#i slept little over an hour last night so i woke up choosing violence

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Danny covered his nose with his hand. Where ever he landed smelled absolutely foul, like rotten fruit and burning tires mixed with chem lab.

"Remind me to bring a face mask the next time I explore the Infinite Realms." He muttered, before kicking a soda can down the alley he was in and being repulsed by the squelch sound it made when it came into contact with a very questionable looking puddle, "Better yet, a gas mask." He glanced at the puddle again, "Or I could go full Hazmat." Clockwork had told him this world was full of superheros and villians and to steer clear of it, but once he learned there were aliens in this world he couldn't help himself. Danny had always been weak to his curiosity, but he liked to believe he was cautious, and chose to stay in his Phantom for for added protection.

Turning on his heel he exited onto a deserted street lined on one side by a chain-link fence. The sky above him was filled with clouds so ominous and dark that Danny honestly couldn't tell you if it was night or day, all he knew was that it was going to rain soon and hopefully these awful smells would be drowned out by the downpour.

Danny got his wish only minutes later. Thankfully Phantom was unbothered by the cold and could just bask in the rain as it fell apon him. A lesser known fact about ghosts is that thier clothes are made from thier ectoplasm and are part of thier bodies, much like a second layer of skin, so one would be able to feel things on thier clothes as easily as they would with thier bare skin. The level of sensitivity varies with the type of clothing however. All this to say Danny loved the feeling of the rivulets of rainwater traveling down his ghostly hazmat suit.

He was so preoccupied with enjoying the sensation that he didn't notice anything was wrong until he was jolted forward from the weight of someone landing on his back. The person was quick and precise, taking no time at all to have his wrists pinned behind his back and- weirdly enough- thier teeth digging into the material around his neck.

His parents designed the Hazmat suit Danny was wearing not only to deal with dangerous chemicals, but to fight supernatural foes. The area around the neck was reinforced with the intention of protecting against fatal gunshots and decapitations so naturally someone's jaw wasn't going to be enough to break through to his neck.

Danny let out a laugh as the person kept chewing on his neck like a confused puppy. Oh, Danny thought, they've gone feral. It was odd for someone to go feral but it could occur when a person has gone through something traumatic recently or through extreme stress. It made sense since the person ridding piggy back on him was dressed like a superhero. Danny wondered if that was why the person didn't have a scent. Danny learns facepalmed when he remembered that scentblockers existed and not everyone's scent dramatically changed whenever they went out as a hero. The scent change was probably one of the few things that have kept him alive up to this point to be honest.

"So, I guess you're not going to tell me why you're chewing on my neck like the worlds most pathetic vampire, are you?" No one deserves that title more than the fruitloop to be honest. He made a mental note to use that one against Vlad the next time he saw him.

Chewy whined at this, seeming to slump a bit from the apparent failure to bite him. What was that about? Was this actually a vampire? How would a vampire even react to Dannys ecto-blood combo meal anyway? Would it be like food poisoning? Or would it taste amazing from one undead to another. "I'm not exactly human, are you sure you wanna bite me? I might not taste so good." Danny warned, but the moment he mentioned letting the person bite him they were eager again.

Danny chuckled and unzipped the material only a bit before it was loose enough to move out of the way. The vampires bite came with a sharp pain like he expected but there was no suction. No drinking of blood. Just some weirdo biting Danny on the neck. Huh.

Danny hoped he didn't get rabies from this.

He must have accidentally said that out loud as there was a small laugh from the rooftops above them. There stood another person in a superhero outfit with some really tall dude dressed as a giant bat, and that was when Danny decided to bail. It was one thing to let a maybe vampire bite you in a random street in the middle of the night but more of them? And ones a big scary furry? Hard pass.

Phantom did as Phantoms do and went invisible and intangible, escaping from Biteys jaws and startling the heros. He ignored the distressed whine Munchy let out after loosing their spookyest chew toy and quickly rubbed the scent gland near dannys jaw on the top of thier head as an act of comfort before bolting.

----

Danny poked at the bite mark on his neck. Screw rabies, he better not get turned into a werewolf. He didn't need that on top of his ghostly crap. Sam seemed fascinated by the mark, after all, it wasn't every day that Danny got a scar, especially one so obvious. Most injuries heal quickly and leave no trace of him ever being injured in the first place which helped a lot in keeping his secret identity.

Luckily Danny hadn't needed to lie to mom and dad. He truthfully told them about some wierdo jumping off of a nearby rooftop and plunging thier teeth into his neck and that two other people had tried to corner him during this. He assured his mom that he had gotten away quickly but was a little shaken by it and his dad praised him for being brave and managing to escape.

That was nice. But he still had to figure out what was up with this bite...and why he felt so compelled to go back to that city.

Back to that hero.

-----

Aka an A/B/O au where in Danny's universe all the Alphas are extinct and the betas followed soon after and the DC universe all the Omegas went extinct and betas followed after . Not like a "they finally went extinct in the 1700s after centuries of thier numbers dwindling" thing and became a myth/fairytale (tho I like that too) but a "this might be the missing link between cave men and modern humans" kinda thing.

Its up to you which bat bit Danny and exactly what that means. I love abo aus without smut cause there's so much potential for chaos and I am very much ace.

#dp x dc #fanfiction prompts #prompts #abo #everyone is confused and no one has answers #i would however like some slowburn romance #whichever bat you choose is going to get teased forever for running up to some random meta and biting the crap outta them #i tricked yall into reading an abo prompt didnt i? #i slept little over an hour last night so i woke up choosing violence #its been a very bad day #the store didnt have a lot of the stuff i needed to buy and on the walk home i saw an older kitten that looked kinda like my cat get hit #the car didnt even stop. poor thing got hit by the next car too and i just stared and it started raining like a freaking movie moment #tw: animal death #tw for the tags #so i got new trauma today #gonna make that everyone elses problem #a/b/o dynamics #kinda #just wanted to add the tag incase yall have it filtered

[theutterlyboredwriter]

Bounty and the Hunter: Good Girl

Bounty and the Hunter: Good Girl

Summary: Sometimes you need to do a little reflecting after sucking the dick of a bounty hunter who could at any chance kill you…

Rating: Explicit (I know that you won't listen but if you're under 18 don't read or I'll tell your parents)

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: SMUT (it is 1000% cringey but a girl is doing her best), cockwarming, P in V sex, cumplay (is that a warning??), mentions of prostitution, cursing, a little touch of violence, cursing, sexy themes, if there's anything else let me knowww

A/N: Hello again!!! I know I said that I was gonna try and get this up on Valentine's Day but then I accidentally deleted a quarter of this so I had to rewrite it:( ANYWAYS I hope y'all like it!!

"I'm not done with you yet."

The words caught you off guard. You hesitantly turned around and slowly began to walk back to the pilot, wishing he'd just let you change into some clothes.

"Yes?" You answered meekly, standing behind him like you had when you fixed the dashboard.

There was a nice silence, the hyperdrive gave a low hum that you knew would help ease you to sleep. Sleep. Sleep sounded so nice, even though you hadn't been awake that long.

It was now that he turned around to look at you, the chrome helmet reflecting the fearful look on your face. The comfortable feeling you felt between his thighs was gone; it seemed to be a momentary blip.

"Your bounty is 60,000 credits. What do you usually charge?"

"Um, what we just did is usually 400 credits, and um all the way is usually 1500 credits. But that depends on what all that includes…"

Though you couldn't see his face, something told you that he didn't like the prices you'd just named. So slowly you began to get quieter until you just stopped speaking.

"No."

Suddenly you thought back to your first day at the first club you'd worked in when your first customer got angry at how much you were charging for a lap dance.

"I'm not paying that shit, listen whore you'll give me a dance for 20 credits and be happy about it," he'd yelled at you throwing credits on the floor for you to pick up.

When you refused, he'd slapped you; and though he was a thin man he had mustered enough strength to slap you to the floor. Rage had fluttered through your body and you could've killed him, opting to kick his ass out of the booth and tell the floor manager that he was trying to steal.

You remembered how the lights flickered and the music had stopped playing, as if it could sense the tension that existed, much like the lights had done a few hours earlier. That was the last time that a man had put his hands on you in anger; you didn't want someone to have that power, nor did you want to feel that anger ever again.

Suddenly you were snapped back to the current time and realized that once again your worth had been debated by someone who didn't matter.

"You asked what I usually charged, and I told you, that isn't a debatable fact," you said with a small trance of frustration.

"We're going to be lowering those rates for the duration of our time together. What we just did will be 100 credits,"

"200."

He was silent for a moment before giving a begrudging, "Okay."

"Sex is 500 credits, non-negotiable." Once again, he was just staring at you; you imagined that underneath the helmet he was squinting at you.

"Fine. But if anything else happens we adjust the price upwards."

He nodded and turned around to look out through the front of the ship.

You turned to leave the cockpit but was stopped by one last question of his.

"Is there anything you won't do?"

You chuckled, caught a little off guard by the question.

"Why? Are you into some messed up shit Mando?" He didn't answer, and you couldn't bring yourself to turn around and risk the chance of him staring back at you.

"No, there's nothing that I won't do…yet" you answered.

The ship was very cold, and your underwear did little to warm you up. So, after you knew that he was finished speaking you turned around and made your way down the ladder so you could get into some clothes and try to get some sleep. The ladder made more sound than you would've liked, but once you were in the lower half of the ship you were very glad to be alone. The fresher was smaller than the bathroom that you had in your old apartment. It didn't allow you much space to try and change clothes, but you were thankful to have a private spot on the ship. Walking out of the fresher you saw the pile of your belongings and a blanket. You tried to create a small spot on the floor, out of the way, for you to lay down in. Clad in a long shirt and leggings and covered in a blanket, you fell asleep to the muted whoosh of the ship in hyperdrive.

The dreams that you had in your small break of sleep were unpleasant to say the least, images of pain and carnage. Murder and violence flashed across your brain. You couldn't wake up; it was like someone was forcing you to stay asleep. The screams of pain and agony rang through your ears and no matter how hard you tried you just couldn't wake up.

Then you felt a hand grab your shoulder and try to shake you awake. Without a thought, the back of your hand hit the hard metal of Mandalorian armor. You hadn't gained full consciousness yet, but pain rang through your hand. You slowly started to wake up and see fuzzy figures, but the silver armor was clear as day.

"What the hell was that?" The Mandalorian asked now standing over you.

You looked around, confused and tired.

"It was a reflex, I guess. Sorry." You rubbed your right hand, hoping to stop the warm throbbing that was quickly developing.

"Do you always scream when you're asleep?"

Had you really been screaming? You wanted to reassure him that you didn't, but it had been so long since you'd been with someone who had been around to watch you sleep. But rather than run the risk of being thrown out, you opted to just lie.

"No, I was just having a bad dream."

"Alright. When we land, you're going to have to check out the ship," he said walking over to a little door that you assumed housed his bed.

"What's wrong?"

"For a moment, the power looked like it was going to fail, everything almost went offline."

He stepped into the little room, shut the door, and once again you were alone. You were still exhausted but the dream, now a vague memory, still had you on edge. In an attempt to try and clear your mind, you chose to lean against the cold metal wall of the ship and mediate. An old friend of yours taught you to meditate as a way to cleanse your mind of the trouble that the day brought. At first you had been skeptical but didn't want to offend your friend who wanted so much to help. Now you found it nearly impossible to go through the day without taking a few moments to try and silence your mind.

Your head leaned back against the wall, letting your shoulders fall and your arms go limp. The soft humming of the ship in the background of your mind as you closed your eyes and focused on your breathing. In. Hold. Out. Hold. The words of your long-lost friend rang out in your head as your body slowly relaxed and fell into a steady motion of deep breaths. The thoughts of the day began to trickle out of your focus; the steadiness of your breathing was all that mattered. It wasn't long before you felt yourself on the brink of sleep. As you started to succumb once again to the warm embrace of sleep, a thought entered your mind.

Protect the child.

You shot up in a panic. That wasn't your thought, it had been forced into your mind. Why had that come to you? How did it come to you? What child was it referring to? Your implant had made sure that children weren't ever a worry in your line of work, and the Mandalorian didn't have a child…did he? No, you thought to yourself. He would've said something if he had a child on this ship. Then what child?

Fear struck you in a way you hadn't experienced in years. Something deep in your soul knew that this message was the beginning of something big, something to be scared of.

You laid back down on the floor and tried to fall asleep, telling yourself that you'd be able to handle this better once you'd slept. As you fell asleep once again, you heard the words protect the child again.

When you woke up, it was because of the loud cursing that came from the cockpit of the ship. You decided not to investigate, choosing to get yourself ready for the day before you met the Mandalorian while he was in a fit of rage. The cursing had ceased by the time you were dressed and showered, so you decided to see if you couldn't try and fix the issue of power that he had mentioned last night.

Out of the front windshield you could see a planet in the distance, you let out a silent prayer that he wasn't going there to deliver you to someone.

"Hi. You mentioned something about the power last night, I thought I could take a look at it."

"We're going to be landing in a little bit. You can look then." He was still annoyed.

You nodded to yourself, noting that in the future it would be best to leave him alone at all costs. Looking around, you took a seat in the passenger's seat. The memory of how turned on he'd made you came back, and you tried to fight a blush that took hold of your face.

How can you be attracted to him? He could kill you or give you to people who will kill you. You've never seen his face! You know nothing about him, you told yourself. All valid points, but there was something that despite your better judgement still found yourself attracted to him.

You were jerked out of your thoughts as he turned his seat towards yours and grabbed your wrist before putting on what looked like a bracelet.

"It's a tracker. If you take it off, I'll know. If you put it on something else, I'll know. If you try to kill its power, I'll know. I found you once, I can find you again. If I have to find you again, I'll kill you."

You couldn't help but sit there in shock. Finally, you nodded and looked at the cross between a handcuff and a bracelet, a physical reminder of your capture.

