back up at a steady pace, barely a noise coming from him. Each time he moves you feel his muscles stretch and tighten beneath you; you have to bite your lip to stop from digging your nails into his skin.
Alpine watches as Bucky continues the workout, all the while you’re sitting on him wondering just what you’re supposed to do other than sit here, anything to clear your head and appease the burning ache coursing through you.
“Say something.” He grunts.
“Like what?” You scoff despite yourself.
“I don’t know, talk about anything.” Up, down. A heavy breath. “Count for me then.”
“I don’t know how much you’ve done already.”
“Ten.” He answers immediately. Up. Down. “Eleven.” Up. Down. “Tw—“
“Twelve.” You interject with a mimicking tone. “Thirteen…fourteen…fifteen…sixteen…”
Up. Down. You highly doubt he’s even breaking a sweat right now as your body hobbles on the muscles of steel. Up. Down. A tick, sounds like from a watch, sounds lowly in the room, but to you it sounds like it’s echoing loudly through your ears. Up. Down. You need to tell him. Up. Down.
“Alp,” Bucky sighs annoyingly.
You look over and see the white glob bend its head down by Bucky’s wrist, and when Bucky leans down the cat boops his nose against his and sits.
“Oh no, c’mon.” Bucky complains. “Move.”
He tries to sweep Alpine away with one arm but you’re moving too, not holding on to him and when he leans most of his weight onto his left side, your body goes with it.
“Woah!” Your hands fly wildly as you attempt to grab onto something. That something happens to be soft and you mistake it for his shirt and pull.
“Hey—shitmhm!”
You freeze. He does too.
Did that…did that just happen?
The air is thick, so fucking thick, you’re not sure if you can breathe properly under the weight of it.
Now what the fuck do you say?
“Um are you—” you’re breathless, like you’ve been the one doing the push ups. “Are you okay?”
He still keeps his stance, Alpine long gone by now towards his bed most likely. You don’t care about that right now. All you can think about is how his arms flex as he keeps you up and how you can see his jaw tick; it shouldn’t turn you on, but that groan does nothing to help you as it echoes through the air silently.
“Buc—”
There’s a tug on your calf and suddenly the room is a blur. You feel yourself being pulled down and flipped onto your back, and again you brace yourself for impact but it’s—it’s just the soft carpet, and he’s leaning over you, legs between his now open ones with a dangerous look in his eyes that you can’t tear away from. A bead of sweat dribbles down the tip of his nose until it drips down onto your cheekbone, but that’s not even enough to break the spell you’re currently in. It breaks Bucky’s, however, because he curses and wipes the small line from your cheek and wipes the front of his face with an open palm.
You should say something. A word. Just something. He turns back to you and just…looks at you. And you look back. Breaths mix together, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and there’s a battle waging in his mind, you can see that in his eyes; they’re barely recognizable now, no blue or gray.
“Can I kiss you?”
It takes you a second to register what he said. It’s soft, so fucking quiet and gentle that it pierces straight through your heart. Your stomach erupts in nerves and your legs tighten together on their own accord, pussy fluttering at the question.
Bucky waits patiently, never once moving a muscle. You lick your lips and that’s when he moves, a flicker of his eyes and a part of his lips.
You don’t answer him with words. You don’t think you can trust your voice enough to. Don’t think at all, actually. Instead you nod and wait with baited breath as he nods back, leisurely, and starts to lean in. It’s tentative, careful but eager. You never take your eyes off his, only when you feel the soft press of his lips against yours do you indulge yourself.
The kiss starts off slow. Barely even a kiss, just lips against lips. You crane your neck up and back a little and press harder against him, making him moan softly in the back of his throat and shit that’s one of the most beautiful sounds you ever heard; you need to hear more of it.
Sensing your eagerness, he presses back and kisses you like you’re sure he did back in the 40’s, slinging every gal and wooing them with just a wink of an eye. His tongue traces the outline of your bottom lip and you open your mouth with a gasp, inviting his curious tongue into your warm crevasse. He sighs at the taste of you, swirling his tongue with yours in a fight you know he’ll win. Your hands lift up and wrap around his shoulders, pushing him down on to you. He presses down on your knee and you spread your legs for him to settle in between.
“Why—” He breaks the kiss, a string of saliva connected to your lips trailing along as you whine from the loss. “Why did we wait so long to do that?”
You giggle, deep and low and he joins in with his own, harmonizing perfectly. “I don’t know,” you say. “That’s sorta my fault, I guess. I just—” you look away shyly.
Bucky places two fingers underneath your chin, prompting you to look at him. “Didn’t want to risk our friendship.” He finishes for you.
You nod. Your chest feels lighter now, a new sense of…of an increasing, raw excitement growing inside you. He must feel the same way, too, because he swoops back in for another kiss that’s all teeth and tongue. Your arms flex as you hold him still, running your hand up the nape of his neck and into his locks, gripping a handful of it to stable yourself. Bucky moans again and drops his hips into yours, where you feel the hardening outline of his cock through his sweatpants, grinding purposefully against yours.
“Bucky,” you gasp, moaning when his lips trail down your jaw and stop at your neck.
“I’m so sorry we ever waited this long,” he groans into the skin, planting a kiss on your rapid pulse. “You’re so fucking beautiful, малышка.
You don’t understand much Russian, but Bucky has been trying to teach you on and off and this one you understand; babygirl.
“Fuck.” You moan. He sucks a mark on your neck and bites down on it, making you whine and arch your back into him. He pushes back down, and his cock feels impossibly harder and you know he can feel your hot, dripping cunt, too.
“Please,” you don’t know what you’re begging for. “I-I need…”
“What?” He asks sweetly. When you continue to sputter at him, he gives a hard thrust against your clothed cunt.
“A-ah fuck.” You keen.
“Tell me what you want.” He orders. “Tell me and I’ll give it to you. C’mon.”
It feels like you can’t breathe. He hasn’t even been inside you yet and you’re already on the edge, chest heaving and thighs quivering with the anticipation.
Bucky suddenly drops down to his forearms, leaving a searing kiss that has you whimpering for more. “Want me to taste you?” He whispers huskily. “Like I dreamed?” His hands slide under your shirt, skimming against your sides. Your breath catches, caught in your throat as your skin breaks out in goosebumps. “Kiss that pretty pussy of yours? Fuck you with my fingers? Get you alll—“ He palms your breasts and pinches your nipple; you bite down on your lip hard, indents digging sharply through the tender flesh. “—nice and wet for my thick, fat cock? Would you like that, doll?”
Would you like that? You’d fucking kill for it.
“Yes!” You moan loudly. “Oh please Bucky, please.”
Bucky loves to see you beg. His dick twitches in response in his pants and you dig your nails into his back.
“Okay baby,” he says against your open mouth. “Get on the bed for me, legs spread.”
You don’t hesitate as soon as he lifts off you. You crawl on the bed with shaky limbs and lay on your back on his pillow; it smells distinctly Bucky, filling your senses with fueled desire.
Bucky looks at you like you’re fucking treasure. Like you’re the sun, the moon, everything to him, and it makes you blush and flutter under the intensity of it. You hold your arms out with a slight pout.
“Please?”
He huffs a chuckle and reaches behind him to pull his shirt over his head. Your mouth waters at the beautiful specimen before you; you want to kiss the faint scars that littler his body. He pulls down his pants next but keeps his boxers on, the outline of his hard cock prominent and strained through the fabric; if it’s bothering him, he’s doing a pretty good job at hiding it.
Bucky crawls towards you, slow and with a curve, like a predator capturing its prey. You reach out for him and grab his shoulders, pulling him towards you for a kiss. His lips, slightly chapped but otherwise soft, move against yours in perfect synchrony, as if your bodies are already so in tune with each other. He breaks the kiss, diving back to lick your top lip, and slides the palm of his hands back up under your shirt, this time pulling the fabric with him. You help him slide the shirt off and throw it casually across the room; your nipples perk under his wandering and trumpeting gaze.
“Fuck, doll,” he whispers.
Before you can react he leans down and envelopes your nipple in his mouth, tongue swirling around the perky bud. You gasp and hold his head to your chest while his hands grip down on your hips, hard enough to where you know there’s going to be bruises. He bites down on the bud, causing you to roll your hips against his and your toes to curl.
“Bucky.” You whisper, just because he’s all you can see and feel and smell…
He lets go of your breast with a pop and trails his kisses down the valley between your breasts and to your stomach, stopping at the pant line.
“Yes.” You say before he can ask. “Please, Bucky. I need you to touch me.”
“I already am, sweetheart.” He replies innocently.
You don’t want to argue right now. “James.”
He laughs and dips his fingers inside the waistband, the cool metal making you shiver. “You know,” he says as he drags your pants down your legs at an agonizing pace. “I kinda like it when you say my name like that.”
You chuckle, but it comes out weird and without much air. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He bites your hip bone, making your hips jump and your pussy clench. “James.”
Keeping your eyes on him—somehow, you know that he wants you to keep watching him—Bucky licks the very same spot he just bit and catches his teeth on the lining of your panties, pulling back and tugging at the flimsy fabric. The act alone almost makes you cum.
You moan lowly and lift your hips to help him pull them down your legs, kicking them off once they’re at your ankles.
“Jesus.” He murmurs, his breath hot against your pussy; if it weren’t for his broad shoulders, you would’ve closed your legs to relieve the pressure. “You’re fucking dripping, baby. Did I do that to you?”
You swallow and open your mouth, but no words come out. It’s like your brain is short circuiting, cut off from oxygen. Bucky grimaces and slaps your thigh with his flesh hand, making you cry out.
“Answer me.”
“Y-yes.” You stutter. “Fuck, Bucky yes, only you.”
He grins and kisses the top of your pubic mound, gripping your thighs tighter and scooching closer to the bed. “Gonna taste you.” He whispers, almost as if he was talking to himself rather than you.
You wiggle your hips impatiently, waiting for him. You think he might slap you again if you continue moving, so you will yourself to relax and…and wait. Because he can’t stop fucking staring at you, and kissing everywhere but where you want him the most and it’s so frustrating you’re going to cry.
“Pl-EASE!”
His hot, wet tongue slides up the strip of your folds and settles around your clit, circling the sensitive bundle. You preen into his mouth and clutch at the bedsheets, already writhing against him. He immediately throws an arm—his right one—over your lower stomach and pins your hips down, preventing you from moving an inch away or towards him; you’re completely under his will.
Bucky explores the velvety slit of your pussy, humming all the while like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. The groans that are escaping you doesn’t sound like you, doesn’t feel like they’re coming from you, but they are and it finally catches up to you—James Buchannon Barnes, your friend, best friend, your co-worker, is eating your pussy like there’s no tomorrow.
“Oh fu—” He nips carefully at your clit. You can’t focus. Not on your words, your surroundings, nothing but Bucky and the sensations he’s bring you. Every lick and suck on your pussy has you keening into his unbreakable hold, whining and clutching the sheets until you’re sure you’re going to tear right through them. This is too much, way too fucking much but you’re so close, so desperate for him, that you’ll—
He slurps lewdly and loudly, making you throw your head back and choke on a moan. “Bu-Bucky I—I need…”
He pulls back just slightly enough to say, “I know.” And he shifts, getting ready to switch arms.
No. Oh no no no no.
Your hand darts out and stops him. Gulping, you wordlessly place his flesh arm back on your stomach and reach for his metal fingers. Bucky’s eyes widen as soon as he figures it out and stares at you like you’ve just grown a second head.
“R-really?” He asks indubely. “You want me to—Jesus baby you—fuck.”
“Please.” You whine. “I can take it.”
He—he snarls and buries his face back into your weeping pussy, attaching his lips around your clit. You gurgle out a low curse and feel his cold fingers prod at your gaping entrance.
“You sure?” He asks cautiously.
“If you don’t I will literally—OH!” One thick, wide finger breaches through your hole and slides into your cunt with ease, curling as soon as he’s knuckle deep. Your body spasms, like you’ve just been electrocuted, and your fingers curl in his hair.
“Taste fucking delicious,” he begins to babble. “Sweet like candy. Nevr’ gonna get enough of it, doll, never.” He pumps his finger in and out of you, curling each time he slides back in, brushing up against your sweet spot. After a few pumps, he dips another in, stretching you.
“Bucky I’m—” The coil in your lower stomach tightens, your pussy fluttering against his fingers painfully, but in a way that’s everything pleasurable. “Oh fuck I’m gonna c-cum.”
His lips are around your clit again, fingers pumping faster now to the point where you can hear the squelches from your cunt, and without any warning he sucks. Hard.
“Fuckfuckfuck.” It comes out of you without preamble, mindless babbling that doesn’t even make sense at all. Your thighs cage his head, shaking and quivering as your orgasm approaches. “I’m g-go-gonna—” Your pussy clenches harshly around his thick digits and you’re gone. White flashes behind your eyelids, a numbness searing through your entire core as you shake and gush around his fingers, and a strange sound emanates through the room again; you don’t have to question who it is.