The two of you sat in silence after that. Being around him was terrifying, you were trying not to get on his bad side by talking, but you knew that if you talked to him you could probably make him like you. All of it surrounded a common goal, don't give him a reason to turn you in. When you were getting ready this morning, you'd seen the people in carbonite, he could easily do that to you. But he hadn't, you kept reminding yourself. You knew that you had talent and had proved it to him last night. What you didn't know was if you were talented enough to stay out of trouble and stay alive.

Maker, you thought to yourself, I'd give anything to hear his thoughts. Not talking was beginning to take a toll on you. You'd never met a stranger, you had friends no matter where you found yourself. It was a trait that you prided yourself on, it was a skill that had gotten you out of a lot of trouble in the past. Yet, as you sat in silence with a single handcuff on, you felt powerless.

The planet slowly got closer, and the fear grew in your heart. There wasn't much that you'd be able to do if he were really here to turn you over, but it didn't stop you from trying to plan different escapes. Your hands weren't bound so it would be easy to grab the blaster from his belt. Killing him wouldn't do anything to help you. You could knock him out and kick him out of the ship. You weren't a pilot; you'd crash and burn. Eventually you had to face it, you were pretty much fucked.

He landed the ship in the middle of nowhere. You didn't have a clue what planet you were on, the rocky ground giving little in way of aid.

"I have some business to take care of. See if you can't figure out what's wrong with the ship. I'll be back." The Mandalorian said, getting up to leave the cockpit.

You just nodded, trying to prove that you had no intention of leaving.

"If you leave, I'll find you and kill you," he said before climbing down the ladder.

A painful lump formed in your throat as you watched him leave your sight. Sweat began to bead on your forehead and roll down the back of you neck. He wasn't going to turn you over. Relief ran through your body, and you let out a most welcome sigh of relief.

Once you had seen him walk away from the ship, you decided to get up and explore the ship a bit more. The layout was fairly simple, the only thing that was left for you to discover was his weaponry and what looked to be the carbonite chamber. Since you had the time to spare, you started to clean up the ship the best you could. The cleaning supplies that he possessed was limited to say the least. For the next 3 hours you scrubbed, wiped, scraped, and cleaned every surface that you could on the ship. When you were done, he still hadn't returned, and truth be told, the ship didn’t look any different. Since this was the first time you'd been with him while he was out on what you assumed to be a job, you didn't know how long it should take. That didn't stop you from worrying.

"Why do I care if he's safe?" You asked yourself as you ate a meal bar that had been packed in your bag from the club.

This would be the perfect time to try and escape, you thought. You were scared to say something like that out loud, you didn't know if he'd set up cameras to watch you while he was away. The only thing that you knew for certain about the Mandalorian was that you shouldn't underestimate him. Besides, you knew that you weren't capable of a life truly on the run. He was far more experienced and talented at the hunt and chase than you were and there wasn't a doubt in your mind that he'd find and kill you.

At some point you made your way back up to the cockpit, hoping that there was something to fix or work on. Being alone wasn't something you enjoyed. Your mind needed a distraction from its thoughts. Looking around at the dashboard you came to the conclusion that had been coming together for the past few hours. This ship is a piece of shit. It resembled a toy that was long past its prime, but was held together by tape, glue, and love. Everywhere you looked was evidence of a fight or altercation of some sort. In a way, all the damage gave the ship personality. Maybe its personality matched that of its owner, you wondered.

Slowly the day passed, and he still hadn't returned. You were now really worried, a plethora of scenarios as to why he wasn't back came flashing to your mind. Maybe he was just taking a long time, there had to be people who were better at hiding than you were. Maybe he was shopping…for eight hours. But the thought that you couldn't help but obsess over was that he was getting ready to turn you in. You didn't want him dead, but it was better than the alternative that ran through your mind. Just as you were starting to get really antsy and see if there wasn't a way you could track him on from the ship, you heard the cargo door open.

You weren't fluent in anything but basic, however you could make out a few words in Aqualish. Mostly curses, something about money, and a scream that didn't need any translating. Then there was silence, you didn't hear a blaster or any grunts to indicate a violent fight. Maybe he'd used the carbonite chamber. You could hear footsteps making their way towards the ladder so you sat in the passenger's seat and tried to make yourself as small as you could. He walked in, the sound of his shoes filling the silence that rang throughout the ship. The Mandalorian looked around at the cockpit before turning to look at you, his gazing burning into your skin.

"C'mere," he said softly.

This wasn't a tone he'd used with you before, it put you at ease. You stood up and walked up to him, noticing how he seemed to tower over you.

"I've had a long day and right now all I want is to feel your cunt around me. Is that okay?"

You struggled to keep your jaw from dropping to the floor. All you could bring yourself to do was nod with a stunned look in your eyes.

He sat down in his pilot seat and pulled himself out of his pants. He was half hard already, and even then, he was still much bigger than most of the men you’d been with before. You awkwardly stepped out of your pants and underwear, leaving you in just the tunic. While you hadn't expected anything in the way of foreplay, you were quite unwilling to go in dry especially with a man as well endowed as the Mandalorian who sat before you, languidly stroking his cock. Standing before him you now got a better view than what you got last night. His pants were pushed down to the top of his thighs and you got another glimpse at his tan skin and the chocolate-colored curls around the base of his cock. You watched as he caressed himself, taking his time to tease every ridge and vein that was now painfully taut. He had now turned to look at you as you stood waiting for him to give you a direction of what he wanted you to do exactly. You quickly realized that you were more than ready to take him, watching him begin to masturbate to the sight of you had turned you on and left you ready for more.

He patted his left knee and you walked over to him trying desperately to keep steady breaths. You'd never reacted to a customer like this before, and you couldn't understand what was causing you to act like this. Once you were standing between his thighs, he grabbed your hips and turned you around so and slowly began to pull you down onto him. Right before he entered you, he quickly asked, "Are you safe?"

Impatiently you nodded and muttered, "Implant."

With that confirmation he pulled you down onto him and thrusted himself into you. Your breath caught in your throat and for a second you forgot how to breathe while he let out a rather loud groan and pulled you to his chest. The feeling of him inside you was overwhelming in the best way and he hadn't even moved. Once a few seconds had passed and you had adjusted, you started to lift your hips up before he pulled you down and held you flush to him.

"Stay like this. I don't want you to move."

This was not something you'd done before. You weren't going to argue, feeling him fill you like this was not a feeling you wanted to be rid of. So, you sat like that, your feet dangling off the ground, back pressed up against the metal that covered his chest, whimpering every time he made the slightest movement. His hands were holding you down, and you knew that within a few hours bruises the shape of hands would develop along your hips. The thought of him marking you sent a wave of heat through your body and down to your now dripping cunt. "Fuck." You said softly.

You weren't sure how long had passed before he lifted his grip off your hips and turned to face the front of the ship so he could leave. It was a little weird, you were just sitting on your captor's lap as he was buried deep within you, watching as the ship left the rocky planet and flew into space. Once you were safe in hyperspace his hands returned, only this time to your thighs. His right hand rubbed little circles up on your thigh while his left hand made its way under your shirt. He was pleased to find that you hadn't worn a bra today, as he rolled your nipple between his thumb and pointer finger. Every little movement that he made sent a chill through the most sensitive part of you.

"Do you want me to move? You feel so good clenching around my cock, I can tell you needed this as much as I did."

He'd been inside of you long enough to take away your ability to speak, leaving you to whimper and nod.

You waited for a change in motion, pace, anything. Then slammed himself as deep into you as he possibly could, and an utterly guttural moan ripped out of your throat. You clenched down on him hard, letting you feel every ridge and vein on his cock as his hands guided your hips up and down on him. He was using you to get himself off, replacing his hand with your clenching cunt.

"I love when you squeeze me like that. If I knew you felt like this I wouldn't have taken so long today. Oh! Good girl let me hear those pretty moans," he groaned out into your ear.

He worked up to an impossibly good speed, pounding into you and hitting spots that you didn't realize existed, telling you how good you were for him in between your moans. At some point your hands found their way down to his thighs, your grip tightening every time he drove himself into you. "My good girl, so good for me, squeezing her tight pussy around my dick. Such a good girl." The pornographically loud sound of your wet pussy being abused was music to your ears, heightened only by the moans and whimpers coming from the man behind you. You could tell that he was getting close, his whines becoming louder, and his thrusts are becoming sloppier by the second.

"C- I want—ugh! I'm gonna cum." He yells.

You nodded and locked down on him, squeezing his cock with a vicious force as you let out a weak, "Cum in me."

That set him off as he held you down, thighs shaking, moaning loudly. You feel him deep inside, pulsing as you milked his cock for everything it had to offer. The feel of his warm cum all over your fluttering and spasming pussy left you unable to do anything but just whine. Slowly, you began to roll your hips around, helping him work through the last of his orgasm and giving yourself one last moment to relish this feeling.

"Maker. You're my good girl, aren't you?" He asked, gloved hands rubbing up and down your thighs.

You lean back against him and just hum a soft yes. You even close your eyes for a second, wishing that you could stay like this forever. There wasn't ever a time that you were so satisfied with a client, no one had ever made you feel this good. But true to character, the Mandalorian was no normal customer, so it shouldn't have been a shock to feel his ungloved finger circling your clit.

With his gorgeously thick and soft finger, he circled your clit. It was all too much; your body shook uncontrollably as he ripped a near earth shattering orgasm out of you. You tried to run from the feeling, tried to push him off and stop the overwhelming pleasure that he brought you, but he wanted you to sit there and take it. Your vision went out and you could've sworn that you'd lost consciousness for a minute, coming back to the sound of the Mando's heavy breathing.

When you were fully aware and capable of using your legs, you slowly pulled yourself off of him, letting out a sad whine as the fullness left. As you stood up and tried to balance on wobbly legs, a hand came between your thighs, gathering up the cum that was dripping out of you.

"Open up."

You turned around and eagerly opened your mouth. His fingers pushed into your mouth, as you sucked them clean of the taste of the two of you. Your tongue swirled around his fingers, making sure that you weren't leaving a single drop before he pulled his hand away from your mouth. When he was satisfied with your work he nodded and started to tuck himself back into his pants.

You grabbed your pants and pulled them on, reminded once again just how cold the ship was. Unlike last night, you decided to stay with him in the passenger's seat.

As the lights of hyperdrive flashed across your eyes, you were reminded of a life where you were free and innocent. Ideas of living a peaceful life in your mind with no idea of what the future would hold. You didn't expect to be here, working as a prostitute, everyone you ever knew and loved dead. You didn't expect to be hiding from the people who took your family from you, you'd always thought of yourself as a fighter. It was amusing just how different life was from what you expected as a child. But that was all naivety, even as a child you'd been taught that the life of someone like you was one full of challenge and hardship. You just never expected to be one of the last jedi, seeking refuge with a Mandalorian.

#theutterlyboredwriter #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian smut #din djarin #din djarin smut #smut #reader insert #sorry if this is shit #i tried but tbh im still ass at writing smut #star wars

[geniusgub]

north//chapter twenty

genre: fluff, angst

warnings: mentions of canonical violence and deaths, lmk if I missed anything

word count: 4k

summary: Spencer is getting reacquainted with life outside of prison, and he gets a not-so-great phone call.

pairing: season twelve spencer reid x oc

please remember to comment, like, and reblog!!

AMELIA

Spencer and I managed to sleep through the entire day and the majority of the night. After all, the previous day was probably one of the most eventful of my entire life and it left me absolutely exhausted. I can't quite speak for Spencer because I'm sure he's had much longer days than yesterday, especially when he has been away for cases, but it was still stressful and way too long for both of us.

I wake up before Spencer as the sun starts to rise the next day, the sunlight pouring in through the opened window on the other side of the room. Before I even consider getting out of bed or looking at my phone, I look to my side to check on Spencer. He's sleeping soundly, his cheek pressed against his pillow and his hand on my side of the bed, no longer wrapped around mine. He looks absolutely angelic at this moment, his mouth hanging open and his body completely relaxed.

I promised Spencer that I'd be here for him and that I wouldn't leave the bed without him. I've never broken a promise to him before and I don't plan on starting now. So, moving as little as possible so I don't disturb him, I sit up against the headboard, reaching into my bedside table for my journal. I pop open the top and start furiously scribbling down everything I can remember from the last two or so days and how I feel about it, how excited I am to have Spencer home again, and how terrified I am to have Spencer home again.

I barely even notice it when Spencer starts squirming beside me, and my attention is only taken away from my journal when his hand grabs onto my thigh. I smile down at his suddenly tiny figure, finding that he's already looking up at me with a tired gaze.

"Good morning, love," I chirp, tossing my journal onto the floor and sinking back under the duvet in an attempt to absorb some of his radiating body heat. Since he already touched me and he's seemingly feeling okay in the morning sun, I let my hand stray and trail through his flat curls. "Did you sleep well? You didn't wake me up."

Spencer sucks his lips between his teeth, shrugging softly. "I woke up a few times. I just--" he wiggles his hips as he tries to come up with an excuse, "I didn't need to wake you up. I didn't need to bother you. Having you here was enough."

I bring my hand to the back of Spencer's neck, huffing with some slight annoyance, "You're not a bother. You never have and you never will be," Spencer just shrugs dismissively in response, and reaches his hands up to rub his eyes. Spencer has never been good at these kinds of conversations and I imagine he's far too tired to entertain a lecture about how important he is. So I make a mental note to bring this topic back up as I sit up and stretch. "Alright, well, do you want some breakfast? I can make us something to eat."

"Yeah, sure," he nods, ducking away from my grasp and quickly sliding out of bed, putting on a pair of shoes I hadn't realized he set up on his side of the bed.

I reach for a pair of sweatpants but when I look up to find Spencer frozen in his spot, staring at the bed, I drop the pants and sit up on my knees. The sheets are rustled and the duvet is in a heap under me, and he's very fixated on this. His arms are glued to his side but his fingers are twitching like he's dying to use them.

"Spence? Everything okay?" I ask gently, and like the other instances where he gets lost in a daydream, he doesn't react to me. "Spencer?" I call again in hopes of getting some sort of response. But his fingers just twitch and he takes a long, frustrated breath. "Talk to me," I don't know if pressing the issue will help, but if I don't at least try to get him to talk, then I'll never figure out what his issue is. "I just wanna help you, but I can't do that if you don't talk to me."

Spencer quickly covers his face with his hands, his breathing becoming labored and heavy, chest heaving. "The bed. It's the bed. It's-- I need-- it's the bed."

It looks like a bed to me. It's a messy bed, sure, but it's just a bed to me. I pause for a second to try to get my brain to match Spencer's. I try to see what he is seeing, but all I see is a bed that we just used for its intended purpose. It just needs to be made, that's all. I can't see into Spencer's brain so I have to resort to asking. "What about the bed?"

"I--" he drops his hands, balling them up into fists again, "The bed is supposed to be made. I need to make the bed. It needs to be made or else they're gonna come and I'll get in trouble. It-- the-- the bed needs to be made."

Oh, this poor baby. My heart aches for him. Not all of him made it out of that prison cell. Part of him is still there. He's not here with me. He didn't really come home.

"Spencer, you're not gonna get in trouble here. It's just me. It's just Lia," My voice shakes as I try to speak, my hands pressed to my cheeks to continuously wipe the tears that start to fall. "I'm never gonna yell at you or hurt you or get mad because you didn't make your bed. Dove, you can make the bed if you want to, but you don't have to. It's okay. I'm not gonna be mad. You won't get in trouble. It's just me."

Spencer stares at me, his eyes wide and his lips parted. His hands aren't twitching anymore but they're still reaching towards the bed. He doesn't say anything, he just stares at me in bewilderment.

I compose myself with a deep breath, wiping my cheeks quickly and climbing off the bed. "Dove, make the bed, please. I want you to do anything that makes you feel better. But if you choose not to, I'm not gonna be mad," I step towards Spencer, holding my hands out in front of me and not expecting him to grab them. "I'm gonna go downstairs and I'm gonna start cooking, and you come down when you're ready, okay?"

I give Spencer one more attempt at a convincing smile before turning and going downstairs. My first stop is to the living room, and I pop the record into the player that Spencer had put on yesterday. If it did something to comfort him yesterday, hopefully it will do the same today. I grab both of our phones and start cooking breakfast.

I mix batter for waffles in a bowl as I check my notifications, sifting through a whole load of texts. My groupchat with my friends has a couple hundred texts, starting off with lots of questions and concerns about Spencer from yesterday, asking if he's okay, if he's home, wondering how happy we are. I have other texts from Wendy and Mike, asking the same types of questions that my friends did. I send some quick responses to all of them and let them know that we're home, we slept for a very long time, and that I'll contact them later with more updates.

Spencer's quiet footsteps approach and I turn to face him, breathing a sigh of relief when I find he's not so worked up anymore. "I hope waffles are okay."

Once I've closed the waffle maker and let it start cooking, I glance over my shoulder to ee what Spencer is doing. He's sitting gingerly at the island, placing his elbows on the granite and eyes darting around the room. Honestly, I don't even know why he sat there. He absolutely hated sitting there and eating yesterday, and it made him have some sort of flashback. Maybe it's because he started off the morning with the prison-bed situation, and now the natural order of events in the day is to be transported right to prison-breakfast.

"Hey, bub, you don't have to sit at the table," I say casually, trying not to bring too much attention to it. "You didn't like that yesterday. But you seemed better when we sat on the floor so we can do that again, or we can go on the couch or the balcony." I don't even have time to see his reaction before the waffle maker beeps, and I have to whip around to pull the waffle out.

I can hear Spencer shuffling behind me, and then I feel his shoulder brushing against my leg as he slides down to the floor beside me. I put the waffle onto the plate and hand it down to him, then open the drawer above his head to grab a fork.

"Thank you," Spencer mumbles, catching my free hand in his and pressing his lips to the back of my hand. It's clearly a thank you for more than just handing him a fork, or making him breakfast, or sleeping with him, or showering with him, or anything of that. It's a thank you for being so patient with him, but I couldn't fathom not being there for him in the way he needs. I want to tell him that he doesn't need to thank me, but in his mind, it is something he needs to do, so I decide to let it happen for a while before I start to refuse his thanks.

The next week functions almost identical to this. Spencer is quiet, keeping to himself and eating his meals on the floor and making the bed perfectly in the morning, cleaning the bedroom floor every night, wearing a tee shirt to bed. I get just a few glimpses of the man he was, but not many.

Emily had called later that day to let Spencer know that the entire BAU was placed on a mandatory six week leave, but also that he had to be evaluated for reinstatement. A whole slew of people have to review Spencer's actions, have to interview him, have to test him to see if he's fit to return to work, and he didn't take this news well. He didn't talk to me for a hours and just curled up on the floor of the bedroom, staring out the window with the drawn-back curtains. I tried, for so long, to get him to talk to me, but he didn't budge and he didn't even look at me. So I just grabbed whatever book was inside his go-bag from the last case he went on and sat beside him, reading aloud in an attempt to bring him back down to earth. And when he did, he went off to shower and then straight to bed.

Spencer's work is his life and there's few things he loves more than his work. I know that he would be lost without the BAU and that he would have absolutely no clue what to do with his life if he couldn't keep working there. So hearing that there's a chance that he may not be reinstated to the BAU is absolutely crushing.

On the other end of the spectrum, the prospect of Spencer not being reinstated isn't all bad to me. In his line of work, there are always going to be enemies. There's always going to be another Cat and another Lindsay. He's always going to have guns pointed at him and bombs blowing up beside him and people wanting to kill him. If he's not reinstated, I get to have him home every morning and night and I won't stare at the wall at lunch with Jenna, wondering if Spencer has just been shot or if he has a knife to his neck. I know that he would absolutely hate not being reinstated, but it would save me so much heartache.

That's an incredibly selfish thought, I know. I'm happy and willing to strip Spencer of one of the things that makes him happiest in his life just so I can sleep at night. But all I've wanted from the moment I met him is for him to be safe and to be happy and if he's not chasing serial killers, I know that he will at least be safe. Happy? I can't help but imagine he wouldn't be.

After a tense week at home, I convince Spencer to let me take him back to his apartment. He insists that he doesn't want for stay there and would rather stay with me, even though I said I would stay at his apartment with him, but I'm happy to let him keep with me. I just want him to be happy.

So I drove him over to his apartment, picked up most of his clothes and whatever else he was needing, and he rounds up an entire duffle bag full of books that I'm sure he would read in just one day. But we collect whatever he could possibly need and shove it in my car, then go straight back to my apartment. I'm starting to get a little stir crazy, being trapped in my apartment, but Spencer doesn't want to go out anywhere yet and the last thing on my mind is forcing him into things he's uncomfortable with.

"So what do you wanna do today?" I unzip the bag full of books and start making a few small piles against the wall, glancing over my shoulder at Spencer. He shrugs gently, too distracted with picking a record to properly respond to my question. Sighing, I return my attention to the books.

The record turns on and this time, I recognize it to be a record full of Christmas music. We've been listening to nothing but Taylor Swift, Frank Sinatra, and Christmas music this past week, and while that's my favorite music and I have no problem with it, it's odd. Spencer never really listened to that music, whether we were together or not. He always managed to convince me to put on some cello concerto that wound up being fifteen minutes long. I thought he would rather listen to that and not Christmas music when it's almost the summer, but I haven't questioned this yet.

"Could we," Spencer starts speaking after a moment, tearing my attention from the books, "maybe watch a movie?"

It's the first time he's suggested anything like that. Honestly, it's one of the first times he's suggested that we do anything. He's just been staying quiet and following me around like a puppy dog, watching me attempt to draw in a sketchbook or watching me cook or watching me do the laundry. He's stuck to my side, even if he hasn't been touching me much. So now that he's suggesting that we do something, I'm not about to pass up this development.

"Yeah, of course. You can choose whatever you want. I'll be over there when I'm done," Spencer nods and turns his back to me, and I pick up my pace in emptying the books from the duffle bag. I don't want to lose this momentum of him, maybe, feeling just a little bit better.

Once I've stacked all the books, I fold up the duffle bag nicely and put it in a place where it won't bother Spencer, and then head into the living room. He's sitting on the couch with a DVD case in his lap, and he holds it out to me when I approach. Always a technophobe, he never goes near the DVD player and lets me do it.

"Polar Express?" I raise my eyebrows, but that's as far as my questioning goes. I pop the DVD out of the case and put it into the player, then grab the remote and press play.

I settle onto the couch with my favorite plaid blanket, draping it over my lap. As the movie starts and the title screen shows, I feel cold. I'm completely covered and under my trusty blanket, but I'm cold. Absolutely freezing. I pull the blanket tighter around me and when my temperature doesn't shift, I quickly realize where the cold is coming from.

Spencer and I are a very physical couple. Despite his aversion to touch, he never seemed to have the problem when it came to me. Especially when we watched movies, we were always touching. Legs, hands, shoulders and heads, laps and heads. There was always a connection, but now there's none. I'm left on my own couch cushion, not sharing Spencer's cushion and continuously pushing closer and closer until we're squished together. A shiver runs down my spine.

We watch the movie in silence for a little while, all the way up until the three main characters are singing a song at the back of the train. And while they're singing, I feel Spencer reaching over, grabbing the edge of the blanket, tugging it closer to him. "You can come closer," he tells me, looking up at me through his lashes, fingers grasping the fuzz of the blanket.

Happy to comply with this request, I scoot closer to him until our legs are touching. I think that's enough for now, but then Spencer slings his arm over my legs and tugs me closer until my knees collapse over his legs and I'm laying my head on his chest. It's a position that I'm so familiar with and I've been dying to be in, but he hasn't been up for lately. My body warms up. The shivers stop.

I completely melt into his embrace, pressing my ear against his chest to listen for the steady beat of his heart as I wrap my arm around his stomach. I let my eyelids flutter closed and relax into him. The movie isn't important anymore, at least not to me.

///

SPENCER

///

Today is a good day, one of the first I've actually had since being home since my prison release. I thought that actually leaving Amelia's apartment would make me nervous, but returning home wasn't as horrible as it seemed like it would be. For once, I'm feeling pretty good. I'm even feeling well enough to watch a movie and cuddle with Amelia on the couch, just like we used to do. She still can't creep up behind me or touch me without showing me her hands first and I still can't eat at a table, but it's an improvement. Albeit a tiny one, but it's there nonetheless.

By the time the movie is coming to an end, Amelia has slid down to rest her head on my lap, her curls sprawled out and her hands pulled up to her chin. She looks ridiculously adorable like this, and even though it's a sight that I've seen many times and I've committed to memory, I wish I could sit and stare at her forever.

But that plan is foiled when my phone starts buzzing on the coffee table. My first instinct is to look down to check that Amelia is still sleeping, and all she does is scrunch up her nose a bit before relaxing. Adorable.

I grab a pillow from beside me and slide it under her head when I slip out from under her. Thankfully, she doesn't notice and she doesn't wake up. Pleased with this, I grab my phone and rush onto the balcony. I don't have time to check who it is before I answer. "Reid."

"Hey, Reid," Rossi's voice comes through the phone. "How's it going?"

"It's-" I ponder my answer for a moment, double-checking that the door is closed as I sink into one of Amelia's adirondack chairs, "um, it's a good day today."

"Good, I'm glad. And I'm glad you've got Amelia to look after you. You've got a good one there. She really cares about you," Rossi says, and his words prompt me to turn and peer into the window at her sleeping form, curled up on the couch and holding the blanket to her chest. "Where-- uh-- where is she right now?"

"She's sleeping right now. I'm on the balcony," Honestly, this is already some of the most talking I've done in the last week and I'm exhausted. I'd rather be talking to Amelia, but Rossi called me for a reason, plus I know that Amelia needs to get some sleep. "Did you need something?"

"Yeah. I'm afraid I may need to bring your day down a bit," Rossi sighs, and my heart drops down to my feet. "I feel horrible calling you now, after everything you went through and while the BAU is on leave, but you need to know the situation."

I furrow my eyebrows, balling my free hand into a fist, digging my nails into my palm to give the pain somewhere to go. "What situation?"

"Damian Kelsey's signature popped up on two bodies in LA."

I didn't think that I would have to face a day where Damian Kelsey's signature reappears. I admit that I have stayed late at work many times just to look at Damian's case file and rememorize the details and try to predict what his next murder would have been all while ignoring the chilling family photos that contain my girlfriend as a horribly abused child.

And this is the worst possible time for this to happen. I can barely go a day without flashing back to prison or almost yelling at my amazing and patient girlfriend. How can I possibly tack on dealing with her serial killer father's signature resurfacing, all while trying to keep it a secret from her? It's nearly impossible. I thought that I could just take these stupid six weeks off to spend time with Amelia and try to rest comfortably, but I guess that's not possible.

"I'm heading to LA as we speak. I'm getting on a plane right now. And while we both know what his signature coming up again could mean, the good thing is that these are male victims and they're not surrogates for Amelia. I know that's what you're worried about. The other good thing is that this is across the country and obviously nowhere near Virginia. So--"

"Spencer?" Amelia's sweet voice comes from the balcony doors, the blanket disregarded on the couch and her hair messy on the top of her head.

"Gotta go," I mumble, hanging up my phone and tossing it aside, not even waiting to say goodbye to my coworker.

Amelia steps onto the balcony, her bare feet silent as she approaches me slowly, rubbing her eyes like a small child. "Everything okay?"

I reach my hands out for her and she smiles, placing her hands in mine and slowly sinking onto my lap, resting her head on my chest, similar to the position we had been in before. Amelia runs a hand over my chest and it takes everything in me not to let out a sound akin to a cat purring.