Bucky works you through your release, moaning and lapping at everything you have to give him. Eventually you come down when it becomes too painful to bear and you push his head away from you. Giving your clit one last kiss that makes you whimper, he stands up and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, smirking down at you all the matter.
“You did so good, baby.” He praises you; you shutter, legs jumping slightly as your body flexes. “Gonna let me fuck you? Huh, babygirl?”
You’ll let this man do anything to you. Your limbs feel like jello, but find enough strength to keep your legs open and open your arms invitingly to him. He makes a show of pulling his boxers down, your eyes following the patch of dark hair and bulges at the long, thick cock that slaps against the hard plains of his stomach, precum smearing from the red angry tip. Next time—and you really fucking hope there will be a next time—you’re going to put him in your mouth.
“Like what you see?” There’s more of that cocky, playboy Bucky Barnes you’ve heard so much about.
“Yes.” You answer honestly. “Kiss me.”
The bed shifts slightly and creaks under his weight as he crawls towards you and locks his lips with yours; you can still taste yourself on his lips, sweet and tangly. The tip of his head brushes against your clit as he lays down on top of you, hot and smearing more of his precum across your stomach.
“Fuck me,” you moan into him.
Bucky groans lowly and you reach down to grab his cock; it’s hot, thick enough to where your fingers don’t reach and pulsing in your hand. “Shit.” He hisses, hips stuttering in your grasp.
Nex time, you’re going to tease him, too; give him a piece of his own medicine. You would now, but this has been a long time coming and you’re tired of waiting, so you line him up at your entrance and keep your hand on him as he slowly pushes in.
He moans your name the same time you moan his, looking down to watch himself sink into your warm depths. He stops when he’s balls deep, and you feel so full that you’re positive the tip of him is about near your cervix.
“Bucky.” You wiggle beneath him. “Move.”
“I got you, princess.” He croaks. “I got you.”
Pushing himself down on his forearms, Bucky pulls out painfully slow, his dick already wet and slick with your juices, and pushes back in. You roll your hips into his thrusts, taking him deeper. Every single muscle in his body flexes under your touch as you wrap your arms around his back, rolling into you with perfect thrusts that hits a spot deep inside you. You're too wired, too engrossed with the fact that it’s him, that your still overly sensitive pussy clenches around his cock.
“Baby,” his voice presses sweet and deep in his throat as he gasps. “I’m not—fuck I’m sorry I-I’m not—”
“It’s okay.” You tell him breathlessly, pressing your forehead against his and giving his lips a quick peck. “Just fuck me, Bucky. Use me, like I’ve dreamed of.”
Bucky chokes, eyes wild and neck red, and pulls almost all the way out until the tip is barely in and thrusts back in harshly. You cry out and dig your nails into his bare skin, leaving angry marks in their wake. He grabs your leg and hitches it over his hip, bringing his arm back down to wrap around you.
“You ever touch yourself thinking about me, doll?” He grits. “Huh? Have you?”
How—oh Jesus fuck how are you supposed to answer that when he’s fucking you so deep that you can barely remember your own name. Your pussy clenches in answer to what he already knows, and that gets him to grind down at you; the curls of his hair brush heavenly against your clit. “Yeah, you have, haven’t you?”
Pleasure rips through as his hips meet your harder and faster, the slap of skin against skin becoming louder and louder, as is your cries, but you don’t care if the whole fucking world hears you.
“You’re tight,” he gasps, closing his eyes. “How are you s-so fucking—fuck tight?”
You don’t know if he really wants you to answer that, but the only thing you can do is bring him down to kiss you again, clashing teeth as you moan and cling to him. He breaks the kiss and buries his head in the crook of your neck, breathing heavily. His arms slide back down to grope your ass cheeks and lift your lower half up to meet more of his heavy and hurried thrusts.
“I’m not going to last much longer,” he warns you in a moan.
You kiss his neck while your hand slides down his back to grope at his ass—as if you can push him even more deeper inside of you—and you lick his earlobe, tugging at the end with your teeth until he shivers.
“I want you to cum,” you whisper seductively in his ear. “Sergeant, please.”
Sergeant. Sergeant. You have no idea where it came from, but as soon as the words leave your mouth he growls and starts to plow you, fingers digging into your flesh as his hips snap into yours.
“Shit. Oh fuck babygirl I can—I can’t.” His rhythm falters, your pussy fluttering and clenching around him, trying to get his cock to say within you after each delicious drag against your walls. He whines—a pitiful, deep whine that resonates throughout the shocked nerves—and you can’t—
“I’m cumming.” You manage to break out. “B-buck—fuck.”
Your ankles cross around his waist, and it takes his teeth in your neck to have you cry out onto the ceiling as your pussy pulses around him, sucking him in and clenching until your muscles feel spent and sore.
“Oh God,” Bucky whimpers and it sends another wave through you, making him sputter and choke as his hips slam into you unevenly. “Shit shit, fuck.”
“Please baby.” You encourage softly. “Cum.”
He abruptly pulls out, your protest lodged in your throat as you feel the hot, thick ropes of cum spurt out onto your stomach.
“Fuck, fuck.” Bucky continues to gasp, his hand flying to his weeping cock and fisting it.
You moan as a few more land on your chest, painting your body with his pearly white cum; you know it’s over when he starts to slump. Without a second thought, he pushes back into you. “Bucky.” You can only say in slight confusion and pain.
“Sorry, I’m sorry I just—“ he winces as his hips connect with yours again. “—just wanna feel ya. Too good.” He slurs.
He kisses you then, slow and unhurried unlike earlier. This kiss says so much more in its language, lost in the dance of your lips. He trails his lips up to your forehead and places the softest and faintest of kisses there before settling on your chest.
You hum and rub his back soothingly. You’re both sweaty and sticky—Bucky doesn’t seem to mind this fact as he presses himself closer to you—and your body is satisfyingly numb and exhausted. Finally exhausted for what seems like ages.
Once the haze evaporates from your mind, questions start flying: what does this mean for you and Bucky now? When and how do you tell the others? What does this mean for missions? What does—?
“Stop thinking.” Bucky mumbles, voice covered by the breast he’s laid his head on. “Too loud.”
He’s right. This time, it can wait.
You smile and whisper an apology, snuggling deeper into the hug. You try to get comfortable, but the sticky evidence is drying uncomfortably on your skin.
“Bucky,” you sigh. “We gotta shower.”
You feel his nose squint. “Few more minutes.”
You fall asleep before those few minutes are up.
Tags: @scarlett-berserker, @justlovetoreadfics, @lil-baby27, @mando-vibes, @beepbeepyabitch, @that-void-witch, @im-the-music-whore, @certifiedhunter, @softpedropascal, @domino-oh-damn, @okaydacre, @lemongrove, @appreciating-chase-brody, @iwontforgettheapplepie, @mybabyboytony, @olyamoriarty, @pcrushinnerd, @elusive-ivory, @dizzydazed, @bluejeancntrygrl, @dadzawas-eyebags, @moonstruck-witchy @our-mrlangdon, @parody-the-emi, @evalynanne, @purplewaterbird, @vikingqueen28, @tedpicklez, @blunt-cake-yes, @agoldin, @lustriix, @readsalot73, @kateb013, @eupphoriaaa, @imalovernotahater, @everything-lost-and-unsaid, @dlmafa1, @hoodedbirdie, @drunkenliterary, @fioccodineveautunnale, @fangirlfree, @amarvelousmandalorian, @ironheart-hanako, @sando-rann, @meganoid1997, @adikaofmandalore, @cahooter, @charliepeaceout, @dreamgirl-67, @phoenixhalliwell, @acrylics-and-sunshine, @sunkissed-winter
#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x you#james buchanan barnes#bucky x you#marvel#mcu#reader insert#fanfic#bucky barnes imagines#bucky barnes smut#bucky barnes oneshot#bucky barnes fanfic
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Jack
A/n: I found this little one shot while I was looking through the deep dark depths of my google docs the other day and figured I might as well share it. Its a young Joker fic, and my fist time writing for the joker so please take it easy on me!😁
Pairing: Joker x OFC
Summary: A brief glimpse into the Jokers past, memories that he would rather keep buried, memories that reminded him of someone that held his heart. A heart that now burned for Gotham's reckoning.
Warnings: Talks of abuse, swearing, angst, vague talk of death
Jack found himself climbing the dirty, half rotten stairs of his apartment building. The light bulbs on every other floor, blown out or stolen, casting a darkness over him as he made his way up.
His mother had one of her 'friends' as she liked to call them, over. So he made himself scarce for the afternoon, like he always managed to. Jack weaseled his way out of the apartment when those creeps were over. Especially the ones who would come right in and give him those looks. Those perverted sideways eyes when his mother was too plastered to notice any different. Looks that sent a piercing shiver across his whole body, and an uneasiness to settle in his gut. He much preferred the men who would come over and pretended like he didn't exist.
The sun had long since started to sink in the sky as he climbed the stairs towards home and Jack knew he had to make it before the streetlights in the narrows started to flicker. The evil in his apartment was one thing, but the evils that lurched about once all the sunlight was extinguished in the sky was much more frightening.
Rounding the last flight of stairs, his eyes landed on a girl sitting at the top of them. Her back pressed against the door jam of the closest apartment door. One foot stretched out in front of her blocking his path and the other bent, shaking vigorously on the next step down.
She was sucking on a red popsicle, as her fingers drummed against the skin of her knee that poked free from a hole in her ratty jeans.
Jack knew she just moved in a few months back, but he never crossed paths with her before now. However every time he opened the door to let in one of his mothers 'friends', she would be sitting at the top of those stairs. Usually a pack of playing cards in her hands, flicking them one by one, aimlessly down to the next landing.
"What flavor is that?" Jack asked, curious at what her voice would sound like. He'd been intrigued by her presence the moment he saw her all those weeks ago.
Pulling the half melted popsicle from her mouth, the girl turned her head slightly to gaze towards him. Her dark brown hair in a curly mess that covered half of her face, but not enough for Jack to miss the darkness of her left eye. It almost appeared black, the deep brown of her iris engulfing her pupil, giving her a truly ominous appearance.
"Cherry." She answered, her voice nothing what he expected. It held a delicate raspiness, nowhere near the point where it matched Ms. Emerson two floors up who had been smoking 3 packs a day since the depression. There was a softness to it though, one that made Jack want to hear more from her. "You live in the apartment cross from me don't you?"
Nodding his head, Jack shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. "Sure do."
She sat in silence after that, and he stood a few stairs below quietly staring at her. His feet shuffling against the creaky old floor board, wondering if this would be the end of their talk. Perhaps it'd be the last time they spoke at all. Jack knew the Narrows had people shuffling around from place to place, like one of them scam shell games. She very well could be gone by morning.
"I can bring you one next time…. If you want?" Swinging her leg around, she sat so she was facing him. Both feet planted one step down as she licked the red sugary liquid that was starting to drip down the wooden popsicle stick and onto the top of her hand.
"I got two left in the freezer." Her voice was soft and held a nervousness that made fighting off a sly grin for Jack very difficult.
"Yeah, I'd like that." Hustling up the stairs, Jack found himself sitting down beside her.
His eyes getting a better glance at the girl, in the low light of the stairwell. Now he could tell she was using her hair to hide the right side of her face. Her right eye was an awful shade of purple, and the lid swollen so badly Jack knew she must be having a hard time seeing.
As he let his eyes pan across her face, he noticed her lip that was stained with cherry popsicle was also busted open. The girl next to him seemed to have come from a similar home as himself. It was near luck that Jack hadn't gotten his ass handed to him by one of his mother friends in a while. Talking back was a habit that he couldn't quit no matter how much he was beaten for it. Not to mention the fit of laughter that usually escaped his thin lips as a belt or a fist swung in his direction didn't help either.
"You got a name?" He asked, finally dragging his eyes back to meet her dark gaze.
"Billy."
Furrowing his brow and giving his head a subtle tilt, he wondered if she was fucking with him.
"That's a boy's name." He puffed out a small laugh. However the girl beside him didn't react at all.
"I know, you don't gotta remind me." She shrugged her shoulders, before finishing off the popsicle and throwing the wood stick down the stairs.
"It's your nickname right?" Jack couldn't quite stop himself with the questions. Usually he kept to himself and avoided people, but she… there was just something different about her. Something that drew Jack in like a moth to a flame.
He knew his interest was purely the result of her moving directly across the hall and appearing to be close to his age, if she had moved three flights up and was a little frilly girl, Jack was sure he wouldn't have even batted an eyelash in her direction as he carried on home.
Shaking her head and rolling her eye, she was the one to laugh now. "No, my momma lost her first baby, who was a boy when he was real little. She ain't been right in the head since." Jack watched as she picked at the frayed edge of the side pocket of her faded army green vest while she spoke. "So when she found out she was having me, she just knew I was a boy. The doctors told her different, but she didn't really care what they thought. So she named me Billy."
Shoving her hands into her vest pockets now, she quickly pulled out her deck of cards and began to shuffle them absentmindedly.
"Billy's not a bad name, I mean there was Billy the kid that robbed banks in the old west right? Like some badass cowboy outlaw… Maybe one day I could live up to that name." Jack's eyes watched as she expertly flipped the cards against themselves, the loud noise filling the hallway.
"Hate to break it to you, Billy the kid never robbed banks. He's just known for murdering people."
Peering up at him from the corner of her eye, her posture deflated, "Oh…." Billy sighed.
They sat there in silence after that, Jack feeling some form of regret telling her about Billy the kid. The girl had seemed thrilled in her blissful unawareness, so happy with only a shared name that connected the two. Which was utterly ridiculous, and in any other circumstance Jack would have enjoyed watching the girls dreams come crashing down from the clouds. However it was like a small light had been snuffed inside of her and Jack hated that he caused that. Which blew his mind, cause why would he care about some girl he just met and her no good thoughts. She'd be gone in a few weeks, out of his life for good! The narrows would swallow her up just like it did the other kids, and he really shouldn't have cared. But he did on some level, and it fucking bothered him.
"Billy where the fuck you at, you little piece of shit?" An angry voice screamed from just beyond the door she had been leaning against. The abruptness caused the girl to flinch and drop the stack of cards she was holding.
They fell like dominos down the stairs, fluttering off in all sorts of directions. Making a fucking mess.
Jack watched as she threw herself off the steps and down the stairs chasing after all the playing cards. "Fuck I'm gonna be in so much trouble." She muttered to herself as she frantically began the daunting task.
Without much thought, Jack did something that surprised himself again. He stood up and grabbed a few of the cards that had fallen towards the top of the stairs. Bunching them together in his hand, before looking down at the Ace of hearts that was face up. The corner dog-eared like a well read book, from constant use probably.
"I said where the fuck you at girl." A man ripped the door open to her apartment, and stumbled out. The stench of bad tequila filling the air almost immediately.
"I-im I'm sorry I…" Billy stuttered out as she crawled on the ground grabbing the last of the cards. Her hands trembled bad enough that Jack could tell from where he stood that she was terrified.
Eyeing the man cautiously, Jack saw him take a step closer to the edge of the stairs. His arm raised slightly, fingers twitching, ready to strike her hard when she finally made her way back to him.
"Sorry, I tripped into Billy while I was coming down the steps. Made her drop her cards." Jack lied with a laugh, and held up the few in his hands. "I was just helping her pick them up."
The drunken slob of a man, took a steadying breath, probably knowing he couldn't pummel a kid that wasn't his own. The man's overtly round face, covered in a patchy beard and a badly trimmed mustache that had the remnants of cheese puffs littered throughout it, gave Jack a nasty look. His lip turned up in pure disgust.
"Yeah well watch where you fucking walk next time." He flicked his hand at Jack, and then turned his attention to Billy. Who was now standing up straight at the bottom of the landing, cards in hand. "You, " He pointed at her with a chubby accusatory finger, "pick up your goddamn mess and get in the house, and don't make me fucking tell you again."
Jack watched as the man turned ungracefully on his heel and stumbled back from the pit in which he came. Slamming the door behind him with such power, some of the cracked plaster on the ceiling fell to the floor.
"You didn't have to lie."
"I know." He heard her take a few hesitant steps up, until she was standing side by side with himself. "I ain't in the mood to watch an ass kicking at the moment." He couldn't stop the tiny laugh that escaped him at his own humorless joke.
Tilting his head towards Billy, he finally held out the few cards that he managed to collect. She greedily took them back into her possession, and Jack watched as the girl seemed to be counting them to herself. Her fingers flipping past each number making sure they were all accounted for.
"Thank you." Her voice was softer than anything Jack had ever heard as she finished what she was doing and tucked the cards back into her vest pocket.
"He hit you a lot?" Jack asked aloud, as the girl pushed past him and towards her apartment door.
Shrugging her shoulders, Billy nodded her head. "Not as much as my real dad did, so I'm lucky enough. I know some kids got it worse than me, so I'm not complaining."
"Lucky?" He quirked a brow at her choice of words. Luck was nowhere to be seen in the Narrows, especially not in that girls apartment.
Perhaps the girl had been struck in the head so many times it actually made her dense. It wouldn't be a surprise to him if that was the case, because no one, and he meant no one, would ever call themselves lucky with the life she seemingly led.
"You got to believe in something, right?" She smirked. "Luck seems more plausible than some god or a superhero saving me. Plus I got this." Reaching back into her pocket the girl drew out a single card, and quickly flicked it over to him.
Jack caught it and huffed an amused laugh. His eyes falling upon the joker card that belonged to her deck. The jester was skillfully juggling three knives while he balanced with one foot on a large green and purple circus ball. The character itself was off putting, his face painted white, his lips smudged with red paint that made his maniacal grin even more pronounced. His jester hat constructed out of oddly colored rattlesnakes, multiple wrapped around one another to give its iconic shape. Their rattling tails hung as the bells at the tips. It was clearly far from the typical playing card one could get at the Bodega down the block.
"It's my lucky card, bad things don't happen as often when I have it on me."
Jack couldn't help but continue to stare at it. The wheels in his mind spun endlessly with hundreds of questions, but he knew he'd never have time to get them answered. She was on borrowed time as it was, and he didn't want to hold her up further. Cause if he did, the girl probably wouldn't be able to see at all next time he ran into her. The guy inside, smashing her other eye to the point it was swelled shut as well.
Looking up into her eyes, Jack attempted to hand it back. But Billy just shook her head at him.
"You keep it, it's the least I can do after you saved my ass. Maybe it will bring you some luck." She smiled at him before turning and opening her apartment door making her exit.
"If you give me this, won't your luck be gone?" His words stopped her in her tracks. But all Jack could focus on was her soft laughter.
Without turning to face him, she pulled another card free from her pocket, twisting it expertly between two fingers so the face of it was in Jack's direction. An inverted match to the very card that he held in his hands. "There's always two jokers."
Just as quick as she pulled it free, Billy shoved it back into her pocket, "See you around." She chuckled before disappearing into her apartment. Leaving Jack alone in the stairwell, staring quizzically at the place the girl once was. His lip twitching up in amusement, before he shook his head clear of their encounter.
°°°°°°°°°°°°°°
The joker cracked an eye open as he startled awake. It was a rare occurrence in recent years that his dreams would startle him out of sleep. That was only reserved for a specific time in his life, and that was not now anymore.
His half sleep blurred vision instantly focused on the ever growing water stain that was spreading across the ceiling tiles. It's dark brownish edges tainting the once white paint, giving the already run down room a greater sense of abandonment.
His hand stretched out wantingly, his long fingers gripping into the cool sheets of the spot next to him. The spot that had been vacant for many years now. An emptiness that slowly consumed him in absolute sorrow, and then engulfed him in a burning rage, no one could ever put out.
It was a pain that radiated through the Joker like a poison when his mind traveled to her. Pleading for him to remember, remember a time when things were pleasant. When she was by his side, and in his bed, places he could keep her safe.
But he couldn't, the day Gotham took her from him was the day its reckoning started. They would all pay, every last one of them.
#joker x ofc#joker#the joker#joker x reader#young joker#heath ledger#one shot#fanfiction#the dark knight#not good at this#wish me luuuuck#cards#card tricks
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To new friends
Chapter 6 of Different Light
A/N- So I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before, but I am going to have some events from the books in this series, just to add more angst and more fun. So if you read parts that don’t show up in the movie, it’s becaue it’s either what I wrote, or something that happened in the books 👍🏽 hope you guys like the chapter and don’t be afraid to leave your thoughts!
Warning- Angst, SLOWBURN.
Pairing- Harry Potter x Malfoy!reader, Fred Weasley x Malfoy!reader
(Let me know if you want to be tagged)
————
As the blissful daze of the Yule ball night passed, the last few free days passed swiftly, taking the memory of Fred’s kiss on your lips with it. Leaving nothing behind but the mental memory of such a delightful moment.
Albeit it was also a moment that wasn’t talked about any day after, classes started again and days would get busier for both Fred and you. Of course you didn’t want to force him into talking about it, you wanted the topic to come out, just effortlessly. Fred treated you kinder; that’s something you noticed, he was way more touchy than before. Usually before when you would sit next to each other, there was no contact whatsoever—sure your arms, or thighs brushed against each other’s, but that was it.
Now when Fred sat next to you in the great hall, or really anywhere else, he would place his hand on top of yours, or hook his pinky fingers with yours; sometimes he would place his arm on top the seat you were sitting on, but that was about it. Fred didn’t try and repeat what happened that night, or try and gloat about it. He simply just didn’t talk about it.
Which led you to think; what did he intend with that kiss?
You want to ask him, but then again you fear the answer he could give.
It’s not like you could ask George. One, because he was Fred’s twin brother and two, you didn’t want to put George in that position. It’d be better if he wasn’t in the middle, things would just flow much easier that way.
You still wanted help, but from who? Narcissa? You could specifically leave Fred’s name out and just ask for advice, but as you further thought about it, asking your mother wasn’t the best option; yet.
That left you with the lingering question of, who then?
“Y/N.”
At the sound of the small, sweet voice calling to you, you’re thrown from your train of thought and left to look over your shoulder and notice, Hermione Granger, striding towards you. At first you don’t know what to do, you’re actually utterly confused on what to do and why she has called you. But realization hits you as she finally falls by your side and offers you a small sweet smile—you had helped her that night of the Yule ball. She said words you’d never forget.
Regardless you didn’t really think you helping her that night was enough for her to reach out to you now. Maybe just simple “hellos” when you passed by the halls, but you didn’t think she’d actually call your name and hurry to reach you. That gesture was still so unfamiliar and new to you.
You smile and greet her however, regardless of how your thoughts churn. “Hello.”
“I saw you pass just now and thought it’d be nice to walk with you to Arithmancy.” Hermione explained kindly. “Is that alright with you?”
Of course!
You smile shyly and nod. “Yeah that's alright.” You feel your cheeks burn and a need to just walk in silence, but you also were desperate to make friends who weren’t just Fred and George—“I never got the chance to ask, did you enjoy the Yule ball? Before everything went down I mean.”
Hermione smiles wider and nods. “Yes it was absolutely great. I had a lot of fun. What about you? Fred mentioned he was going with you, how was that?”
“Oh well,” you smile shyly at the memory of that night. “It was amazing, Fred was a good partner.”
A new thought then invades your mind—you could ask her for help. Even ask her if she heard anything Fred mentioned of that night. After all they were part of the same house. She’s got to know a thing or two, right?
“Do—”
“Fred said you were a great partner too,” Hermione mentions as if she has read your mind. “He said he enjoyed that night with you.”
At the sound of her comment, you feel your cheeks burn increasingly hotter. You’re left stunned for a moment, left giddy and speechless, left trying to collect your thoughts and like you could explode from the inside—you had heard him say he enjoyed that night, but hearing that he had said that to other people just made it seem even more special. The knowledge of what he said made you smile wider. It made you want to know more.“Did he say anything else?” You turn your head to look at her and you see her shake her head.
“No, I’m sorry. He and his friends moved away before I could hear more.”
You hum softly and assure her. “It’s okay, thank you for telling me what he said though.”
Hermione just smiles as response before she changes the subject, not giving you the chance to ask for her help in your still troubled dilema. “What are you reading?”
You look down to the Daily Prophet in your hand and shrug. With all your running thoughts, you didn’t have time to read what you had in your hand. “I don’t know, I haven’t had time to read what,” you lift the newspaper and scoff, “Rita Skeeter wrote it, probably just rubbish anyway.”
Just as you’re about to shove it in between your books, Hermione stops you before snatching the paper from your hand. “Wait, what does this evil witch have to say now.”
Out of new grown curiosity, you look over her shoulder as she begins to read the paper outloud; “DUMBLEDORE'S GIANT MISTAKE
Albus Dumbledore, eccentric Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, has never been afraid to make controversial staff appointments, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. In September of this year, he hired Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, the notoriously jinx-happy ex-Auror, to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, a decision that caused many raised eyebrows at the Ministry of Magic, given Moody's well-known habit of attacking anybody who makes a sudden movement in his presence. Mad-Eye Moody, however, looks responsible and kindly when set beside the part-human Dumbledore employs to teach Care of Magical Creatures.