I just hold her tightly in my arms, probably the tightest I have since I saw her for the first time in the parking lot of my correctional facility. Rossi swears that Damian Kelsey won't come after Amelia but I just hold her tighter, as if that will protect her from the horrors of the world. I have a lot of holding to make up for from when I was gone, and I suppose that time starts now.

TAGLIST

@babybloodstonebones @bxnnywriting @blameitonthenight21 @feralreid @anepiphany @reidscardigan @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto @4x24 @whollytaciturn @thegingerfairchild @yasminwashere @shrimpyblog @anamelessfacelessnerd @wonderlandhatter @whxt-to-write @just-call-me-non @imagining-in-the-margins @boldlyvoid @homoose @gubler-me-up @thundergunexpresss @eideticmemory @andiebeaword

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Drifters ch.7 (spicyhoney)

Summary: Edge and Red have a brotherly dispute. It goes great.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Violence, Rescued Child, Medical Experimentation, Babybones

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Read it here!

~~*~~

Edge had gone long nights without sleep before. As a child, he’d often spent the night curled up with his brother in hidden corners and caves, struggling for any measure of warmth beneath threadbare blankets as they both kept half-awake listening for any telltale footsteps coming their way.

As an adult, he often stayed awake on his own accord. There was always work to be done, whether for the guard or simple housekeeping, and he subsisted on no more than four hours of sleep a night. It was sufficient to replenish his magic and that was all that was necessary. Armed with that knowledge, it made it very difficult to understand why caring for an infant throughout a single night seemed so much worse.

Every two hours, she woke crying for a bottle, with enough accuracy he could nearly set a clock by it. It would start with a whimper and before Edge could even throw back the blankets, her screams would reach their peak earsplitting volume. Even Stretch couldn’t sleep through those wails and the first two times, he’d been the one to stagger downstairs for a bottle. Edge was certain on the last occasion he never opened his eye sockets, and he was torn on whether teleporting in the midst of exhaustion was more or less a danger than the chance he might fall down the stairs.

Rather than test that theory, Edge went to heat the bottle the next time and if he’d thought trying to comfort the baby while waiting for her meal to arrive was difficult, standing over a pot of water trying to will it to heat faster was somehow worse. At least he could attempt to reason with a baby, physics obeyed no rules but their own.

Each time she would drain the bottle and then immediately fall back asleep. The logistics of it were so simple, retrieve bottle, feed baby, then back to sleep. She didn’t even require a diaper change like so many other infants would, so why was this so blasted exhausting. His current belief was that somehow her cry drained energy like some sort of localized version of a vampiric spell and next time he was determined to run a check on himself to ascertain the truth.

But that would have to wait until they’d all gotten some rest. After her last bottle, not only had the chore of washing it out immediately after use been abandoned, so had tucking her into her own bed. In his sleep-deprived state, Edge decided that if she slept by the wall with him between her and Stretch, then she would be safe from being squashed in the night. As a strategy it did work, for about an hour, until Stretch rolled over in his sleep, right off the edge of the mattress to the floor with a loud thump and a louder curse.

Edge managed to wake up enough to check that he hadn’t accidently dusted himself in the fall and then promptly fell back asleep. The child hadn’t woken, that was the important part, and he could only hope that sleeping children didn’t learn foul language through some form of mental osmosis.

When he woke again, it wasn’t to the baby’s cries, but a stream of artificial sunlight coming through the curtains to fall across his face. He cringed away from it, but it was too late. The light was like the angel’s finger poking him directly in the socket, the time for sleep was over, and now he needed to face the harsh light of day.

A bleary look to one side found the bed empty and what remained of the blankets looked as if a tornado struck, not of trash, but one made up of baby’s tears.

Edge peered over the side of the mattress to find Stretch still snoring on the floor. Sleep was perhaps a less accurate description than out cold, he looked as if an alarm clock set atop his skull wouldn’t wake him. On the floor under his mouth was a darkened patch of drool, he was half-tangled in one of the blankets with one bare leg sprawled out across the carpet, toes curling against the cool air, and he did not stir one single inch despite the loudly creaking bedsprings. Plus, the light couldn’t reach him down there. Edge allowed himself a brief instant of rueful resentment before rolling to the other side to deal with the child, who over the course of the evening dwindled from Stretch affectionately calling her a ‘little snow princess’ down to the simply ‘the kid’.

“It’s all right, child, he’ll do better after some rest,” Edge said blearily…to no one at all. The sheet next to him was empty and for a moment, Edge only stared at it uncomprehendingly, cold panic slowly settling in his soul at the unbearable nightmare that was unfolding before him. That Alphys had found them out and come for her, the machine not destroyed enough and instead the portal was lying wide open like a gaping wound as not one, but an army of Underfell Monsters came through.

He shook away that fear before it could take root, dismissing it as impossible. To begin with, her first step would have been to murder them as they slept. Casting aside that panic only allowed a new one to take its place, the mystery of ‘then where is she’ still unanswered.

She was too young to have crawled away, she was nowhere in the room, so that left one last possibility. Edge clambered out of the bed, stepping over Stretch’s prone body as he jerked on the bathrobe and headed out to find his brother.

Who was sitting peaceably on the sofa with his pilfered infant settled contentedly in his lap, staring up at him with wide sockets as her chubby cheek bones puffed out with every suck on her bottle.

Red didn’t even look up as Edge stormed down to stand in front of him. The fury of his glares had never been able to penetrate much through Red’s aura of casual ease. His brother was humming softly, a song that Edge knew the lyrics to quite well and could at least be grateful that Red didn’t choose to share them with the child.

“’bout time you got up, bro,” Red said, singsong sweet. He was laying back against the sofa arm with the baby cradled between his knees. “you was sleepin’ pretty hard up there. kiddo was awake and getting’ ready to start complaining’ when i came in to play fetch.” His tone was easy, but Edge did not miss the sharp censure in his glance, crimson eye lights coolly assessing.

“I wouldn’t count on it happening again,” Edge said coldly. He met his brother’s gaze unflinchingly, waiting until his brother slowly nodded. Apology accepted, as it were, and Red turned his attention back to the baby.

“this little miss is a hungry one.” He gave the bottle an idle tug, grinning as the baby made a querulous noise and clung to it, never pausing in her urgent sucking. “drinks her weight and then some, don’t she. you were the same way, never could scrape up enough chow to keep you happy.” It was fondly said, but Edge only barely kept himself from wincing. He didn’t want to remember days of going hungry, the gnawing, endless emptiness inside his soul, wanted even less to picture the same thing happening to this child.

(never, never, he wouldn’t allow it, he would not)

“I doubt that will change anytime soon. Speaking of which, if you could watch over her, I’ll be going out today.”

“huh?” That got his brother’s attention. “what the fuck for?”

“To find a job of some sort, to begin with,” Edge said, “We can hardly expect the Swap brothers’ to keep paying our way.” He didn’t have the first clue what formula cost, but he suspected that it was not cheap.

“fuck, bro, we’ve been here two minutes and you’re already polishin’ your resume?” Red groaned. “take a day to get settled in, fer cryin’ out loud!”

“There’s no time for that. I was also going to go to the librarby to find a book on childrearing—”

He broke off as Red hooted a harsh laugh. “you serious, bro? you think you’re gonna find an old copy of ‘what to expect with your skele-baby’s first year’? gonna set up some training time with the local moms, mebbe they can teach you their special parenting attacks. you’ll be captain of the childrearing guild in no time, bro, better start working on your uniform now.”

“You—” Edge began and couldn’t continue, only stood listening mutely as his brother’s laughter soured, his words going bitter.

“think i fucked up that bad with you, is that it?”

It wasn’t at all true. He knew very well that his brother did the best he could, he’d been a child himself, he never should have had to help with an infant. He knew that, they both did, but the words refused to come. Before either of them could say another word, spiteful or otherwise, another voice entered the fray, sleep-sodden and mellow.

“you two loud enough down here?” From upstairs and Edge looked up to see Stretch ambling down the stairs, still yawning and rubbing at his sockets. He was only wearing a pair of shorts, the rest of his lanky bones on display from the crown of his skull to his bare toes, and he had no right to look as simply attractive as he did despite the darkened crescents beneath his sockets.

“sorry, sleeping beauty,” Red snorted, “next time we’ll work on our charades instead, how’s this ta start?”

Stretch ignored Red’s upraised middle finger, slouching closer to peer at the baby. “where did the jammies come from?”

Red jerked his head towards the front door where a paper sack was slumped by the various shoes. “your doggo pal dropped off some clothes. didn’t seem to know what to make of me, think maybe he decided blue went for a big fashion change.”

“bet he’ll appreciate hearing about going goth at the next sentry meeting.”

The mention of pajamas made Edge take a closer look at the child. He’d been so relieved to see the baby was safe that he hadn’t even noticed her change in apparel. She looked like a proper baby now, from the cozy footie pajamas to the colorful bib around her neck. The bottle was long since empty, but she hadn’t yet surrendered on the off chance that perhaps a few last drops might yet make an appearance.

Stretch didn’t wait for her to give up on it and simply took it away, scooping her up despite Red’s disgruntled protests, and cuddled her close. “lookin’ good, sugar butt!”

He buzzed a wet, noisy kiss against her cheek bone and she squealed in delight, then hiccoughed, a dribble of milk running from her mouth that dripped down to stain the bib. “uh huh, like that is it, everybody is a critic.” He swung her gently around and Edge automatically took her as Stretch deposited her into his arms, “here, edgelord, the princess needs a bath.”

A bath. That much was certainly true after a restlessness night of milky dribbles.

Edge didn’t move, he only held her uncertainly, shuffling his feet as he reluctantly admitted, “I don’t know how.”

“it’s easy,” Stretch yawned, his spine popping as he raised both arms over his head with a groan, “just bend over. you’ll have to handle it, you’re young and flexible, my back is talking to me like a bowl of rice krispies. wash her like you’d wash your feet. not too hot on the water and there’s bubble bath under the sink. go easy on it or it’ll be like trying to grab a greased watermelon in an ice storm.”

With that direction, Stretch only stared at him expectantly. There was nothing he could say, no protest to be made, and Edge turned on his heel and went back upstairs to the bathroom. He stood by the empty tub, looking down at the baby in his arms. She looked back at him, her thumb firmly in her mouth and her eye lights wide and bright.

So small and delicate, her skull small enough to fit in the cup of his hand. A tiny being composed of fragile bones, it would be entirely too easily for some careless fool to accidentally hurt her. Even if they didn’t mean to, even if they were only trying to help.

He couldn’t do this.

Edge lurched around, heading out the door and ready to call down to Stretch to admit his uselessness when heard his brother’s voice.

“…tryin’ to tell me how to deal with my bro?” So dangerously soft, a warning rarely given for their intended recipient to take care with whatever they said next.

“actually, no, i’m not,” Stretch said. There was a creak of springs as if he’d settled to sit on the sofa. “i wouldn’t do that to you guys. it’s just, he’s not used to all this, so go easy on him, will you? he’s trying really damned hard, he doesn’t need you ragging on him right now about the kid. he thinks the world of you, you gotta know that. so bust his chops about anything else, the baby is off limits. please.”

He couldn’t see downstairs, so he could only imagine what expression was on Stretch’s face that would be enough to make his brother grumble out, “yeah, yeah, honey bun, i get it. lay off until he lands on his feet.”

“thank you. he’s got this, you know. his confidence only took a shake, happens to everyone when they take a step or two out of the comfort zone. give him a little time, he’ll be a whiz. lining up for his best dad coffee mug before we know it.”

“eh, he’s already doing pretty good, ain’t he,” Red said with obvious pride. Edge closed his sockets, swallowing against the sudden thickness in his throat as he listened. “shoulda seen him bustin’ up that lab, kid never hesitated. just grabbed up the little miss and started wreckin’ the joint.”

“i bet. sorry i missed it.” Stretch said, sincerely, and if there was a certain dark satisfaction in those words, it was certainly understandable.

In his arms, the baby began to squirm, and Edge hastily slipped back into the bathroom, quietly closing the door behind them. He settled the baby on the bathmat and turned on the taps, adding a single capful of bubble bath and cautiously checking the temperature before kneeling at her side.

“Ready for a bath?” he asked her, already working to gently strip off her pajamas.

He took her gabbling squeal as a yes and if he, and the bathroom, were nearly as wet as she was by the time she was scrubbed clean, well, that was fine. He’d do better next time.

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #drifters

[hongism]

mists of celeste ➻ fourteen

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, eventual smut ➻ Word Count: 3.6k ➻ Rating: M ➻ Warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

⇐ previous | next ⇒

mists of celeste act two ➻ part four

​​​

You wake up with a start, stirred awake by some nightmare that leaves your mind the moment you open your eyes. For a second, you don’t remember where you are or what’s going on, but the sudden soreness that spreads across your neck reminds you of what happened the previous day. The skin is sensitive under your fingers; there’s bruising surely but you don’t really want to look at the evidence of your near death. Your eyes shift to the other side of the bed, expecting to find San there since you vaguely remember falling asleep with his hand in yours.

You drop said hand to your lap, looking at the skin of your palm as though it’s going to speak back at you and explain what happened last night. You don’t remember a thing after he said that he was going to make sure that you wouldn't go anywhere again. Everything is blank and empty after that, no traces of any other memories from that point on. Perhaps it’s for the better but you can’t help but feel that you are missing something important that happened during the night.

You try not to dwell on it though; instead, you pull yourself up from the bed and cast a glance over at the bathroom door. It’s wide open, which you find odd because you at least recall shutting it after your shower last night.

“San must have left already,” you mutter to yourself as you bend down to grab your shoes. You slip them on with haste, hand rushing to touch your neck when a surge of pain jolts through it. It doesn’t bother you much after that, maybe it had some sort of crick in it from an awkward position in the night or maybe that Taskmaster Cara fucked you up worse than you initially thought.