Rubeus Hagrid, who admits to being expelled from Hogwarts in his third year, has enjoyed the position of gamekeeper at the school ever since, a job secured for him by Dumbledore. Last year, however, Hagrid used his mysterious influence over the headmaster to secure the additional post of Care of Magical Creatures teacher, over the heads of many better-qualified candidates.
An alarmingly large and ferocious-looking man, Hagrid has been using his newfound authority to terrify the students in his care with a succession of horrific creatures. While Dumbledore turns a blind eye, Hagrid has maimed several pupils during a series of lessons that many admit to being "very frightening."
'I was attacked by a hippogriff, and my friend Vincent Crabbe got a bad bite off a flobberworm," says Draco Malfoy, a fourth-year student. "We all hate Hagrid, but we're just too scared to say anything—”
Your eyes widen at the sound of your brother's name and anything else read after that just tunes out. The news of Hagrid being a half giant doesn’t even bug you, or register in your mind as someone dangerous (because he wasn’t). All you focused on was what lies your, weasel of a little brother had to say. It makes your furious, feel steam come out of your ears and feel your fists shake. The news on the paper even makes Hermione upset; albeit her reasons differed from yours.
Clearly—“how-how did she find out!” Before you could give your opinion, Hermione quietly seemed to ramble to herself, only raising her voice at specific points. “Maybe she heard him telling Madame Maxine at the ball—but no, they would have seen her, she’s not even...” her voice goes quiet again and you’re left looking at her bewildered and still taken back yourself. As well as intrigued by what she had to say. Surprised by her suddenly asking you a probing question. “Did you see Rita Skeeter that day of the ball?”
You blink out of surprise, but manage to shake your head. “No, I didn’t. But maybe she was hiding in some bushes, like an odd-ball.”
Hermione bites her lip and shrugs before giving an opinion herself. “Maybe she has some type of invisibility cloak?”
You shrug, “maybe. I mean to get such a scoop on people, she’s got to have something up her sleeve.”
Hermione's eyes narrow and she seems to go into deep thinking before she comes up with a suggestion that surprised you even more. “We should try and figure it out. You’re smart, I’m sure if we got together, we’d figure it out.”
You scoff lightheartedly and stop before entering your intended class. “Why the need to get the scoop on her?”
“Because,” Hermione blurted passionately, “it’s not the first time she’s done something like this. Mysteriously getting news on people. She’s wicked and needs to be stopped.”
You smirk at her fiery spirit and can’t help but give in without much need of further convincing. “Alright, I’ll help. It sounds like fun.”
——
The day of the second game came and you couldn’t be dreading this one more. It was too cold and what was the point of having an audience? The players were going to be underwater and if they somehow have a way for you and the rest of the students to look in the depths of the lake without having to go in along with the players, then what was the point?
You were just going to unnecessarily freeze to basically watch players dive.
“ANY BETS! ANY BETS!”
“PLACE YOUR BETS!” George and Fred shouted in a booming voice to the passing students.
Yet with all you’re complaining, here you were, still teamed up with the twins trying to take bets from students.
“THREE LADS!”
“ONE LADY!”
“FOUR ARE GOING DOWN!”
You would’ve joined into their tactics, but you didn’t feel like screaming, so instead you held onto the box for them, watching them as you moved up and the students moved down towards the boats. Stopping only when their sister shoved past them and stopped to remark their rude persuading screams. “Don’t be so mean.”
The twins and you looked back to Ginny and you couldn’t help but agree, but the twins on the other hand turned back around and continued screaming to try and convince others to place bets. Stopping only minutes before the last boat could leave the dock.
“Finally,” you groan as you close the box and shove it in George’s hands. “I thought we’d never finish.”
Fred scoffs, “come on, you’ve got to admit that doing this makes the games more fun.”
“Hardly.” You retort as you shove your hands in your jackets pockets, “freezing to watch water is something I would hardly call fun.”
“You’re in luck then.” George assures you, “the game should be an hour long.”
You groan one last time before you reach the boats, looking to Fred as he pointed for you to get on first. “Ladies first.” He smirks before he follows after you, waiting lastly for George to go on before the person driving the boat began its short trip to the already packed and rowdy stands.
Luckily not having to wait too long for the game to start and beginning to watch with much more anticipation and stress than you intended after you watched Harry clumsily fall into the lake. While Draco, who was two people away from you laughed and pointed at Harry’s clumsy fall, causing you to shoot him a side glare. One he didn’t catch, but you meant with a burning dedication. He only shut up when Harry shot up after his worrying fall into the water, causing an uproar from the students rooting for his win. Albeit seconds after he splashed in, everyone, including yourself were filled with stomach twisting anticipation for anyone’s resurface from the water with their special lost thing.
You were also left with waiting, and endless waiting, growing colder as time ticked.
“Cold?” Fred asked you.
You looked to him and shivered slightly at the feeling of the bitter wind hitting your face. “what do you think?”
A half, smug smile tugged on his lips and he shrugs. “No, I don’t think you are.”
“Then there's your answer.” You cross your arms over your chest and look out to the lake, feeling your shoulders jump slightly moments later when Fred wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer to him.
“Better?”
You feel your cheeks burn and your heart skip a beat. It’s hard to think of what to say at the flustered feeling you got at the interaction, but you somehow manage to respond. Albeit stammering and sounding like you were terrified. “Y-yes, much better.”
You didn’t see but Fred grinned at your response. Choosing to stay quiet for the remainder of the game until the first contestant surfaced from the water; Cedric Diggory and Cho—you clapped, but didn’t feel much excitement like others did. Instead you felt as if your stomach twisted tighter knowing that the game was close to over and Harry hadn’t surfaced yet.
Krum and...Hermione surfaced and you clapped excitedly for her, but you were still left with the increasing worrying, glancing repeatedly at the time and waiting as others did. Hearing whispers and the excitement for the game dwindled the more time passed and Harry showed no sign.
The worry now surrounding the crowd was replaced by short relief when Ron and a little girl surfaced, but that was short lived since Harry’s presence was lacking. It made you part from Fred’s side and grip onto the railing to look down into the water to watch and wait—and yes he was just a boy you hardly knew, hardly talked to and just thought of as cute and nice, a bit clumsy and dorky, but...you couldn’t help but worry and—
Before you could get deeper into your thoughts, Harry Potter shot up from the water and finally relieved the worry and stress that had grown increasingly higher those past few minutes. Making you push yourself off the railing to finally clap and cheer, turning to celebrate the win with the twins for a brief moment before you’re interrupted by Dumbledore's booming voice. “Attention! The winner is Mr. Diggory!”
The crowd for Cedric erupted with claps and cheering for him and his win. All them were forced to quiet down though as Dumbledore continued. “Who showed the need to command of the bubble head charm. However seeing as Mr.Potter would have finished first, should it not been for his determination to rescue not only Mr. Weasley, but the others as well, we’ve agreed to award him second place! For outstanding moral fiber!”
Again the crowd erupted into a roaring cheering, causing the twins to five each other and you in a form to celebrate. Ignoring as Draco, bitterly stormed off after the announcement of his rival's achievement. While the three didn’t waste a second for the twins and you to push through the crowd to walk down to where Harry, and the other contestants and the people they saved were.
The twins rushed first, greeting Harry with loud congratulating cheers and a tight hug that they backed from after feeling Harry all wet; letting them turn to their brother and in their own foolish way, worry over his well-being. Letting you be face to face with Harry and instantly feel a hotter heat crawl onto your face before and while you found the words to talk to him.
“That was amazing Harry! You did great!” You grinned, stepping into wrap your arms around him, but stopping as you took in his soaked figure.
“Yeah,” Harry nodded, “I wouldn’t, I’m soaked.” A timid and wobbly smile tugged on his lips and he continued. “Thank you though, y/n.”
You offer him another warm smile and last lingering stare before you rip your eyes away and turn your attention to Herimone next to him.
——
“Right on, all that moral fiber, eh?” George teased Harry as he walked onto the deck.
“That’s great.” Fred chuckled.
You smirk and tag along with the teasing. “All that moral fiber.”
“Blimey, even if you go wrong it turns out right.” Ron voiced with a slight smile.
“Well done, moral fiber.” Fred teased before lightly pushing Harry and then walking off with his brothers, Hermione and you, leaving Harry behind.
You wanted to look back, but before you could Fred’s hand on your arm interrupted your attempts before you could accomplish them. “So, y/n, I was thinking,” he began to say in a soft voice that was rare for him to speak in and off putting for you to hear. “How about we go to Hogsmeade together?”
You blink and begin to fall behind from the group, parting your lips to speak, but coming out with nothing but a breath of air. Proceeding to instead gently rub your arm nervously and letting your eyes flicker from the ground to Fred before managing to speak just as nervously. “Like George, you and I?”
Fred chuckles and shakes his head. “No you goof, just you and I.”
Your cheeks burn again and you giggle and whisper, “oh,” before smiling warmly and nodding. “Sure I like the sound of that, when?”
Fred shrugged, trying to hide his cocky smile. “I’ll let you know, alright?”
You nod, “okay.” Before you both catch up to the group you had been with, picking up your pace smoothly, so you could catch up with a grinning Hermione that already knew by the smile on Fred and your faces what had gone on.
In that moment letting a thought begin to unroll in the back of your mind. Not one having to do with Fred, nor George or Harry. But about Hermione. Odd thing especially after getting asked out by Fred, but it was a thought that just grew; even if Hermione and you had just started talking and a friendship was beginning to develop. It still felt refreshing, assuring and exciting that you had someone else as a friend. Someone who could relate to you in other ways Fred, or George couldn’t. You felt happy that you were beginning to be her friend, that she viewed you like hers and not like the other girls would in Durmstrang. She viewed you like a friend now. She viewed you differently.
——
“HARRY POTTER IN A BURNING LOVE TRIANGLE
A boy like no other, perhaps - yet a boy suffering all the usual pangs of adolescence, writes Rita Skeeter. Deprived of love since the tragic demise of his parents, fourteen-year-old Harry Potter thought he had found solace in his steady girlfriend at Hogwarts, Muggle-born Hermione Granger. Little did he know that he would suffer through a trouble bigger than any he has faced, choosing who to love and who to leave behind broken hearted.
In the recent events of the Triwizard tournament, Harry has been spotted in the arms of new transfer student to Hogwarts, Y/N Malfoy. At first it had seemed that it was nothing but platonic, but their affectionate embrace and caring and lovable words told us otherwise. Yet as loving as they are, Harry is still caught in the middle between Herimone Granger, who is not innocent as she portrays to be.
Miss Granger, a plain but ambitious girl, seems to have a taste for famous wizards that Harry alone cannot satisfy. Since the arrival at Hogwarts of Viktor Krum, Bulgarian Seeker and hero of the last World Quidditch Cup, Miss Granger has been toying with both boys' affections. Krum, who is openly smitten with the devious Miss Granger, has already invited her to visit him in Bulgaria over the summer holidays, and insists that he has "never felt this way about any other girl."
However, it might not be Miss Granger's doubtful natural charms that have captured these unfortunate boys' interest.
"She's really ugly," says Pansy Parkinson, a pretty and vivacious fourth-year student, "but she'd be well up to making a Love Potion, she's quite brainy. I think that's how she's doing it."
Love Potions are, of course, banned at Hogwarts, and no doubt Albus Dumbledore will want to investigate these claims. In the meantime, Harry Potters well-wishers must hope that he opens his eyes and sets his heart upon his Slytherin lover.
No. No. No. This can’t be happening. No. Your father...your mother….your father. He’s going to kill you before disowning you. No. This isn’t what you wanted. Even if it was false information when it came to your part of the paper, it was still going to get to your parents before you had the chance to explain. You’ve done good to hide the truth of your friendships from them when Draco snitches, but this...this can ruin everything and take you back to Durmstrang.
“If that’s the best Rita can do, she’s losing her touch,” Herimone says, beginning to giggle and causing you to snap your head from the paper to look at her with a perplexed, widened gaze. “What a pile of old rubbish.” She proceeds to take the paper from your hands and throws the paper into an empty chair. The action leaving you shocked and speechless—wasn’t she worried to?
On how Rita Skeeter found out about the obvious private conversation that went on between her and Krum? Why wasn’t she worried like you?
“Why-why are you so calm?” You manage to ask with your perplexed and widened gaze.
Hermione looks over to a group of Slytherins to see if they’d be upset by the article. Hermione gave them a sarcastic smile and a wave, and turned back to pretend to focus on the parchment in front of the both of you to finally talk without giving your question an answer. “There’s something funny though, how could Rita Skeeter have known?” Her face went red and she pressed her quil to her chin. “How did she know Viktor asked me to visit him in the summer?”
You shrug and push your worry aside for now, “maybe someone’s her spy?”