You let your hand fall back to your side as you step out into the hall. For some reason you expect San to be waiting just outside the door, leaning up against the wall and ready to chastise you for sleeping so late, but the hall is empty. You descend the stairs in the hopes of finding him there, still unsure as to why you’re craving his presence so badly all of a sudden.

However, again, San is nowhere in sight in the lobby of the hotel. Rather it’s only Wooyoung, Seonghwa, and Hongjoong who stand downstairs. They’re close to the door, Seonghwa and Hongjoong locked in what seems to be a heated discussion and Wooyoung stands a bit off to the side and watches on with wide eyes. As soon as you reach the bottom step, Wooyoung catches sight of you. He turns towards you, grinning from ear to ear.

“Good morning,” he greets as you walk closer to him, his tone soft and melodious compared to Hongjoong’s slightly grating tone that carries over to your ear. Seonghwa twists at the waist when he hears Wooyoung speaking, and his eyes trail over your shorter form in confusion for a brief moment.

“Oh, Y/N. Did you sleep alright?”

Rather than looking back at Seonghwa, you stare past him to look Hongjoong in the eye.

“It was choice that landed you in your current predicament, but I know that it was fate that put you in my path. You can walk away from fate and choose uncertainty. Or you can walk back upstairs and let fate decide the rest.”

You want to know what he’s thinking, you wish you could see into his mind and understand what exactly is going on in there. Hongjoong’s expression remains flat and blank. You can’t read anything on it, and he doesn’t help you along at all, staying silent and unmoving as your stare trails over him. It’s impossible to know how he feels about seeing that you decided to stay.

“I slept just fine,” you answer at last. Your eyes drag back up to meet Seonghwa’s again, lingering this time. “My neck hurts a bit but not too much.”

“It looks a lot worse than it hurts, most likely,” Wooyoung mentions. Hot breath hits your neck as the man suddenly leans in and inspects the bruising up close. “It looks like you nearly lost the fight, to be honest. Pretty good impressions of fingers on your skin though. Almost impressive.” Wooyoung pulls back and sends a lopsided smile your way, one that you return with half the amount of enthusiasm.

“Oh, how kinky,” you huff. Wooyoung chokes on his saliva. Seonghwa’s brows shoot up and he blinks at the floor a few times before clearing his throat.

“A-ha, is San coming down soon?” He asks after he recovers himself a bit. You tilt your head to the side at the question.

“He’s not in the room or upstairs at all. At least he wasn’t when I woke up not too long ago. I just assumed that meant he had already come down.”

“No…” Seonghwa trails off and turns back towards Hongjoong. The two stand completely still, exchanging glances without saying anything for a few moments. There is a sudden and obvious spike of tension between the four of you, one that you can’t pinpoint but Hongjoong clarifies it.

“Fucking shit,” he cusses, nearly elbowing Seonghwa and Wooyoung out of the way as he pushes towards the door. The lieutenant rushes to follow and calls out his name. You blink at the spot where the two men just stood then glance up to Wooyoung. He shrugs, obviously just as confused as you are, then moves to follow Seonghwa outside as well.

“Take Wooyoung and Y/N back to the ship immediately,” Hongjoong orders as you all step outside. The heat is unbearable despite it still being early morning, and the sun nearly blinds you. You have to shield your eyes with the back of your hand, squinting at Hongjoong as he continues speaking. “Get Mingi and bring him back with you. Meet me near the warehouse district. Move as quickly as possible. Chances are San has ahead start on us, and it could be a few hours for all we know so we operate as though we’re behind. I’ll check the radar once I start heading that way.”

“O-Okay, but what’s going on?” You stammer out. You regret asking less than a second later because Hongjoong’s rage-filled stare lands on your form next. You freeze under it, swallowing harshly and trying to stare back with equal heat.

“It’s pretty fucking obvious,” he spits in response. “San went to the warehouse where Taskmaster Cara said she would be. He decided to get his revenge.”

Your mind goes completely and utterly blank. You don’t have words, and certainly have no clue how you’re supposed to explain that you were the one who talked about revenge with San last night. Your resolve returns quickly though.

“I’m staying,” you demand. Heat reaches your gaze, and your confidence swells as you stare Hongjoong in the eye. He doesn’t flinch, however, and his glare continues to harden on you. “I have to stay.”

“No.”

“Captain–”

“I said no.”

“With all due respect Captain,” you start again, teeth pressed together so hard that your jaw aches from the pressure. “I have to stay.”

“I can’t trust you to follow orders given your behavior with Yeosang on the last mission. This is my job, San is my crewmate, San is my responsibility. No one else’s. Seonghwa and Mingi are meant to be merely reinforcements if things head south. So, Lieutenant, you can hurry the fuck up and get going.”

Hongjoong doesn’t wait to hear Seonghwa’s affirmation or approval. He spins on his heel and breaks into a sprint without missing a beat. It only takes a second for his form to disappear in the midst of the morning crowd in the city. Seonghwa watches the man go with wide eyes and mouth agape. He stares at the place where he just was long after Hongjoong is gone, only recovering when Wooyoung nudges him in the side. He grabs for Wooyoung’s shoulder and pulls him forward.

“Let’s go. We need to hurry.” Seonghwa lifts a hand and motions for you to follow as well, but you stay rooted to the spot. You accentuate your refusal by crossing your arms over your chest, eyes glaring into Seonghwa’s head even though he isn’t looking at you at the moment. “Y/N, we need to go.”

Seonghwa shifts to look back at you.

“I won’t go. I’m not going anywhere.”

“What the fuck is going through your head? We need to hurry. Hongjoong is already on his way to San, but we have to go now.”

“I have a debt to repay. San wouldn’t have gone after the crew or the taskmaster if not for me.”

“What are you tal–”

“If I hadn’t been dragged off by Cara, he wouldn’t have even thought about them or his past. It’s my fault San went off for revenge and my fault we’re in this mess in the first place,” you explain, teeth gritted together so hard that it hurts your jaw. “I’m not going to let anything happen to San because of something that is on me and me alone. I won’t let that happen to anyone ever again.”

Seonghwa’s gaze lingers on you, and he doesn’t move or speak for a little while. It’s wasting precious time, time that you could be using to catch up with San, but you don’t press the lieutenant any further.

“The warehouse is a ways away but you can easily get there in less than thirty minutes if you hurry,” he relents at last. He drops his right hand to his left wrist and pops the wristband there off. He passes the device over to you, but you hesitate, staring at him in confusion.

“No! No, no, Lieutenant,” Wooyoung cuts in. He stretches between you, stopping Seonghwa’s arm as it draws closer to you, and you both turn to blink at him in shock. “W-Wait, you can have mine. Y/N, take mine instead.” Wooyoung pulls back to yank his own wristband off, then reaches up to pull his earpiece out as well.

“Why can’t I just use my own wristband? It was only my earpiece that broke.”

“No, you’ll need a replacement from the ship. Each earpiece is paired to a wristband, so we can’t just replace them on the fly like this.”

“Okay, understood.” You pop your band off and hold it out to Seonghwa, and he snatches it before Wooyoung has the chance to.

“You have to take mine. You’ll be able to track Hongjoong’s location on it, as well as San’s. But it’s a two-way street. Both will be able to see your movements as well. If you take my earpiece and wristband, then it will look like I’m the one showing up on the tracker and not you. But if you took Wooyoung’s, Hongjoong would panic even more because he would see Wooyoung traveling alone. It’s best if you take mine for now, and once I’m back with Mingi I won’t need it anyway.” Seonghwa fastens his band around your wrist and tightens it as needed to fit your arm. “I’ll show you how to pull up locations too.”

You let Seonghwa go to work on the tiny screen, repeating his actions in your head so you can remember what to do later. Sure enough, a small map pops up eventually and you can see a dot with small initials beside it – PSH. It must be Seonghwa, because there is another set of initials beside his that read ‘JWY’. Seonghwa swipes his finger across the screen, the map zooms out, and two more dots appear. One is a simple ‘CS’ and the other reads ‘KHJ’, and it’s easy to assume which one belongs to each man. Seonghwa hesitates as he looks at the dots.

“San is moving very slowly. We might have a bit more time than I thought initially. Still, it’s going to take me at least four hours if not more to be back with Mingi.”

“The transport train,” you mutter, sudden realization washing over you. The lieutenant nods a couple times in confirmation.

“Hurry. Try to catch up to San before he gets to the warehouse.” Seonghwa doesn’t pull back quite yet though. Instead, he continues to fiddle with the band without cease, only stopping to explain once he’s completely done. “I switched the channel over to a different one. I’ll match Wooyoung’s to it as well. If anything happens, you need to tell me. I’ll be listening through Wooyoung.”

Seonghwa shifts to grab Wooyoung’s wristband as well, popping it back onto his wrist. You glance up at Wooyoung’s face and catch his stare on you. The two of you exchange a glance. It’s one full of nerves and anxiety; Wooyoung keeps gnawing at his lower lip. The skin is nearly raw under his teeth but he still doesn’t stop. If you knew how to reassure him, you might try; however, you’re in an equal state of confusion and panic so you can’t do anything. The most you can manage is a thin-lipped smile that Wooyoung doesn’t acknowledge. The pit in your gut grows larger.

“It’s all set,” Seonghwa says as he stands up straight. His hand goes to his ear to pluck the small earpiece out, and he hands that over to you as well after wiping it on his sleeve. You take it and put it into your own ear. An awkward silence envelops the three of you after that.

“Well…” You start, shifting your weight from foot to foot. “I guess I should hurry.” You step past Seonghwa, ready to start sprinting after Hongjoong, but Seonghwa catches you by the wrist first. You glance back at the tall man. A few strands of black hair have fallen over his eyes.

“Keep Hongjoong safe,” he asks, tone so quiet you can barely hear it over the din of the streets. The grip on your hand tightens. “Please.”

There is genuine concern in Seonghwa’s eyes as he says the words. It catches you off-guard, especially since you think that Hongjoong should be one to look after himself as the captain, but Seonghwa seems so desperate to hear that you’ll at least try to keep him safe in his stead.

“I’ll do my best,” you mutter in response. Seonghwa’s hand shifts up to your shoulder. He squeezes your arm tight.

“Be careful.”

You shift to glance at Wooyoung one more time. His face still bears the same worried expression as it did before, but he doesn’t speak like Seonghwa does.

“I’ll be fine. You should get going.”

Seonghwa nods a few times in response. His hand shifts from your shoulder to Wooyuong’s back. Without another word, Seonghwa and Wooyoung walk into the crowd. You’re left alone for the first time in weeks. Not “left alone on the ship in your room” because that doesn’t count but really alone.

Despite choosing to stay last night, you really could up and disappear this time. That thought does cross your mind, but you are also hyperaware of the fact that San could be striding to his death in attempts to get whatever revenge he desires. And that’s not something you can sit back and let happen, because as much as you hate to admit it, Hongjoong had a point the previous night.

“You’re choosing the easy way out then. Running away from your problems rather than facing them. There is no way of knowing whether the future will be a repeat of the past. You can only be sure of the present and whatever happens is either a choice of your own or of fate.”

As much as you want to run away and escape, it truly is the easy way out. And for once you don’t think you want to take the easy way out. You wait until Seonghwa and Wooyoung disappear from sight completely before taking off after Hongjoong. It’s hard to figure out which path he took since the city bears so many winding roads. The only way for you to know which way he went is through the small map on your wristband, and even with that, it’s hard to see because of the minuscule size.

Hongjoong’s dot on the map moves with haste while San’s still moves rather slowly. You can’t quell the panic in your gut. There are too many possibilities running through your head at the moment. What if he’s already been caught? Maybe he found them and turned himself in? Why would he do that? Is he really going for revenge? Could it be a suicide mission instead? But why? There are far too many questions and not enough answers. With each possibility you think of, more anxiety bubbles in your gut until you aren’t even able to properly breathe because of it.

You duck into an alleyway first chance you get. It gives you a chance to have some space to breathe, get away from the crowds, and just take a moment to collect yourself some before continuing after Hongjoong and San. You kneel against the dirt and place your hands on your knees. Your eyes fall shut as well, and you let yourself slip ever so slightly into a state of calm.

What would Daichi say? Examine everything. Recall all the information and relay it forward. Talk yourself through what is going on then decide what the best course of action may be. Easy enough. I can do that. What did San say about getting revenge?

“I’m scared of hating myself more than before if I do get my revenge. There won’t be any going back from it if I kill them all. I’m also afraid of regretting it if I don’t do it and take the chance. I j-just don’t know what I want, and that’s almost more terrifying.”

He’s hesitant still. Maybe that’s why he’s moving so slowly. He hasn’t committed. Made an impulse decision and went for it without thinking. Now he’s thinking about it and wondering if it’s still the best course of action. Probably knows that Hongjoong and I – well, Seonghwa – are chasing after him now.

“I’m – I’m not sure why but I feel the need to protect you. I feel guilty that you got hurt by someone I used to know. I feel guilty for not being there sooner. Not noticing you were gone. Just… not being there. I want to – I want to protect you and make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Surely he can’t be walking to his death if he said that… Would he suffer the guilt to do so though?

You lift your chin, eyes cracking open once more. With a quick glance at your wristband, you gauge where both Hongjoong and San are. Hongjoong has come to a sudden stop on the map, the dot flashing before your eyes, and you tilt your head to the side to watch it.

Then a gunshot resounds somewhere ahead of you. You whip your chin up to look in the direction of the shot, but there’s no telling whether it came from where San is or where Hongjoong is. You don’t bother dusting off your knees before breaking into a sprint. People carry on in the streets as though the sound of a gun is totally normal and regular. You weave through the crowds of people with haste, but it’s hard to move fast and avoid knocking into them so you smack a few shoulders along the way. Your earpiece crackles to life not long after the gunshot resounds.

“What’s going on? Who shot a gun? Are you okay? Where are San and Hongjoong?” Wooyoung shouts over the intercom. You wince from the volume of his voice in your ear.