Herimone shakes her head, “no, couldn’t be, he pulled me away from the judges after we got our blankets and we were in a spot surrounded by his friends. They’d never do anything to Viktor.” Her face grew increasingly more red and her eyebrows furrowed deeper as she mindlessly pressed her quil on the parchment now. “But how could Rita have heard. She wasn’t there...or was she? Maybe she’s got an invisibility cloak?”
“Perhaps,” you muse along with her, “but there were too many people on that platform, someone would have bumped into her and found her out.” You tap your fingers on the tabletop as you begin to brainstorm a possibility, muttering to Hermione as you did so. “What exactly happened after Krum and you got out of the water?”
Herimone began to explain every exact detail of the events after Krum got her out of the water. Every single detail from climbing onto the platform, to mentioning that Krum flicked a beetle off her wet hair and lastly the moment you had finally come along.
“Hmm,” you rest your elbow on the table and rest your head on your hand as you continue to think and throw out ideas that came to your mind. “Well there wasn’t much room for her to hide at all. She couldn’t be under the water, and it’s doubtful she used polyjuice.”
“You’re right.” Hermione agrees.
At a incoming thought you begin to snicker, “maybe she temporarily transformed into your towel.”
Suddenly Hermione shoots up and her eyes gleam with what seems to be excitement. She steps towards you and manages to pull you off your chair to hold your hands in hers and basically shout out. “I’ve got it!”
“Hermione Granger and Miss Malfoy, please be quiet unless you both want detention!” The professor scolds you, making Herimone quietly apologize before she pulls you back to your seat and continues quietly. Disregarding the warning you both had just gotten.
“She couldn’t have turned into a towel, or risked using polyjuice, but she could have transformed into something else. Something smaller and easy to blend in and be disregarded by any person.”
You blink in astonishment by her quick thinking and fast investigating skills. You don’t say anything, just listen completely mesmerized.
“Rita Skeeter was the beetle in my hair,” Herimone whispers in a loud excited whisper, “of course I thought nothing of it before because it was just a bug, but now it all makes sense; how she can catch all the scoop and hide without without being seen. She’s an animagus.”
You smirk and squeeze in your own thoughts. “Probably an unregistered one too, or else Dumblrdore would have taken extra precautions to keep her off the castle grounds.”
“Yes!” Hermione exclaims with a joyful and yet mischievous grin, “she kept her secret well until now. I’m going to make sure that she doesn’t have another chance to spread any more cruel, dishonest stories.”
“What do you mean?” You gasp with a deeply puzzled and slightly fearful face.
“I’m going to make sure she doesn’t write any more stories from here until the tournament ends. I’m going to catch Rita.” She explains in a loud whisper once again with a dangerous mischievous look still painted in her eyes. “Do you want to catch her with me?”
“I,” you pause to think before you have the chance to abruptly answer. Beginning to go over the fact in your head, that Rita didn’t also make a lie about Hermione, but one about you. One that could cost you heavily. And the days before Herimone asked about helping her, you were down to pair up with Hermione because you didn’t want to lose a friend. Now you were doing it because, well you didn’t want to lose a friend and two, you had motivation of your own.
A smirk creeps onto your face and you meet Herimone’s gaze to share that same dangerous mischievous gaze. “I’m going to catch Rita with you.”
Even if you knew you were still going to get hell from your parents….especially your father.
.
.
.
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Tagged- @peter-laufeyson , @swiftlymoniquesblog , @spideyyypeter , @gsvshsjsbs, @accio-prozac , @cherriesanwine , @kokomaesadie , @april-14-blog , @prettypinkpeachh , @pest-ill-ence , @ilovespideyyy
#Harry Potter#harry potter and the goblet of fire#harry potter fanfiction#harry potter x malfoy!reader#fred weasley x malfoy!reader#fred weasley fanfiction#harry potter x reader#harry potter imagines#harry potter imagine#harry potter x you#harry potter x y/n#fred weasley x reader#fred weasley imagines#different light#Draco#Herimone granger#Malfoy!reader#angst#SLOWBURN
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e t h e r e a l (ron weasley x poc!reader)
ethereal
(adj.) extremely delicate light, not of this world
Pronouns: She/her
Request: Hiiiii! Can I request a Ron weasley x sweet smart reader (if you do POC can she be black?) and she’s a slytherin and friends with a lot of people and has a huge crush on Ron and she’s pretty sarcastic when she needs to be and hermoine is jealous of her because Ron really likes reader and she’s really pretty and smart and Ron plans on confessing to her but hermoine confronts reader trying to tell her she’s not good enough for Ron but reader is headstrong and doesn’t care cuz she loves ron to much and Hermoine and Ron get into an argument about it with her telling him she loves him but he doesn’t feel the same way and asks reader out later she says yes and hermoine is heartbroken(I’m sorry that’s so long I get pretty detailed😭)
A/n: Ahhhh! My first request!! Thank you so much for requesting this darling! Set in third year, the reader is a Slytherin. I’m so sorry if this isn’t what you wanted, I struggled with her being sweet. I had to make it a little angsty, sorry about that! 2.3k words of solid chaos, please enjoy!
Warnings: Bullying? Light swearing? Angst, then a bit of *fluff*, one f-bomb.
Summary: The reader is a POC Slytherin, who is in love with her friend, Ron Weasley. After an awful day, and a run in with his obsessed best friend, can she win the love she desires? (I’m so bad at summaries I’m sorry)
⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙
Y/n’s POV
“What on Earth are you looking at, L/n?” A voice says to my left.
A voice that belonged to Draco Malfoy. I snap out of my lovesick gaze and clear my throat, trying desperately not to blush. I had been staring at my longtime crush and friend, Ron Weasley, for the past five minutes. I thought I was being subtle, not that that matters anyway. Ron barely acknowledges my presence and Malfoy notices everything.
I would have been more scared if it were Granger who had caught me. Merlin knows she hates me for no reason at all, other than the fact that, you know, my robes are green instead of red.
Oh, and she knows I like Ron. Bloody brilliant. Her catching my heart eyes would send me flying straight off the Astronomy Tower. She would be the one pushing me.
It’s not that Hermione is a bad person, per say. It’s just, she’s a little... Possessive when it comes to her friends. Ron, specifically. She hates Slytherins with a passion solely because of Malfoy and his bag of rats, which is understandable. I just don’t understand why we’re hated for being cunning and ambitious, not all of us are dabbling in the dark arts!
Malfoy pinched my dark skin, “I asked you a question, blood traitor.” Of course, because I’m friend with Muggleborns and Half-bloods, that automatically makes a traitor. Almost as bad as actually being a Muggleborn.
Recoiling slightly, I lie. “I wasn’t looking at anything, Malfoy. I was merely thinking about the Potions essay that’s due on Wednesday.” On the outside, I may have looked annoyed, which I kind of was. But on the inside, I was trembling like a terrified doe. Merlin, why couldn’t he mind his own business? Playing with a strand of my dark hair, I sighed in exasperation.
Malfoy snorts from beside me, “That’s a lie and you know it. Everyone knows you could rival that Mudblood Granger with how smart you are.” He spits out Hermione’s name as if it’s poison.
I blush at the compliment (at least, I think it was a compliment) and look down and my hands. My green nail-polish contrasted nicely against my chocolate skin and Slytherin robes.
Inhaling sharply, I take a leap of faith and glance over at the Gryffindor table, only to find the man of the hour already looking in my direction with anger and hurt written all over his face. He then looked to my left, where the blonde ferret was sitting, and his hurt turned to fury.
If looks could kill, Malfoy would be cremated in a second, just from the look Ron was giving him. My heart jumped to my throat, and I could feel my pulse everywhere. Why is he giving him that look? Why is he angry with me? What did I do?
Draco noticed my attention was no longer fully on him, and followed my eyes to the redhead. A look of realization crosses his face, and suddenly, he’s cackling.
“Him? L/n, are you mentally deficient? He’s a Weasley! A blood traitor! He’s friends with Potter!” His words have a sense of venom to them, even if he’s laughing.
I glared at him with cold eyes, “Listen, love, I have no reason to dislike Potter, unlike you. I also have no reason to dislike Ron, in fact I quite enjoy his presence. So, if you would please drop the matter and go on with your life, I would be thankful.”
Malfoy’s face morphed into one of anger and disbelief. Sure, we may be friends, but I don’t deal with his crap just because he’s rich and a Malfoy.
Luckily, or unluckily, Pansy Parkinson saved me from his wrath. “Yeah, okay Y/n, you’ve been in love with him since first year, everyone can see it!” She snorts, and the entire Slytherin table erupts into giggles.
“That is, everyone but the Weasel,” She adds on. My face is as red as Ron’s hair and I feel my eyes tear up. Was it true? Did everyone know? I look around the room for a second, only to see Hermione glaring at me with a raised brow. I look away quickly.
Malfoy is practically wheezing from how hard he’s laughing, “Honestly, Y/n, do you really think you have a chance with him? He and Granger practically eloped the day we got here! You would be crazy to think you actually stood-” He stops talking when I stand up, tears streaming down my face.
“You can burn in hell, all of you.” I whisper, my voice breaking. Everyone suddenly has a look of guilt on their faces, and I look at Ron one last time. I can tell he’s concerned, but I don’t need him.
“Wait, Y/n, it was just a joke!”
“Merlin, she’s so dramatic.”
“Y/n, where are you going? We were just kidding!”
I hear yells and shouts from the Slytherin table as I sprint out of the Great Hall. But what really got to me, was the one thing I heard from the dreaded Gryffindor table.
“Look at her, pathetic isn’t she? She can’t even take a joke! Ronald wher-” Bloody Granger. Bloody Malfoy.
I turn the corner and slump against the wall, sliding onto the ground with my legs straight out in front of me. I struggle to breathe, the sobs are coming out too harshly. I was a liked person in my year, with plenty of friends. At this moment, though, it seemed as if everyone hated me.
I tried to muffle the sound of my cries with my hand, but to no avail.
“Y/n! Are you alright?”
I eyes dash to the sound of the familiar voice, and quickly wipe my eyes when I see Ron running towards me.
“Y-Yeah...” I mutter, “I’m fine.” My lungs hurt from holding back my cries, my lips quivering from the familiar sting in my throat.
Ron sat down beside me, my eyes meeting everything but his own. “You’ve always been a bad liar,” he chuckles slightly. I could feel the blood rush to my cheeks.
“Have not,” I mumble. As much as I craved his presence, I was not in the mood for games. I looked down at my hands, something that was quickly becoming a nervous habit.
Luckily he must have sensed that I didn’t want to talk about what just happened, and stayed silent for what seemed like eternity.
Ron examined me for a moment, he was nervous, just like me. I didn’t know what he had to be nervous about, it wasn’t like he liked me as anything more than a friend...
“Y/n...” He whispered, I hummed in acknowledgment, looking at him.
“I-I just want to say,” He stuttered, “I don’t care that you’re a Slytherin. I know that may seem impossible because I’m a Weasley, and a Gryffindor, but...” He trailed off and took a deep breath, “ I-I care about you...”
My head shot up so fast, I’m surprised I didn’t get whiplash. My heart was thumping against my ribcage harder than ever, and my stomach felt weak.
“R-Ron?” I whispered, not wanting to believe my ears or what my brain was trying to desperately to tell me. He likes you, you idiot! Why can’t you see it?
He bit his lip and closed his eyes, something I would have found absolutely adorable if I wasn’t about to faint.
“Y/n, I-”
“Ronald!” Yelled a high pitched voice. My heart (and spirits) dropped and I sighed.
Here we go.
“Where have you been? We’re going to be late!” Hermione yelled.
“Coming, ‘Mione,” Ron called after her. He looked at me apologetically, though he also looked... pained?
“Ronald! Stop talking to the snake and hurry up!” She shouted again, and my rage levels increased drastically with those few words.
Ron squeezed my hand to try and calm me, or to stop me from pulling out his best friend’s hair. “Bloody hell, woman! I’m coming!” He turned to me, “Bye, Y/n, see you later.”
With a small wave, he was off.
It was later that night, I was walking back to the dungeons after hours in the library, writing my Potions essay.
Humming a tune I don’t remember the name off, I was slightly spaced out as I strolled along the familiar corridors.
What wasn’t familiar, though, was the wand at my neck.
Hermione-fucking-Granger was standing right in front of me in all her brilliant glory. Her perfect defensive stance with her wand right in my face.
“Hello, Hermione,” I say, trying to stay calm. She scoffs, a disgusted look painted on her face.
“Don’t ‘hello, Hermione,’ me L/n,” She practically spits. I shrug, and try to move around her.
“Okay, then goodnight, Granger.”
She still blocks my path. “What’s going on with you and Ron?” There is an edge to her voice that tells me there are no right answers.