“I’m fine,” you grumble back. “The gunshot didn’t come from me.”

“Do you see anything at least? Fighting? Hongjoong maybe? San?”

“No, I’m still trying to catch up. Hongjoong isn’t too far ahead, but he’s stopped moving.”

“Be careful,” Wooyoung whispers, his voice falling quiet. “Seonghwa says the same.”

“Thank you,” you say back. “You do the same.”

“We will.”

The channel goes quiet again after that. You try your best to maintain the pace you’re going at, because thanks to Hongjoong’s sudden halt, you’re catching up faster than you thought you would. According to the map, San has moved a bit in the opposite direction, nearly backtracked his steps some before continuing forward. Part of you wonders if he’s stopping to check his wristband as well, or if it was the gunshot that made him pause for a bit.

Hongjoong’s dot on the map grows ever closer. You shove through a group of people – earning yourself quite a few curses and threats – and land yourself in a finally empty roadway. You glance across the road, finding the reason why it’s so empty with ease and the reason why Hongjoong quit moving.

He stands in the middle of the street with two pistols out and at the ready, a body at his feet that must have fallen victim to the random gunshot that echoed through the streets. Hongjoong isn’t alone though; he’s surrounded by eight thugs who seem to have the same idea. All have their own weapons pointed at Hongjoong’s head.

✧✧✧ a/n: okay here we are a little late but here nonetheless!!! i’m so sorry for the delay i was not expecting my dad to bring the kitten in so early and honestly wasn’t even expecting to get a kitten at all so that’s my bad but aosdifiojd i cut this chapter off a tad early because i wanna save a majority of the ~action~ for the next chapter slkjdfkljlk 

taglist: @faeriewoobin​ @sugarrimajins​ @atinyinwonderland​ @2504-life @lil7bluedragon @sparklychangbin​ @jeong-uwu​ @jeonartemis​ @anothershorthuman​ @xxbluestrifexx​ @saturatedsan​ @haotheheckk​ @noonawriter​​

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

#kpopuniversenet #thekpopnetwork #ultkpopnetwork #atzinc #ateeznetz #atinyforatiny #kwritersworldnet #ateez x reader #ateez #ateez fluff #ateez angst #ateez smut #ateez series #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #yunho x reader #yeosang x reader #jongho x reader #mingi x reader #wooyoung x reader #san x reader #mists of celeste #ateez space pirate au #mists of celeste act two

[softbiker]

Born to Run - Chapter 17

Warnings: angst, alcohol abuse, anxiety, heartbreak, police violence (potentially triggering encounter, please heed the warning), language

Word count: 3.2k

A/N: Well, here it is. All I can do is say...I’m sorry. But I promise I’ll fix it. I decided to go ahead and post this tonight because I haven’t gotten to write much lately, I’ve been working constantly and now I’ve got a second job - so I just love getting to write and post when I can. Thank you for sticking with this story. It’s almost a year old now! As always, let me know what you think!!

“I dunno, Mom - I mean it’s not like I planned this-”

“Well, no, honey,” her mother huffed over the phone. “It doesn’t seem like you planned any of it.”

Y/N winced at the sting of her words but didn’t argue. With her phone wedged between her ear and her shoulder, she grabbed another stack of underwear and socks from the dresser and turned back towards her bed, where a suitcase lay open. A few pairs of jeans and a couple of sweaters were already folded inside. Off to one side, her toiletry bag was stuffed full - skincare and toothpaste and hair products she might not even use but tossed in anyway in her flustered packing frenzy. Her grip on the socks in her hands tightened to keep her fingers from trembling.

It had been 2 days since her fight - breakup - with Bucky. For the first 24 hours, she fell into an anxious, disorganized catatonia; she shuffled from room to room in her house, pacing and biting her nails, opening cabinets at random then promptly closing them. Her fingers tapped restlessly against her thigh, and her heart raced at a breakneck pace. If a single clear thought managed to arrange itself from the scattered clutter of her panic, it was only Bucky’s face, red-eyed and tear-stained as he pleaded with her. After splashing some water on her face and changing into sweatpants, she had put herself to bed, settling in for the longest night of her life. She tossed and turned, hearing the minutes tick by from the clock on the wall. At around 3 am, she threw off the covers in heartbroken frustration and stalked to the kitchen, setting the kettle on for tea and raiding her cabinets for any treats she could find. Thank God she still had that fancy dark chocolate she’d gotten last time she went to the city; it was the only thing her cupboards could provide in the way of comfort food. Armed with a steaming cup of lavender chamomile and an entire half-pound of dark chocolate she settled back under the covers and grabbed the T.V. Remote from her nightstand. If nothing else, she prayed Netflix could distract her, fill her mind with different faces, different voices - drown out the one that wouldn’t leave her.

She managed to doze off towards the end of Breakfast at Tiffany’s, tearful confessions playing in the background of her not-quite-dreams, and woke just before 7. A cold, clear morning greeted her through the window, the air in her room practically frigid, but something in it settled her. Quieted the static that had blurred out all thought since Bucky walked through her door the day before. With a deep breath, she threw off the covers and swung her feet out of bed, leaving the tea cup and chocolate wrapper to deal with later. It was her running shoes she reached for.

An hour and 10 kilometers later, she jogged back up her front porch steps, breathing heavy and feeling light. Her cheeks were charted from the wind, and her nose was running, but the grip on her heart had shaken loose. And as she clambered into the shower, stinging hot and billowing steam, new thoughts began to string together - thoughts for tomorrow, and the tomorrow after that.

Still in sweatpants, hair dripping, she’d scribbled down a list while she sipped her coffee. Names, to-do’s, a seed of a plan. In order, she phoned the clinic, her best friend, her residency program coordinator - and now, at last, her mom.

“I’m driving up to stay with Kat for a few days - maybe a week,” Y/N sighed, ignoring her mom’s comment. “Just to…clear my head, you know?”

“Sure, sure,” her mom agreed. “Though I don’t know why you couldn’t come here…I haven’t seen you since Thanksgiving-”

“Mom.” She closed her eyes, one hand settled on her hip. “It’s not a vacation.”

“No, sweetie, but it doesn’t hurt to come let your mom take care of you…”

Knuckles pressed to her eyelids, Y/N sat down on the edge of her bed. The old mattress creaked, as it had every night she slept in it for the last several months.

“I-I just,” she licked her dry lips and tried to swallow. “I need to be alone for a little bit, Mom. Once I’ve got it all figured out, I’ll let you know. And maybe…who knows, maybe I can come visit soon.”

“Sweetheart.” The voice on the phone is tired, resigned. “Why do you always try to do these things by yourself? You don’t have to be alone.”

Y/N’s throat tightened, her fingers curling into the fabric of her pants. She breathed slowly, warding back the lump that threatened to close off her voice.

“I’m sorry, Mom. But this time I do.”

**********

“You’ve got to go in there and wake him up-”

“I’m not doing it - I wouldn’t touch him with a 10 foot pole when he’s like this.”

“Well, someone’s got to. We’re bugging out in just a couple days-”

Heavy-eyed, and feeling like death warmed over, Bucky stirred at the sound of the voices outside his bedroom. Harsh winter sunlight burst through the blinds over his window; even before he opened his eyes it hurt. Something throbbed inside his skull, and his tongue felt thick and heavy in his parched mouth. Why the hell did he feel this bad? He couldn’t remember the last time he drank like this, to the point of blacked out nausea. His stomach roiled as he turned over, and he felt far too old to be drinking like there was no tomorrow, like he hated himself-

And then he remembered.

Y/N.

Suddenly he had no interest in getting up, getting water, getting something that would settle his stomach. He covered his face with his hands, fingers pressing firm against his eyelids and blocking out any light that came through. It was hot in his room, the combination of heating and a pile of blankets that someone had tucked him in with, but he didn’t move the covers, choosing instead to sweat underneath them.

How had he fucked up so badly? The best thing that ever happened to him - and now she was gone, baby, gone. It would’ve been alright, maybe, if Natasha had allowed him to talk to Y/N himself, but-

Natasha. Just the thought of her set his blood on fire, and he sat bolt upright in bed, his eyes flying open - only to immediately regret it as a stronger wave of nausea threatened to claim him. He quickly folded himself in half and put his head between his knees. When his head finally stopped spinning, he propped his elbows up against his knees and threaded his hands through his hair.

Already, he felt a thread of shame and guilt tugging at his gut. It wasn’t right to blame Natasha. He knew that. The lies were all his own; all Nat had done was reveal the truth.

But, God, the look on Y/N’s face - she had never looked at him that way, not even in the beginning when she was afraid he might be a criminal. It chilled him - right down to the marrow of his bones - the cold anger, the mask of disgust and disinterest that she wore to hide the way she hurt. And she did - he could see her pain cracking the ice in her eyes, no matter how she tried to hide it.

He hated himself for it.

A soft knock at the door, and Steve’s blond head poked in.

“Oh,” he said, eyebrows jumping in surprise. “You’re awake.”

Bucky’s scowl deepened as Steve and Sam kindly let themselves into his room and took up post at the foot of his bed.

“Yeah - thanks to you two. You wouldn’t know how to whisper if your life depended on it, Wilson.”

To his credit, Sam didn’t respond - merely rolled his eyes and cast an exasperated glance at Steve. With a sigh, Steve crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes down on the soft blue quilt Bucky had haphazardly wrinkled during the night.

“Look, I understand that you’re really upset right now.” Steve’s voice was soft, barely more than a murmur. “I know…I know how much she meant to you.”

Bucky felt his eyes starting to burn as he stared at his friends, and he hastily scrubbed at them with his palms, sniffing.

“But,” Steve continued, licking his lip. “We’ve got our marching orders - we’re on standby to pull out any day now. We - I - can’t have you going on binders, AWOL for 24 hours, and then stumbling in here piss drunk at 3 in the morning.”

“We thought you were dead, Barnes,” Sam added, clenching his jaw. “We’re on fuckin’ suicide watch, man. You’re gonna drink yourself to death over a breakup? Huh?”

Growling, Bucky reached behind himself for a pillow and hurled it at Sam’s head.

“Shut the fuck up-”

“No, Buck, Sam is right.” Steve’s brows were knitted together tightly. His eyes were sympathetic, but the rest of him was unflinching as stone. “You can’t do that again. What if you’d run yourself off the road, or gotten hit by a car?” Bucky scoffed, but Steve didn’t back down. Raising his voice he went on. “No, I really want you to think - would you be better off dead? Is that what you want? Is that what she would want?”

Eyes squeezed shut, Bucky saw her face right before him once again, her smiles, the way she used to look at him. The panic in her eyes during his parking lot showdown with Rumlow, the way she bit her lip when she was concentrating on something, how sleepy her eyes were in the mornings - each little piece of her, precious secrets he had tucked away in the hidden corners of his heart. He had thought, dreamed, that he had a lifetime to collect them all, fit all her parts together like a puzzle one piece at a time, and love every moment of it. Now, though. These lone pieces are all he has left, and they will never be enough.

What did she want? He knew only one thing for sure - that she was the only person who could say.

“I don’t think it matters to her either way, punk.”

**********

A few miles outside of town, just past the last lonely gas station, was the exit ramp to the interstate. The road had seen better years; the pavement was pitted with potholes and cracks, haphazardly patched with uneven lumps of asphalt that left drivers weaving between lanes and wondering which would do more damage to their tires. But, since this part of the state saw less traffic than other areas, infrastructure money was slow to trickle down towards repair and reconstruction.

Y/N had driven this road a handful of times - as she moved into town, and then when she had taken the drive a couple of times to visit her friends in the city. It was desolate enough to be a slightly depressing drive; nothing but scorched fields for miles on either side of the road, and the steep ditches that banked it on either side were overgrown with wispy stalks of dead grass. Overhead, a grey and overcast sky shadowed everything, promising a winter day best spent indoors.

She tuned in and out of a true crime podcast while she drove, hardly seeing the road in front of her. Her mind was too far gone on the events of the past few days - and everything she had to do with the coming ones. But there was something comforting here, in the grip of the wheel in her hands, a travel mug of coffee still steaming in the cupholder, an open road ahead of her. She felt…awake, present. Bruised, but not broken. And ready to get back up.

Of course, it shook her when a cop car pulled out of the overgrowth on the shoulder of the exit ramp, putting on speed to keep up with her. Mentally she reviewed her driving - still only 5 over the speed limit, her lights were on and working, her tags were in date. They had no reason to pull her over, she rationalized.

And they didn’t. The car stayed right behind her for the next 10 miles, quietly driving at her speed, keeping a couple car lengths’ distance between. No flashing lights, no sirens.

So why were her palms sweating?

After 20 miles, the sirens finally started blaring, blue and red flashes blinking in her rearview mirror. Despite being raised to respect the law, she felt nervous as she glanced back at the car, easing her foot off the accelerator, but not quite braking to pull over. She bit her lip, hesitating another few seconds as the alarm grew louder behind her. Her stomach clenched nervously.

Stop freaking out. You’re just worried about getting a ticket. Sucking in a deep breath through her nose, she scolded herself and gently pulled her car over to the side of the road, careful not to get too far into the muddy grass along the shoulder. Fingers fidgeting nervously on the steering wheel, she watched as the officer got out of his car and strolled up to her window at a leisurely pace. His head was shaved, and he wore dark mirrored sunglasses, in spite of the gloomy light of the day. As she rolled down her window, she squinted at his face, trying to recognize him from the adrenaline-blurred memories of the night Bucky killed Brock Rumlow - but the low slope of his cheekbones, the clean-shave, the firm-set frown are all unfamiliar to her.

“Good afternoon, ma’am,” he greeted her, one hand on his hip. It drew her eyes down towards his gun. “License and registration please.”

Instinctively, she nodded and reached towards her wallet lying in the passenger seat to dig out her license. The officer was silent, propping one hand against her car while he waited; she could hear her own heartbeat in her ears and willed herself to calm down.