I am genuinely confused and befuddled, “Nothing is going on between Ron and I?” I state, though it sounds more like a question. What on Earth made her think that someone was going on between Ron and I? I mean... I wouldn’t complain if something was going on, but alas; absolutely nothing.
I suppose that answer only made her angrier; “That’s bullshit.”
“Is it?” I question, trying to push her buttons.
She scoffs again and pushes her wand closer to my face, “Ron is mine. Not yours, mine. Stay away from him, or you’ll regret it.”
I was raging at this point, but I couldn’t say anything... harsh to her, because Merlin forbid anything happen to the Brightest Witch of our year. So, instead of potentially harming my crushes obsessed best friend, I settled with, “Yeah, okay, whatever Hermione. Can I leave now?”
Seemingly satisfied with my answer, she steps aside and watches as I walk away.
“I’ll be watching you, L/n,” She says, trying to threaten me.
I just snort. “I’m counting on it, Granger,” I call back and pranced away. Internally I was screaming, what would she do to me? Why is she so obsessed with him? Is she so jealous that she feels the need to threaten any girl that even comes close to her precious Ronald?
Yes, she is.
The next few days, I avoided Ron like the plague. He knew I was avoiding him, too. Anytime he was within fifteen feet of me, I turned around and practically ran the opposite direction.
It didn’t help that Granger had such a smug smirk on her face whenever I saw her. All I wanted to do was shove my middle finger in her face and call it a wand.
It was getting increasingly difficult to ignore Ron, and I didn’t know how much longer I could keep up with it. The longing stares when no one was watching, to the daydreams of what we could be during class- I couldn’t stay away.
One night, I was- once again- walking back to the Slytherin common after hours in the library. Only, it wasn’t a wand in my face that made me pause. No, it was the distinct sound of arguing around the corner.
Curious, I tip-toed towards the noise, trying to be as quiet as possible. Which was hard because of the echoing halls of Hogwarts, but somehow I wasn’t caught.
“Why would you do that, Hermione?!” A very familiar voice yelled.
“Because, Ronald, she’s a Slytherin!” Hermione yelled back.
“That cannot be the only reason! She’s the nicest Slytherin there is! You don’t own me, ‘Mione! You have no right to decide things like that!” Ron was fuming, I could tell just by the sound of his voice. Somehow, I knew they were talking about me. I was the only Slytherin Ron could tolerate.
“Fine, you want to know the reason? I love you, Ron! She was getting in the way!” Merlin, I really should stop listening before I start crying.
“Getting in the way of what?!”
“Us!”
“There is no ‘us,’ Hermione! I don’t love you, I love Y/n! And you deliberately sought her out... And threatened her?! Bloody hell, you’re completely mental!” Ron was practically screaming at this point, he was so mad. I was completely shocked, he loved me? He loved me?! Am I dreaming?
Apparently my gasp was louder than I thought, because both Ron and Hermione turned in my direction. Well, shit, I can’t run now.
“You love me...?” I whisper. My mind couldn’t wrap itself around that fact. My tummy was swarmed with butterflies, my feet tingled and my hands were completely numb. I couldn’t believe it.
Ron just stared at me, mouth opening and closing like a fish. “I-... I... Urm... Y-eah.. I do,” I could have laughed at his attempt to speak, but I was completely dumbfounded.
Not trusting my voice, I raced over to him. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I pulled him into a kiss. This kiss... it was something ethereal. It was slow and passionate, but full of love and desire. There was nothing else like it.
Our mouths moved in sync for what seemed like forever. I didn’t want it to end. His hands traveled from my waist to my face, cupping my cheeks gently as he towered over me.
Alas; all good things must come to an end. Unfortunately we have lungs that feel the need to burn when you don’t breathe.
Pulling apart slowly, I smile at him, genuinely smile. His cheeks are almost as red as his robes, and his hair ruffled from my hands running through it.
“I take it you love me too?” He asks, smiling just as wide as I am.
I nod, and giggles flow out of my mouth from how happy I am.
He looks like he’s in a daze, “Bloody hell, Y/n, you’re brilliant.”
“Y/n L/n, will you be my girlfriend?” He doesn’t leave my embrace as he asks this.
I gasp, “Yes! Merlin, yes!” Jumping into his arms at lightning speed.
A quiet cry is heard from the right of us, and we look over to see Hermione, a hand over her mouth and tear stains on her cheeks.
Ron shrugs, “Sorry, ‘Mione!”
#harry potter#harry potter imagines#harry potter imagine#harry potter one shot#harry potter one shots#harry potter fanfiction#hp imagines#hp#hp imagine#hp one shot#hp one shots#hp fanfiction#harry potter oneshots#harry potter oneshot#hp oneshot#hp oneshots#ron weasley#hp x reader#harry potter x reader#ron weasley x reader#ron weasley imagine#ron weasley imagines#ron weasley one shot#ron weasley one shots#ron weasley fanfiction#ron weasley oneshots#ron weasley oneshot
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Jake's POV Descendants of Despair Part 55
Alan, the weasel. I should have known that we couldn't get out of this mess easily. No, anything that could be thrown at her, would be. I wanted to bring her an element of safety and peace, instead all I did was bring her more pain. Chances are, Alan would bring more unwanted attention to me. To us. I had brought this onto her, knowing full well that she would be in more danger than ever. Yet, I didn't make a move straight away. She had a way of avoiding being caught and we hadn't gotten the information we needed from Phil yet. The best I could do was buy her as much time as I could so she could draw some conclusions.
I kept a constant vigilance on every camera inside and outside the prison. It was fucking nuts. Every time I switched views, I was worried I would miss something. Something that could get her harmed, or worse yet, killed. As I watched, my hatred for myself grew. I had been selfish. Delighted that she had trusted me. Delighted that finally someone truly loved me. It had made me so selfish that I had stayed...and as her need for me had grown, so too had my selfish need to have her by my side. I had cursed her life more than before.
As I spiraled into self loathing, I watched in morbid fascination as Phil began making his moves on her. Even from the poor quality of the camera, I could still make out his attempts at manipulation. I hoped that she would see them for what they were, too. "Fuck!" I screamed then stopped myself before I drew attention, putting my hands under my hoodie and pulling my hair as I tried to gather some form of control. As I forced myself to continue watching, I could just make out her kicking at Dan and this broke through some of my spiraling pain. She was so special.
Finally, I saw what I knew was coming. Alan...approaching her table. I typed in several commands, checking my structure carefully. I knew that I wasn't likely to make mistakes on something that was relatively simple like this, but I was terrified that another error on my behalf would end in disaster for her. As I set the programme to work, I watched intensely. She was standing, facing Alan, clearly ill at ease in his presence. Finally, the alarms began to go off, one after another, minor alerts that wouldn't cause a major lockdown but would be enough to draw attention. I hoped Alan would take the bait as well.
She reacted instantly to my distraction, grabbing Dan and indicating they should leave. I followed her with the cameras until she was out the door then set about deleting the unusual footage so they wouldn't know I had been in their system. As I worked, I wondered if I should get her out and then let her go free. If I left her now, she could begin again. Find a new life. Somewhere without me. Just as I was contemplating this, a message from Dan appeared on my phone. The letter D. She had given one of her least preferred pick up spots. I looked at her backpack and phone, the other part of her life was in my protection. For now, at least, I had to get her.
I arrived at the meet up point just as I saw her sliding down the fire escape. I had the door open before she had cleared the small distance to the car. She jumped in and slammed the door, as I took off, fighting with myself over whether I should break it off with her.
“I’m so sorry,” I growled. “I would have had you out sooner, but from what I could see, you hadn’t gained enough from Phil to make any clear judgements. I knew we had one shot at this...but fuck,” I hissed. She appeared to ignore me.
“I think we need to meet up with Dan. He knows Phil better than I do and I have a few questions for him. Then we need to get the fuck out of here, because I have a bad feeling that one of our pasts is going to catch up with us.” She stated. I nodded, suddenly very tired...defeated. “You’re right, fuck, I’m so sorry, you know that right? I should have been stronger and stayed away from you. You’d only have your own problems to face, not this shit with Hannah and the Government. I screwed your life from the moment I entered it.”
Here she was, in even more danger because of me, and she was only thinking about Hannah. What the fuck was wrong with her? What the fuck was wrong with me that this made me so deliriously fucking happy? That she loved me so much she hadn't decided to run for the fucking hills like she should have!
As I drove, I fought with myself. Finally she broke through my internal arguments. “Fuck Jake.” she groaned. “You don’t get it, do you? The only purpose I had in my life, before you, was to try and fix the problems I have started. What do you think would have happened to me after that? When my problems were gone, with no purpose? I may have ended up going back to the street. I may have ended up dead. Now I want to live. Now, even after I have fixed my situation, I want to carry on. Because of you, you turnip,” she growled, shaking her head. I sighed, slumping in my seat. I had wanted her, needed her to love me...and now that I had it, I felt broken...broken and yet so incredibly happy. I didn't want to think of her dying alone, but chances were high that once she had found a way through whatever problems she faced, she would find happiness with someone else. There was no denying how fucking amazing she was.
“Turnip?” I questioned, a hint of amusement beginning to fight away the turmoil. “Ugh, I wanted to let you know how stupid you were being...without being mean?” she sighed. Despite my mood, I snickered quietly at her response then sighed again. How the fuck did she keep doing that to me?
“Nothing you can say right now will make me feel any less guilty.” I murmured. “I need to feel guilty right now. I need to feel angry and upset. After that, I’ll be more willing to think about our future. But right now, I just need to be angry.”
She nodded thoughtfully and sat back, as I let the waves of anger and guilt wash over me. Consume me. Devastate me. Then slowly wash away to more manageable pieces. Eventually I was able to reply. “Okay, you better text Donkey Kong with his new mission,” I sighed with a side smile at her, suddenly pleased with my new nickname for Dan. She giggled. “Wait, why Donkey Kong now?” she asked. “Isn’t it obvious?” I replied. “He’s a giant monkey that I could see throwing things when he gets upset, and you are like a very talented jump man that can jump pretty much anything.”
Reveling in the pride of my statement, I was suddenly shocked by her response. “Wait, when did I become a man?” she questioned, unzipping her pants and making a mock show of checking. I laughed. “You had better let me check that later, I will be more thorough than you.” She never failed to impress me...or entice me.
“Hm, yeah I think I’ll allow that,” she giggled as she fixed her clothing. I took her hand for the first time since I had picked her up and smiled. “Listen, what I said before, it’s because I’m scared. It isn’t because I don’t want you. You’ve given my life as much purpose as I’ve given yours. But I’ve given you twice as many problems as you’ve given me.” That was really an understatement of just how afraid for her I was.
“Hm, you’re right.” she replied, shocking me for an instant as I wondered if she had finally come to the conclusion she was better off without me. Instead, she decided to surprise me again as she replied. “I can always get a few more, if you like! That way we can be even.” I laughed again but tried to turn it into a growl of disapproval. She snickered then pulled out her phone. “Okay, so where are we going to meet Donkey Kong?” She asked. I smiled then thought for a moment. “I guess we don’t have a lot of options. Let’s go back to the warehouse. At least we know he knows where that is. We will move on as soon as we have had this conversation...or before it if we see any signs of trouble.”
She nodded, pulling out her phone, and texting Dan. As I drove towards the warehouse, she put her head back on the seat and closed her eyes. In this moment, she looked so vulnerable. 'I will do whatever is best for you, even if it hurts me. I promise.' I vowed silently.
Part 56
#duskwood jake x#duskwood jake pov#duskwood jakexplayer#duskwood jake x player#duskwood jake x mc#duskwood fanfiction#duskwood fanfic#duskwood jakexmc fanfic#duskwood#duskwood jakexmc#duskwood jake#jake x mc#jakexmc#fanfiction#fanfic#hackerman#duskwood dan#duskwood alan
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New Amsterdam Chapter 65
[You did it now.]
{What? What did we do? Why is he mad?}
“Are you mad?” asked Wade.
“No,” said Peter. “Well,” the younger man admitted, “not yet.” Ignoring the way those words made Wade’s heart freeze Peter patted the couch beside him. “Please, come sit.”
Warily, ready to bolt if Peter made any move that said he wasn’t okay with Wade’s presence, the mercenary obeyed, gently sinking into the cushion next to Peter. Peter took one of Wade’s arms and gently began to rub his hands along it. “Wade,” he said slowly, “I don’t know how to tell you this—but I’m stronger than I look.”
“Uh—”
“I understand,” Peter said gently, “that you’re trying to protect me. I really do. And it’s sweet.” Peter leaned into Wade’s side and, at the initiated contact, Wade turned and wrapped the younger man in a hug that Peter snuggled into. Peter let go of Wade’s hand to lean up and gently put his hands to the bigger man’s cheeks. “I am not a wilting rose, Wade,” he said firmly making eye contact through the mask.