Clearing her throat, she gathered her courage and spoke up.

“Excuse me, officer-” He barely glanced up from where he was perusing her car registration. “Why did you pull me over?”

He looked up at her fully at the question, shifting his stance and licking his upper lip.

“One of your tail lights is out,” he said, shoving her papers back through the window. “That’s a real safety issue.”

“My tail light…?” Her tail light - which had been changed only a month ago. She knew, because Bucky did it himself. He had always been worried about her safety; every time she was going somewhere without him, he did a full inspection of the car, testing brakes and changing the oil, going over every last inch of it and then filling up the tank with gas before she left. Last time, she’d sat in the garage nursing a cup of cider as she watched him fiddle with the lights…

She shook her head to lose the thoughts of him.

“I’m sorry, sir, but my tail lights are working just fine, I just had the bulbs changed.” She leaned forward in the seat, peering up at the officer. “Are you sure that there’s something wrong with them?”

Frown deepening even further, he crossed his arms and widened his stance.

“Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to get out of the car?”

“Excuse me?”

“Get out of the car, ma’am.”

“What? Why?”

“Please, just calm down and get out of the vehicle.”

“But-” her protest broke off as he shifted his stance back, one hand inching towards the mace in his belt. She glanced at her phone, sitting in the unoccupied cupholder with her aux cable connected to it. Her fingers twitched - for a microsecond, she contemplated the very bad idea of reaching for it, refusing to get out of the car, calling-calling…someone. Someone.

But surely, if she cooperated, this would all be worked out with just a minor headache, or maybe a ticket, she reassured herself. She repeated it in her head as she unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the door, climbing out of the car carefully, her hands held out to her sides where they could be seen.

Once she was out of her car, the officer took a step forward and pushed on her door, shutting it with a resounding click.

“Okay, I’m out of the car…”

“Turn around and put your hands on the hood.”

“I’m sorry, what?” she exclaimed, hearing her voice hitch in alarm. Her eyes cast up the road and back towards the exit ramps - there were no other cars in sight. No witnesses. “Am I under arrest?”

“Shut the fuck up,” he growled, out of patience. His hand went to rest on his gun now. “Turn around and put your fucking hands on the hood of the car.”

Her fists curled and she stood her ground. She willed away her thoughts of Bucky.

“No. I haven’t broken the law, you can’t arrest me for having a tail light out-”

In a blink, his gun was up and trained directly on her.

“Put your hands on the fucking car!” he yelled, loud enough to make her wince at the volume. Her thoughts tunneled on the barrel of the gun aimed at her chest.

Wordlessly, she turned and planted her hands on the cold metal, shivering in just her sweatshirt, her winter coat tossed in the passenger seat while she was driving. The tips of her fingers went numb and her eyes watered, stung by the wind. Her dry tongue pressed against the backs of her teeth - if she tried to swallow she’d choke.

“Who are you?” Her voice shook, but she managed the words. Scared and alone, but she’d fight, goddammit. She’d fight. He would want her to fight. “Who the hell are you and what do you want?”

“Shut up.” A firm, cold point of pressure between her shoulder blades as he pressed the gun against her back. There was a faint buzzing sound and then the rustle of fabric; when he spoke again, it clearly wasn’t to her. “Yes, sir?” He answered his phone. “Yes - we’re on schedule. I have the package. Will confirm when its secure and en route.”

Her heart raced wildly and her mind went white with fear. What was he talking about? This had to be some kind of mistake, a misunderstanding-

Just as she opened her mouth to speak again, the butt of his gun came down against the back of her head; her vision exploded in stars, and then faded to black as she slumped against her car. Barely conscious, she felt herself being dragged away down the road, lifted and shoved into the backseat of the squad car, unceremoniously dumped with her face down against the cold leather. The engine hummed to life; a seatbelt clicked - not hers.

“Sir?” He spoke again from the front seat. “Package is secured.”

She wondered if Bucky was coming to find her. He would, she told herself. He’d come.

And then, nothing.

#bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #born to run #biker!bucky #biker!bucky au #biker!bucky fic

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Yours, Mine, and Ours [6]

Masterlist

Warnings: noncon sex (vaginal, anal, violence)

This is dark!Steve AND dark!Bucky and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: Steve returns.

Notes: Um. I’m sorry.

Also, maybe reblog and or comment :) It’s your call but I would forever love you.

Was it guilt? Is that what kept you distracted? Or was it regret? Not regret for what you'd done with Bucky but regret for how far it had all gone. Longing for simpler days, when it was just you and Steve. When you didn't think of him and feel paper thin. When Bucky was just his friend. Nothing more.

You felt it even more as Steve's return loomed. He'd texted you that morning, he'd be back that evening. Two days after it happened. Two days after you woke in Bucky's arms; exhausted but warm. Too weak to pull away until he woke and did so first.

Sitting at your desk, you replayed the scene in your head for the dozenth time. You didn’t say much as you dressed or even when you left. He drove you back to the compound. You parted silently; each to your respective obligations.  He looked at you shyly when he thought you didn’t notice and you did the same back. An unspoken promise not to tell Steve. Forget about it, move on.

The days passed slowly. Steve didn’t message you much, likely tied up in his mission. You avoided Bucky and he avoided you. It had to end. All of it. Any further and you’d all be too far to turn back. 

You were anxious. You’d never felt this way about Steve. It wasn’t the butterflies that first fluttered when you met or the usual excitement at his homecoming. It was almost fear. Dread, at least. He wasn’t the same either. He’d changed so much you felt like you were strangers. Before, you’d know how he’d react, now you weren’t so sure he’d even listen to you.

The hours drifted by as your mind reeled and you struggled to focus on your work. Your screen blurred in your vision and you found yourself staring at the door. You checked the time and leaned back with a sigh. It was already after five. You rubbed your forehead and closed your email. Tomorrow.

Your phone buzzed as you sat listlessly watching your PC shut down. You hadn’t thought what to do next. You just knew you couldn’t stay there and attempt to seem normal. You grabbed your phone and stood. Go hide in your room and wait for Steve. He’d be back soon enough.

He already was. Your phone flashed with his message. You expanded the bubble and read quickly as your heart caught in your throat. ‘Meet me at the apartment.’ No heart, no love you, just do this. Do what I want. Listen to me. That was Steve now. Selfish.

You sent your ascent, ‘omw’, and left without ado. You grabbed your keys and kept your phone in your pocket but didn’t bother with your purse. You wanted to get it done and over with. Say the words before you lost them. Before you lost your gull.

The drive felt twice as long as the buildings watched you pass. You hoped it was the last time you’d go there. The last time you made that interminable ride and climbed those stairs to the place where you were only a body. You pulled in and tapped your fingers on the steering wheel. Steve’s car was already there. Good.

You parked behind him and crossed the street to the front door. Your key barely fit in the slot as your hand trembled. You were nervous. Terrified, even. Would he let you say no? Well, of course he would. He was still Steve. Still the man you’d fallen in love with. You’d just taken a detour, that was all. This had all just been a phase.

Your legs felt heavy as you climbed the stairs. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears and you stood before the familiar door. You stared at its chipped paint and tarnished handle. It opened before you could knock and you blanched. Steve greeted you with a smile. It was him, he was still there.

“Hey,” He smiled but made no move to kiss you as he usually did. When you tried to embrace him, he backed away and waved you inside.

“Hey,” You echoed dumbly. “Uh, what’s going on?”

“Come on,” He watched you step inside and closed the door behind you. “I was thinking...we should talk.”

You blinked and turned back to him. “Yeah, I think we should.”

“Sit,” He said and neared you slowly. You went to the couch, the tension clawed at your skin as he sat beside you. “Should I start or do you want to?”

“I…” You looked at him. No, it wasn’t him. You couldn’t tell who it was. Couldn’t tell if he was happy or angry. Couldn’t see anything more than the golden saviour and his righteous ego. “I don’t want to do this anymore. It’s...messy. It’s draining. Steve, I love you and I only want to be with you.”

He nodded as he listened. His palms pressed together as he thought. He bent his head and his golden lashes flicked down as he considered your words. He smiled.

“Are you sure?” He asked and slowly straightened to look at you. “You want this to end? You don’t want...Bucky?”

“No, I want you. I never wanted Bucky. You...You thought I did but I didn’t.” You reached over to touch his wrist and he evaded you again. He slid his phone out of his pocket and opened it. You frowned and watched his thumb flit across the screen. “What are--”

“You really sure you don’t want him?” He held his phone out to you. 

It took a moment for your eyes to adjust to the picture; the overexposure of the night vision footage. You watched yourself straddle Bucky, your hips rocked steadily in frame. You didn’t look away until you climbed off of him. You shook your head and dropped back against the couch with your hands to your temples.

“Steve--”

“He came in you, didn’t he?” Steve snarled.

You closed your eyes and winced. Your lips moved but no words would come.

“And you kissed him.” He was angry. Angrier than you had ever heard him. “You broke the rules.”

“I--I’m sorry, Steve. I’m just so---confused. And lost. And exhausted. I...fucked up but I love you and I never wanted--”

“You always wanted him,” He stood as you reached out to him again. He stepped away and tossed his phone on the coffee table. “If I hadn’t dragged you down to his room and watched him fuck you, you would’ve found a way eventually.”

“What?” You clutched your chest, stunned. “No, I...you--”

“He surely would’ve. Don’t you realize? He’s obsessed with you. He had half your panties in his drawer, cameras in your room. Fuck! Do you know what he told me? He’d fucking jerk off on your bed. Where you slept, where we slept.” He paced the room angrily. “Does that make you feel special, slut?”

“Don’t call me that,” You rose and neared him. “Don’t.”

“That’s what you are. I’ve seen how much you like it when he fucks you. When he’s got you on his cock. More when I’m in you too. Fucking that little slut mouth.” He scoffed. “You forgot that you’re mine. I say when he fucks you and when he can’t, I do, and I will always be better than him.”

“I can’t--” You shook your head. “I can’t do this anymore, Steve. Not if it’s gonna be like this. Not if this--” You gestured to him. “Is who you’re going to be.”

You made to step past him and he moved in front of you. You changed direction and he blocked you again. He caught your arm and held you in place. You looked up at him; startled, angry. 

“Let me go,” You snapped.

“Go? You can’t just break the rules then go,” He chuckled. “No, no, no. You walk away when I say you do and we’re not quite done yet.”

“Steve!” You pulled away and he grabbed your other arm. “Let me go! I wanna go!”

His hands fell to your waist and he lifted you easily to drape you over his shoulder. The sudden swirl of air around you left your dizzy as you hung from his grasp. He slapped your ass as you kicked your legs and beat upon his broad back. He barely seemed to notice your struggle as he carried you around the couch and to the bedroom door.

“Oh don’t worry, baby,” He growled. “You wanna break the rules? We’re gonna break all the rules tonight.”

-

Bucky sighed when he saw the notification. Perhaps it was more accurately a growl. Steve’s name blinked on his screen, his usual pointedness. ‘Meet me at the apartment. Now.’ Fuck. He didn’t think he’d be back so soon. He was hoping he’d have a chance to find his courage and talk to her before they were dragged back to reality.

As usual, he was a coward and he had waited too long. He pushed himself off the bed and yawned. His nap was a failure. He was as sleepless as any night. He pulled on a shirt, a pair of socks, and his shoes. He slipped into his faded black jacket and tucked his keys and phone in his pocket. He didn’t answer Steve. Let him stew.

He purposely passed her office. She was already gone. He wondered if she was on her way to Steve too. Or maybe she was back in her room awaiting his return. If she was there, what would he do? Or say? Could he hide the guilt eating at his stomach from his best friend? Could he hide his love for her?

Yes, it was love. He had decided it was. That night when they slept in each others arms, he knew. It was more than some perverted obsession, more than sex, more than whatever Steve felt for her. Why, Steve was just fine sharing her like a piece of meat. Using her body like it was nothing more than a toy. Bucky never wanted that. He’d never wanted to humiliate her, only wanted to be close to her.

That’s why he wanted to talk. He wanted to apologize. He was complicit. He’d used her. It didn’t matter that Steve had told him too, that he was ‘following orders’. That was no excuse for one’s actions. He traded her dignity for his self-indulgence. He was wrong. Steve was wrong and she deserved more than either of them.

He lost himself in his thoughts. His drive to the building was habit. He barely remembered getting in his car or making the turns and stops on the way. He only came back as he stared up at the red brick. He saw their cars awaiting him. Shit. He couldn’t do it. Not again.

Steve would be angry, no doubt, but he’d have his girl. Bucky had no delusions. He knew when it came down to it, she would choose Steve. He was okay with that, as long as she was happy. As long as it was what she wanted. 

He took his keys out and walked up the crooked pavement to the door. The stairs he took slowly, dreading his arrival. He shuffled on the worn carpet in front of the apartment. He listened but heard nothing from within. He knocked on the door but no answer came. The door was unlocked and he entered cautiously.

Her keys were on the floor. Steve’s phone was on the table next to hers and the bedroom door was closed. The hairs on his neck stood on end and he neared the coffee table. He bent and took her phone. No notifications. He traded it for Steve’s and it unlocked with the slide of his thumb. 

A program was already open and had prevented it from locking. He hit the triangle in the middle of the black rectangle and a dim vision appeared before him. His chest clenched as he recognized her back as her hips moved without relent. His hands were on her ass and the angle allowed a glimpse of his dark hair spread across the pillow. Oh no.

“You should’ve known I’d have cameras,” The bedroom door was open and Steve leaned against the frame. His arms were crossed and he wore a cynical smirk. “I got the idea from you after all.”

“Steve,” Bucky blackened the screen and set the phone back on the table. “I--”

“I haven’t done anything yet. She’s fine. Impatient, I think.” Steve continued. 

“What--What are you going to do to her?” Bucky pushed his shoulders back.

“You think I’m going to hurt her?” Steve hissed. 