[Where is he going with this?]
“I want you to tell me everything about how cards are made and we’ll see if we can figure out who put a hit on me. Together,” Peter said firmly.
{We can’t tell him! He’ll hate us!}
Wade took a deep, shuddering breath. “I don’t want you to hate me,” he said. He tried to say it firmly, but it came out like a plea.
Peter’s face softened and he shifted until he was halfway in Wade’s lap. “Hey,” he said gently, keeping his hands on Wade’s masked face. “Listen to me. I don’t hate you.”
“I don’t hate you.”
Same words. Another time. Another person. Just as shocking. Wade’s grip tightened on Peter and he rested his head, Peter’s hands moving with him, on Peter’s. “Now,” he whispered.
Peter’s hands moved from his face to his neck as the smaller man hugged him back with surprising strength. “I know who you are,” Peter said softly. He chuckled, softly.
{He doesn’t sound mad.}
“You’re the guy who panics at alarms and launches swords into the speakers,” Peter said. “Swords that are really sharp by the way. You’re the guy who carries around massive jars of rainbow glitter and has no problem giving one of them up to make slime. Who went to the incinerator with me despite not liking incinerators. Who treats street children like real people. Who does his best, every day, to make this city a better place.” Peter tucked his head under Wade’s and nestled into the crook of the larger man’s neck. “I know who you are Wade,” he said firmly. “And I don’t hate you.”
Wade’s grip tightened as his throat did. Peter couldn’t know what those words, those mere words whether or not he meant them, meant for Wade. No one liked him. No one had liked him. The best he’d been able to hope for from his fellow humans was mere tolerance. And for a long time, that had been okay. After all, it was a lot easier to kill people if he hated them as much as they hated him. No problem.
The problem came in the form of a hero. A hero who didn’t accept that Deadpool was someone to be hated and feared. A hero that had no problems with taking a masked, known murderer out on patrol—very visible patrol—with him around New Amsterdam.
Then, there was Peter. A person who also had no trouble being seen with Deadpool, with going out with Deadpool, and had even asked if they could date! And Wade was learning that, just maybe, the world didn’t hate him as much as he’d thought it did. Maybe, just maybe, there were people in it that he could agree with and be cordial to. Sure the world was full of scum. But there were people like Peter in it too—and Peter’s aunt May. That woman was terrifying—and right about the soup. But—and more importantly—Peter’s aunt May, despite knowing that Wade had kidnapped her nephew—didn’t seem to hate Wade. She didn’t even seem to really dislike him and had, in fact, said that he was better than both Norman and Tony.
Perhaps—perhaps Peter wouldn't hate him, after knowing all the things he’d done.
[Perhaps we’d better gloss over those bits.]
{Yeah, uh, he’s not asking what we’ve done. Just how the cards work.}
So, Wade told Peter about the cards. How each card represented the name of a person who was to be killed, the color of the card indicating how much the reward was, and how Weasel decided who got what card.
“Tell me about Weasel,” Peter said, not moving from his position on Wade’s lap.
That Wade was all too ready to do. “He’s a bartender, weapons dealer, and—”
“That’s what he does,” Peter interrupted gently. “Tell me about him.”
“Oh, he’s a paranoid fuck who tries not to get involved with his customers while still running everything like a wannabe mob boss,” Wade said cheerful now that they weren’t potentially talking about things that would make Peter hate Wade.
Even through the suit, Wade could feel Peter’s lips curl into a smile. “Paranoid, huh? Does he do a lot with computers?”
Wade suppressed a shiver. He wasn’t sure what would happen to their relationship if Little Wade decided to rise to the occasion.
{Good one!}
[No, that sucked.]
“What are you thinking, Baby Boy?” he asked.
“I’m thinking I might have a plan.”
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Hi! How are you doing today?. Can I request some platonic X-Men evolution x23 headcanons please? Thank you for like writing platonic yanderes there's just something so much scarier than romantic yanderes.
Yandere Platonic!X-23/Laura Kinney
Laura is full of anger and hostility when you first meet her. Can you blame her after everything she's been through?
You go out of your way to make her feel welcomed and accepted. Maybe you eve have the ability to control emotions or you have a calming pheromone that instantly calms anyone you're around.
At first Laura would be a little uneasy about someone putting so much attention in to her but she eventually grows use to your persistence. You don't seem to be afraid of or weary of her and that makes her feel a little better.
She'll slowly open up to you the longer you show that you're genuine in wanting to be her friend. Sooner or later, you will become her confidant, her human diary, telling anything and everything.
Laura will progressively become more and more protective of you. You're her best friend, her first and only best friend and she won't let anyone ruin that.
Spending so much time with you, she'll ever so slowly become addicted to your calming nature and or the pheromone. She didn't know how to feel about it before, but she likes not feeling so angry and emotional all the time. It's nice to just be calm and content, especially by your side.
If you show any interest in dating someone, Laura will either deter you from them or scare them off when you're not around. She doesn't want anyone else taking her place or wasting your time and attention.
She'll often sleep in your room with you, whether she actually shares a room with you or not, she's always there.
Ever since you started pursuing a friendship with her, Laura will follow you everywhere. Isn't that what friends do, go everywhere together and do everything together.
She doesn't even have to stalk you, cause she'll be with 24/7. And from all her pre-existing training as an assassin, she knows how to make her presence known and when to hide, so you won't feel so suffocated, even when she's breathing down your neck, watching your every move.
Laura would slaughter anyone for you without hesitation. They wouldn't even have to do anything other than look in your direction and she'd kill them. But she wouldn't do it with you around, she doesn't want you to witness something like that. And she'd only get caught up with your mutation stopping her.
Laura feels like she has to keep people away from you. She doesn't want anyone taking you away from her. And she doesn't want anyone taking her from you. If she could, Laura would want to be attached to your hip all the time, she may as well be anyway.
All the other students will purposely avoid you because of Laura. When she's not around which is very rare, other people will be more personable with you but it doesn't last long. It's like Laura knows when an outsider of your friendship is talking to you, that's because she does. You're never really alone. Ever.
Laura would be so soft for you. She basically just melts when your around, whether that's because of your mutation or just her being whipped, she doesn't care. She'll let you play and or braid her hair and she'll do the same for you.
Whenever you leave the mansion, she's right by your side, where she belongs. Do you have to run an errand? She'll come with you! Are you going shopping? Laura wants to come! Have a date? Laura doesn't have any plans and doesn't want to be alone, mind if she tags along?
Laura will always find a way to weasel her way into being with and going with you anywhere, doing whatever. And you're none the wiser, just happy that you got through to her and that you're best friends. You couldn't be happier.
You don't even notice the other students parting like the red sea when you and Laura are walking through the halls. And Laura doesn't care, actually taking a little pride in it.
Overall, Laura can be utterly terrifying to anyone outside of you. She won't take any risks of anyone trying to take her place. I mean you purposely went out of your way to be friends with her, so you obviously want her around and she doesn't plan on going anywhere, any time soon or ever.
#yandere x-23#yandere laura kinney#yandere x men evolution#yandere x men#yandere marvel comics#yandere marvel imagine#yandere marvel#yandere writings#yandere imagines#yandere#marvel imagine#marvel#marvel comics#xmen evolution#xmen#x men comics#x men: the animated series#x men imagine#laura x23#x23comics#x23#laura kinney#yandere wolverine
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Found
(Working on my wips??? never heard of it. Hears an entirely different au then the other one I posted, which I will write more of. At some point. For now, Boruto brain rot has gotten to me, so here’s a weird au where Hinata had the two kids and then died and then Naruto took the kids and left the village under mysterious circumstances. Have fun, try to follow it as best as you can. You don’t need to watch Boruto to know what’s going on here. Just know that Naruto left the village with his kids in tow and they have no idea that they’re from Konoha. Oh and just like everything else this will probably be sns at some point because I am weak. Tell me if you like this one)
TW and CW for: potential parental death, implied past parental death, cursing, death, blood, children navigating traumatizing situations, probably medically inaccurate but its a fanfiction about gay ninjas so sue me, tell me if I miss anything this one isn’t too bad.
His father is dying and Boruto can't think.
He should do something, say something. Come up with a funny, stupid one liner or whatever. But he can't. He can't do fucking anything at all. Sometimes his brain feels like it's made of jelly, sloshing around uselessly in his head when he desperately needed to use it. The rain was coming down in torrents, a downpour that they hadn't expected. The giant trees stretch out above them and form a canopy as they stand at the forest floor, but the canopy isn't enough to stop the rain from reaching them. Boruto’s clothes are soaked through; sticking to his body. Thankfully the storm was warm, a summer downpour rather than an icy tsunami. But he didn't notice the rain, and he probably wouldn’t have given a damn anyway. His father was laying in the grass, the wound on his chest staining the green with crimson. Boruto desperately tried to use every healing technique he could remember, funneling chakra into his hands in a desperate attempt to close the wound. He was sixteen years old, his father had trained him in almost every technique he knew (mostly for defense), but truthfully, Naruto had never been good at healing jutsu either. So, Boruto’s skill was lacking in this area, and it was going to get his father killed. He couldn't weasel his way out of this one like he usually did, and that was becoming abundantly clear. His father had gotten nervous, Boruto was aware of that when they went there. They needed to draw close to Konohagakure to get across the Land of Fire and back home to Wave Country before winter set in, and that had immediately set Naruto on edge for some reason. Boruto didn't bother questioning it, he knew he wouldn't get any answers. Everything had been going fine, they were making good time, but then they got ambushed by bandits, and everything had happened so fast. It was all Boruto's fault, really. If he hadn't kept his father up so late the night before, he would have realized something was wrong earlier and managed to fend them off easily. Typically any opponent was no match for Boruto’s father, but none of them had been paying attention and the ambush was almost perfectly timed. Naruto scared them off and nearly got himself killed in the process, and now Boruto was here, stuck in time. He dimly felt a tug on his sleeve and vaguely registered Himawari talking to him.
“Is he gonna die?” she whispered. Boruto didn't even think about the question.
“No,” he answered immediately, letting the chakra fade from his fingertips and opting to just stop the bleeding manually instead, pressing on the wound. He was running out of time, there was so much blood and he could hardly get it to slow down and what would he do if- he felt the presence of ninja before he saw them, and that fully snapped him back to reality. Boruto forgot about his father for a second and whirled towards the other side of the clearing, shoving Himawari behind him. He had to protect her, that was the prerogative. He threw kunai blindly in that direction, three of them. The shinobi dodged the blades easily and then began advancing.
His eyes settled on the squad of shinobi standing in the grass as they assessed him. He grabbed another kunai from his pocket and flipped it into his hand, angling it outwards. Boruto narrowed his eyes. Ninja were never good news, rogue or otherwise. These didn't seem rogue, and that was probably for the best. Still, loyal shinobi could be just as dangerous. Could be even more so, and he had Himawari to think about. The clouds in his head seemed to clear. There was a woman heading the group, with platinum blond hair pulled back into a ponytail. Her eyes were light blue, a different color from theirs, and she seemed… welcoming, almost. Still, she had the scrutinizing gaze of a shinobi. Boruto watched her movements, careful.
“Don't come any closer,” he growled, trying to sound as threatening as he could manage, well aware of what he looked like. The hand holding his kunai was shaking. Who was he kidding? He’d gotten injured before while his father was fighting, he couldn't protect himself in this condition, let alone Naruto and his little sister as well. Still, he had to try. “Hear me? I said- I said stay away.” He gripped the kunai tighter, waiting for them to strike, make a move, do something. His father didn't trust ninja, they were to be avoided at all costs, even if he never seemed to have any necessarily malicious feelings towards them. Still, they were never to be trifled with under an circumstance. Never let them see what I taught you, he’d tell them, the few times where Naruto was serious. Ninjutsu are considered very dangerous, especially by shinobi. If they see you using ninjutsu it could get us in serious trouble. I mean it, Boruto. God, he wished Kurama was here right now, but by the looks of it, the demon was doing everything it could just to keep Naruto alive. Fine, they could do it on their own. Of course they could. The leading woman put her hands in the air and started edging towards him slowly. Her smile looked warm. He still didn't trust it. He gritted his teeth. What was she playing at?
“Hi there. My name’s Ino. What's your name?” she asked calmly. He didn't answer.
“It looks like something bad happened. You have someone injured behind you, it looks like they need help. If you let me I can heal them. What’s your name, kid?” Boruto hesitated. It was too good to be true. This was a trap, it had to be. She had two people behind her, two men. Someone with black hair pulled into a stark ponytail and a frown. The other looked a bit more kind, he had brown hair and welcoming eyes. He still didn't trust them, he couldn't trust this-
“Please!” Himawari shouted. Boruto blinked and before he could do anything about it, Himawari had ducked past him and was running towards the woman.
“Himawari! Get, get back here!” he shouted desperately, mind racing. They were going to kill her, what was she thinking? Himawari was usually more cautious, smart about these things despite her age. But the shinobi seemed surprised, not angry or poised to hurt her. She ran to the woman and tugged on her sleeve. Boruto froze.
“He’s- he’s hurt and Boruto can't help and there's blood- I, I mean i've seen blood before but this- he’s- he’s going to die, please-” the woman crouched down and smiled again, clasping Himawari’s hands gently with hers.
“Don't worry, I'm a medical ninja. I can help your father, okay?” She glanced at Boruto as if asking permission, and he found himself stepping aside, silently urging Himawari to come back to him. He moved out of the way and she ran into his arms. He should have been thinking about her more. She was clearly terrified, and he had been too psyched out to think about it. He scooped her up easily, suddenly more at ease now that he could confirm she would be safe. Boruto watched the medical ninja like a hawk as she moved over to his father, letting the other two approach as well. When the woman got a good look at him she gasped. “By the sages! What the fuck?” she demanded, sounding more juvenile all of a sudden.
“What? What is it?” the plump man asked, trying to get a better look.
“It's… it's Naruto.” Boruto stiffened, holding Himawari closer to him.
“How do you people know my dad’s name?” he demanded. He felt lightheaded, and the indignant shouts of ‘what?’ from the other ninja weren't helping. The woman ignored him for a moment, checking Naruto’s wounds. It didn't take her long to stop the bleeding and close the wound, and she stood right after and turned her attention back to Boruto.
“Listen kid, it's… it's a long story. He’s going to be alright but he needs further treatment at the hospital. We can help him if we take him back to the village.” Boruto hesitated again, but concluded he didn't have a choice. He was outnumbered and if he didn’t accept the help, whatever the ulterior motives were, Naruto would die. So Boruto nodded mutely.
“F-Fine. But you better answer me when we get back to… wherever you're taking me. And- and she stays with me,” he said, nodding at Himawari. The woman smiled shakily, clearly rattled by some realization about Boruto’s father. The larger man picked him up and carried him easily. So Boruto watched, hopeless, as they took his father away, and followed close behind, arm still wrapped around Himawari. He would lecture her about rash actions later, now wasn't the time. The man with long black hair was studying him, and he didn't like it. Boruto glared. “What?” he snapped. The man raised an eyebrow.
“I'm Shikamaru Nara,” he said. “What about you?” Boruto looked away.
“I… B-Boruto… Namikaze,” he said with finality. Boruto Uzumaki, he wanted to say. Descendant of Uzushiogakure, grand daughter of Kushina Uzumaki. But he didn't trust these people to share his real name, instead going with the one their father used occasionally. Shikamaru snorted.
“Original name,” he muttered. Boruto only frowned. “Well, alright. Your sister, it looks like she has Byakugan. Does she?” Boruto blinked.
“Byaku- Byaku… what?”
“Hm. Nevermind. C’mon, while your father’s in the hospital, i'll take you to see the Hokage.”
#oh boy#back at it again#boruto is a little less juvenile then he is in the show#but he's also older and I figured living on the run will do that to you#also himawari is smarter then he gives her credit for#she saw Ino and everybody and was immediatly like can trust and that was that#stay tuned for a very very awkward sasuke#trying to navigate talking to his oldest crush's kids#and coping with the betrayel that came with Naruto leaving in the first place.#speaking of that#why did naruto leave?#he had a reason#but thats for later <3#naruto#naruto fanfiction#naruto fanfic#boruto#naruto uzumaki#in this au nart is a good dad#and Kurama is a coparent#stay tuned for that#boruto uzumaki#himawari#himawari uzumaki#Himawari looks just like Hinata and it hurt ino a little to see her#oh boy oh boy#forgot how much fun it was to write this au#i've got pieces of it stored somewhere#boruto next generation#boruto fanfiction
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just friends (?) P3
part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4
- just out of curiosity, how does everyone feel about a kofi goal dedicated to a companion piece from tony’s perspective??
//
There’s moments in Steve’s life - where time feels like it's come to a standstill. Where nobody moves, nobody even breathes - they’re just suspended.
This moment, when he looks up to see Tony staring back at him, this is one of those moments. The entire coffee shop dulls around him, faint background noise compared to the pounding of his heart - and all Steve can see is Tony.
He wants to move, to get out of his seat and walk over to Tony, to talk to him, to touch him, to explain - but he’s stuck to his seat; immobile under the sheer weight of Tony’s gaze.
He’s imagined this moment for months, it's not beneath him to admit that he frequents this coffee shop with this very scenario in mind; but now that it's actually happening - Steve has no idea what to do.
There’s small mercy in the fact that Tony seems to be the same - stuck, unmoving, that is of course until the old gentleman standing behind him in line prods him none too gently with his walking stick and complains that Tony’s holding up the line.
Tony shifts his gaze to look at the man standing behind him, and it's like the spell is lifted, and the world starts spinning ‘round again. He desperately wants to look up at Tony again, but instead he keeps his eyes strictly on his sketchbook. Steve isn’t an idiot, he knows that Tony didn’t mean to come to the coffee shop that he frequents, that this is nothing more than a chance encounter, and so Steve won’t do Tony the disservice of looking back up and forcing Tony to acknowledge his presence.
He’d reconciled himself to the idea that he might never see Tony again, so even just getting to see Tony from across a coffee shop is more than he could’ve hoped for. It was going to happen eventually, he reasons, pencil idly spinning in his hand, we were going to run into each other eventually. After everything, the least that Steve can do is give Tony the option to gracefully make an exit.
“Is this seat taken?” says a voice near him and Steve opens his mouth to say no, because he doesn’t want company right now but the words get stuck in his mouth - because Tony is hovering near the empty chair.
“Steve?” Tony says again, furrowing his brows, “Are you waiting on someone?”
“No!” Steve half-yells, suddenly terrified that Tony will walk away. Tony raises an eyebrow and he clears his throat, “I mean no, not it's not taken.”
“So I can sit down I presume?” Tony asks teasingly, and Steve replies “Anytime.” He means it to come out flippant, to match the tone that Tony is obviously trying to set, but from the way Tony’s face twists - it must come out as honest instead.
Still, Tony doesn’t call him out on it, just smoothly settles in the chair opposite him. Steve’s heart is beating so hard that he can hear it roaring inside him, but then Tony flashes him a soft smile - and it's like everything inside him settles.
--
Things get better after that.
Steve had assumed that the meeting at the coffee shop was a fluke, hoarding the stilted bits of small talk close to his chest like a dragon hoards gold - but Tony shows up at the coffee shop every Wednesday morning like clockwork; grabbing a coffee and settling down in front of Steve for light conversation while he sips his drink.
They fall into a tentative friendship. It isn’t as easy or as smooth as what they used to have, but Steve can recognise that it's far more than he thought he would have a month ago - and when it comes to Tony, he’ll take what he can get.
That, at least is familiar.
They talk about everything they’ve missed in each other’s lives over the last six months - from Steve’s degree (he graduated last month and is sending out portfolios to galleries), to SI (Tony just got back from a two week event in Tokyo) and everything in between.
Once, Steve tried to bring up Bucky, but Tony held up his hand and said in a pained tone, “Don’t. I’m not ready for that, not yet.”
Steve had nodded, “Until you are ready, just please know how terribly sorry I am,” and that had been the end of it.
It isn’t good, there’s periods of silence, and times when Steve can see Tony pulling away from him, building up walls so that he doesn't get hurt again, so that Steve doesn’t hurt him again - but then Steve will say something and Tony will smile, wide and unabashed - and it’s worth it.
Tony has always been worth it.
--
He knows that he has to bring it up with Bucky, but that doesn’t mean that Steve’s looking forward to it. Or that it’s going to be an easy conversation.
Hence why Steve is currently cooking for the first time in almost two weeks, and he’s pulling out all the stops. He’s just about to put the lasagna in the oven when there’s a knock at the door, and he cranes his neck back to yell “It’s open!!”
A couple of seconds later, Bucky shows up in his line of sight, and whistles lowly when he sees the mess in the kitchen. “Aw shucks Stevie you didn’t need to do all this for little ol’ me, what’s the occasion?” he says in an exaggerated tone, and Steve rolls his eyes.
“Can’t a fella cook his best pal a lasagna without getting the second degree?” he tries for a joking tone, but from the way Bucky’s eyebrows arch - it obviously falls flat.
“A fella can,” Bucky starts cautiously, “but somehow I don’t think that’s what's going on here.” So much for weaselling out of this, Steve thinks, patting his hands against his apron and turning to Bucky.
“I have to tell you something, but I don’t think you’re going to like it very much,” Steve stuffs his fists in the pockets of his jeans, “just - just wait until I’m done before you say anything?”
“Stevie, you didn’t kill someone did you?” Bucky chuckles nervously, “because I have to be upfront with you, these shoes aren’t made for mud and I don’t have a shovel on me.”
“No it's not that don’t be a punk,” Steve licks his lips, heart beating erratically against his chest, “I’m uhh - I’ve been seeing Tony for the past couple of months.”
Bucky goes unnaturally still and Steve rushes to explain, “Not in the way you’re thinking of! I’m not like stepping out with him or nothing, he’s just - you know the coffee shop round the corner from SI? I go there sometimes when I’m stuck for inspiration or need a change in scenery and for the past couple of weeks, Tony’s been showing up too. It’s honestly nothing, he just hangs around long enough to get through a coffee and then he’s off but I wanted you to know.”
Steve rubs the back of his head and says firmly, “I fucked up with both of you once and I’m not about to do it again. There’s nothing going on I swear on my Ma, but I am seeing him again.”
Bucky stays quiet for what feels like an eternity, before he says in a very quiet tone, “Do you still love him?”
“I think I might love him until I die,” Steve says back, equally soft, and Bucky nods once. He pulls out a chair and sits down. Steve opens his mouth to say something, but the oven pings; and he’s forced to grab oven mitts and pull out the lasagna before it burns.
When he sets the carousel down on the table, Bucky starts up conversation like everything’s normal, like Steve didn’t just admit to being in love with his ex-fiance - and while Steve isn’t naive enough to think that that’s the end of it, the knot that’s been building in his stomach ever since Tony sat down across him in the coffee shop a month ago slowly loosens.
--
“So,” Sam says, apropos of nothing, “Are you gonna tell him?”. Steve jerks in surprise, almost dropping the tub of paint in his hand onto the easel he’s been staring out for the last 10 minutes. He turns to face Sam with a glare, hoping it conveys all of his complex emotions, but Sam just stares back, unrepentant.
“Well?” Sam asks again when Steve isn’t forthcoming, “Are you?”. Sam’s gaze shifts to the canvas that Steve was previously staring at, and Steve doesn’t need to look behind him to know that the half done face of Tony Stark is going to be staring back at him.
“No,” Steve says mulishly, “I’m not. I just got Tony and Bucky back in my life again, I’m not going to fuck that up a second time.”
“Because keeping this,” his hands gesture vaguely at the canvas, “keeping this from him is exactly what fucked things up the first time. But no, I can see your point about how doing the exact same thing is a good idea. What’s that quote from Einstein? Something about how a fool does the same thing over and over and expects a new outcome?”
“Fuck off,” Steve says, throwing a rag that Sam expertly dodges, but its half hearted. He knows that Sam’s right, but he’s just reached a good place with Tony, and he knows in his bones that telling Tony about his feelings will just fuck that up again. He can’t do it, he won’t do it. He won’t live through losing Tony a second time.
“Steve I’m serious, what’s your game plan here? Are you just going to pine uselessly for the rest of your life? He’s going to move on from Bucky eventually you know, what happens then? Are you just going to watch him fall for other people all over again? I don’t get your angle here.”
“There is no angle!” Steve says loudly, before clearing his throat and bringing his voice back to normal, “There is no angle, there is no game plan there’s just - keeping Tony in my life.” He looks up at Sam with wide eyes, “I can’t go through that again Sam, and if that means just keeping him part-time, then that’s enough for me.”
There must be something in Steve’s voice, because he knows that Sam came here with the intent of fighting him but he just deflates, padding over to pull Steve in for a hug. He rests his chin against the top of Steve’s head, running his fingers through his hair, and Steve lets himself lean against Sam’s chest.
“I won’t push it anymore,” Sam murmurs after a fashion, “but I think you should tell him Rogers. His answer might surprise you.”
That’s what I’m afraid of, Steve thinks to himself, but says nothing - just hums in reply.
tbc
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#my writing#stevetony#superhusbands#steve rogers x tony stark#steve rogers/tony stark#just friends AU#steve rogers pov#steve rogers centric#i know i said 3 parts#but i promise that part 4 will be out next week#and maybe an epilogue??#idk how do people feel about that#as always#please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list
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