“Again?” Bucky countered, “Yeah. What would you call what you’ve been doing to her?”

“And you’ve been doing,” Steve accused and stood straight as he dropped his arms. “Come on. All I wanna do is go over the rules...with both of you.”

“Steve--”

“You’re supposed to be my friend,” Steve interjected and closed in so that the super soldiers stood chest to chest. “We had an agreement. You broke it. For once in your life, own up to your actions.”

“Fuck you.” Bucky spat back.

“I never had to share her with you. Ever. I chose to,” Steve’s face was contorted in anger. “And if I choose to, I can make sure you never see her ever again. I mean. Not a glimpse.”

“You don’t own her--”

“Yeah, I do actually. And I own you too. Every time I told you to bend her over, you did. Every time I told you to shove your dick down her throat, you did. So you’re going to go in the room, sit down, and take your punishment like a man.” Steve barked. “If you don’t want to, I’ll drag her out in the street naked and fuck her for all to see what a slut she is.”

Bucky’s metal hand formed a fist. He exhaled darkly and for a moment thought of throttling Steve. Then it flew away. He remembered all the things Steve had done for him. Kept him from jail, saved him from death, placed his own life on the line for the former Winter Soldier, and after all that, had let him divulge in this twisted fantasy. His fingers went limp and he nodded.

“Just...I don’t wanna hurt her.” Bucky said.

“Don’t you worry, you won’t be touching her.” Steve grinned in triumph. “Go on.”

He turned and pointed to the bedroom. Bucky moved slowly, his legs weighed down in dread. Steve followed closely as he entered the bedroom and he stopped short. Steve shoved him further in and shut the door as Bucky stood in shock. She was on the bed, hands tied to the head board and her ass up in the air.

“Good girl,” Steve neared the bed and smacked her ass. She whimpered. Her ass was raw with hand prints already. She closed her eyes as she saw Bucky and bit down on the gag in her mouth. “Sit down.” Steve pointed to the chair. “Now.”

Bucky stared at her. This was his fault. He shook his head. At his selfishness. At his fear. At the way he felt so weak when faced with this man he called his friend. He exhaled shakily and sat down.

“Now, don’t you dare look away.” Steve drawled as he rounded the bed.

-

Steve had watched the video at least a dozen times since that night. Every time he did, he felt the same pang of anger. The same stab in his chest that told him he’d lost control. Worse, he had pushed her away.

Yet the more he thought of it, the way she rocked her hips, the way they’d kissed, the sheer pleasure of their bodies as they worked in tandem, he became more convinced of their ploy. It wasn’t his fault, it was theirs. 

They’d conspired against him. Bucky had stolen her panties and planted his little cameras in her room. And Steve saw the way she’d delighted in their first romp. As much as she’d claimed her innocence, he heard her true confession in every orgasm. Saw it in the tremble of her legs as she came on another man’s cock.

He had made himself clear. There was no excuse. No way they could misunderstand his simple rules. Yet they had and so he needed to remind them.

He tilted his head as he watched her on the bed. Her ass wiggled as she adjusted her legs under her. Her muscles strained as her hands were bound above her head. Steve pulled off his shirt and tossed it away as he paced along the foot of the bed. He kicked his shoes off next and unzipped his fly. He chuckled and continued to undress casually. Every step he had a new idea of how to make her pay. How to make them both pay.

His own best friend had betrayed him. A man he’d almost died for, almost lost his career for. That hurt just as much as her betrayal. He leaned a knee on the bed and glanced over at Bucky. His eyes were wide as he gripped the arms of the chair. His gaze was glued to the woman on the bed. He looked repulsed and even afraid. As scared as she had looked when he’d dragged her into the room.

He turned his attention back to her. He came up behind her on his knees and shoved his hand between her legs. He felt around and she was disappointingly dry. She flinched as he roughly rubbed her clit and her little whines started to annoy him. “You better get wet soon, honey. Either way I’m going in.” 

He slapped her ass with other hand and she squeaked through her gag. He sensed movement in the corner of his eye as Bucky shifted in the chair. “Steve…”

“Shut up,” He snarled over his shoulder. 

He played with her but she didn’t get very wet. She trembled as he withdrew his hand and moved closer. His cock poked her ass and her body tensed. He smacked her ass again and pushed his tip down between her cheek until he reached her pussy. She turned her face to the mattress in her shame and he pressed his head to her entrance.

She stretched around him slowly. She hissed as he got deeper. She was tight, reluctant. He didn’t care. He paused with only his tip inside and waited. After a moment, she lifted her head in confusion. He slammed into her with all his force and she dropped her head back down with a grunt. He stayed deep inside her and wiggled his hips.

“That’s the only cock you need,” He growled. “Right?”

She nodded fervently into the mattress and he grabbed her hips. He drew back and dipped back inside. He pulled himself out entirely and sank back in several times and lingered again. He slowly thrust and watched as each time his cock left her it glistened more than the last. He sped up carefully. Just a little at a time but jerked his hips hard enough to make her flesh clap. 

When he had the whole bed shaking he sensed the quiver. Her fingers wrapped around the straps of her bounds and her breathing picked up. She was going to cum. He knew her body well. Knew when she was at her peak and he intended to push her to the bottom and leave her broken. 

He grabbed the back of the gag tied around her head and wrenched her back. Her back arched as he did and he pounded into her without relent. Her groans were muffled by the gag and the sound of her pussy clinging to his cock filled the room. 

“Yeah, you like that, you fucking slut,” He brought his other hand to her forehead as he gripped her head entirely. “Cum, you fucking slut. Yeah, you can’t even help yourself.”

Her whimpers were delectable as she came and her walls pulsed around him. She was wetter than ever now. He slid in and out of her easily and soon he was chasing his own orgasm. The wave rose from his pelvis and threatened to burst all the way to his fingertips.

“What was my rule? No cumming inside,” He said. “You remember that. Yeah, you wanna be filled with it, don’t you? Only mine.”

She couldn’t answer through her gag as she struggled to breath around it. The sparks erupted and his hips sputtered as he came suddenly. He impaled her as he spilled inside of her and he twitched until he was spent. He let go of her and her head fell heavily to the mattress.

He pulled out of her inch by inch. When at last he was completely unsheathed, his cum spilled from her and clung to the end of his cock. He ran his fingers through the mess and shoved some back inside her. Her legs threatened to collapse and he slapped her ass in warning.

“Ass up.” He warned.

He looked over at Bucky; his blue eyes shone at the scene yet he was entranced by the horror. Steve turned back to her and shoved himself back inside. She flinched in surprise. He kneaded her ass and pulled her cheeks apart. He circled his thumb around her tight ring and she tried to pull away. 

He slipped his hand down and dragged his thumb through the slickness that had gathered around her pussy. He worked in and out of her steadily as he dragged his fingers back up. He spread her arousal around her hole and she tensed again. He pushed against her ring and sneered. “Relax.”

She relented but only as he kept poking against her asshole. At last his thumb slipped inside and he pushed as deep as he could go. He worked his thumb in time with his cock and soon the tension left her muscles. She was close to cumming again. He pulled his thumb out and stopped. Only his tip was inside her as he stilled.

“So, we wanna break rules?” He peeked over at Bucky and smirked. He reached 

He looked down at her and pulled out entirely. He stroked his cock and guided it to her asshole. Her head shot up and she tried to push her legs out from beneath her. Steve caught her hip with one hand and pushed his cock to her ring. He heard the subtle groan of the chair and listened to her breathing pick up as she stretched around his head.

Her head was turning back and forth as he got deeper. Her shoulders tightened and she pulled helplessly at her bounds. He chuckled and reached to undo the gag. As it fell away from her mouth she cried out. “Stop! Steve!”

“You wanna break the rules? We’re breaking all the rules.” He was halfway in. She was so tight it almost hurt. He’d never fucked a woman like that before. It felt delicious.

“Please.” She sobbed. “It hurts. It hurts. S-St-Stopppppp.”

She wailed as he bottomed out and he sighed. He eased out and thrust back in and heard the tears in her voice as she yelped. He pulled back again, ready to go even harder when he was suddenly pulled off his knees. 

Steve’s hands flew up to the vibranium arm that wrapped around his neck and tightened. As he was dragged off the bed by Bucky he kicked off the edge and they both flew back and collided with the chair. The two men fell into a heap and rose at the same time as they turned on each other.

Steve dodged Bucky’s punch and threw one of his own. He missed too and was knocked back by a strike across his chest. He returned it in kind and the soldier traded jabs in the small space as they crashed into wall and furniture alike. 

Steve aimed another fist across Bucky’s cheek but he dipped out of the way. Once more his vibranium snaked around Steve and they struggled in a clutch. Each fighting for the upper hand. They hit the wall and Bucky’s elbow landed against Steve’s neck and he held him there with slight pressure against his larynx.

“She said stop,” Bucky’s eyes burned as he glared at his friend. Former friend.

For a moment they just stared at each other. A stolid commiseration. A startling realization.

“Get the fuck off me,” Steve croaked against the lack of air.

“No, not if you’re going to hurt her,” Bucky retorted. 

“She’s mine.” Steve grabbed Bucky’s unyielding arm. “She’ll never be yours.”

Bucky’s eyes flared and he inhaled as if he had been struck. His jaw squared and the pressure on Steve’s throat slowly lessened. Bucky lowered his arm and took a step back as he glanced over at the bed. He frowned and shook his head.

“You can leave now,” Steve gloated, “I’m done with you. And so is she.”

Steve was stunned by the force. The sudden electricity that seized his jaw as Bucky punched him and his head slammed back against the wall. Steve slid down the wall as he cradled his chin, his mouth tasted of iron as he felt the trickle along his lips. His vision was hazy as he watched the dark shadow retreat.

Bucky knelt on the bed to untie her as Steve tried to stand. “Don’t fucking move or I’ll hit you again. Harder.” Bucky’s voice cut through him and lowered. “Are you okay? Careful…” The voice faded as Steve sat in shock and spat his blood onto the carpet.

#stever rogers #stucky x reader #Bucky Barnes #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #dark!steve rogers #dark!bucky barnes #dark!stucky #fic #au #mcu #marvel #captain america #dark!fic #dark fic #darkverse #dark!verse #yours mine and ours #series

[cole-grey-writes]

The Boyfriend

Universe: Marvel Cinematic Universe

Timeline: Captain America: The First Avenger

Character(s): Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes

Pairing(s): Stucky x Male Reader

Warning(s): none

Summary: You and Bucky Barnes grow close during the war. And then, you meet Bucky’s boyfriend.

A/n: not a request but I made this for @lucifvgous because I saw their post about stucky x reader and I feel the same… so here you go, to all those with no stucky x male reader love. And pls send in more requests, I would love to write more!

For a hardheaded, distant and seemingly cold Sergeant who’s just there to do his job, Bucky maybe just a little more cuddly than you thought he was going to be. You don’t mind, though. Good touch is few and far between on the battlefield. It’s hardly, well, hard for you to lay in the arms of another man, given your past before the war.

It was awkward and stilted in the beginning but that you got over it quickly. There is no room for pride in a war. It’s either find warmth in the arms of your comrades or freeze to death.

It started when the first snow fell and the first wind sent goosebumps up the soldiers’ arms instead of cooling off their sweaty, sticky skin. All the soldiers silently pick out their sleeping partners for the upcoming winter nights. Everyone, except you.

You sit alone at night on your springy cot, shivering inside your thin, army regulated clothes, leaning against a wood post that keeps the tent from collapsing while everyone around you slept (or at least trying to). Everyone else is wrapped in each others arms, but all your friends are either already with a partner or dead so you’re left alone.

You open one of your eyes to the sound of shuffling from the tent flap. You watch Bucky walk into the tent, which isn’t unusual given his late night walks. You always watch him walk off into the woods surrounding the camp as soon as dinners over and you and everyone else never stop him. You and the other boys silently understand that everyone has their own way of dealing with the violence and trauma. All you and anyone else know is that Sergeant Barnes is back in his tent come morning.

Which is the reason you’re not surprised to see your Sergeant awake so late.

You close your eyes again as you try and fail to fall asleep.

“Private,” Bucky says, catching your attention. You open your eyes again, surprised. Bucky is distant, usually keeps to himself. He's the quiet, silent type around camp. He never interacts much with the other soldiers, save for the times he gives out orders to his privates. You’re very surprised to see your Sergeant making an effort to talk to you off the battlefield.

“Sergeant,” you respond back.

“Why are you still awake?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” you tell him, biting your lip as soon as it’s out of your mouth. If there’s one thing any private can’t do, it’s talk back to their superior, especially if your superior is Bucky. You saw what happened to the last guy that tried and obviously didn’t get away with it.

Bucky raised his eyebrows.

You wince and look away. “Can’t sleep, too cold,” which makes Bucky nod.

You think it’s done with but apparently it’s not because Bucky comes over and bends down. He sits with you on your cot, the springs creak against his weight.

“Scoot over.”

You raise your eyebrows, confused, but you do what you’re asked. Bucky settles in bed next to you and you face each other. You’re able to feel Bucky’s breath on your face, his body heat through his clothes that are soaked with cold. You can see all the details of Bucky’s grey eyes, and also the dark bags under Bucky’s eyes. You can’t help but wonder when the last time he slept was.

Neither of you say anything for a few seconds.

And then Bucky puts his arms around your waist and pulls you against him. You face is suddenly in his neck, chests flush and legs tangled together. You blush, kinda glad Bucky can’t see your face right now.

“Get some sleep,” Bucky tells you, his mouth right up against your ear. You wonder why you never noticed how sweetly deep and soft his voice is.

You put those thoughts away and do as Bucky tells you.

That’s how it started. You and Bucky stick close together after that night. It’s actually kind of funny, you could hardly imagine the faces of the other soldiers in your tent when they woke up that morning and found you and their Sergeant wrapped around each other. But, it’s also a relief because some of the other soldiers sometimes choose to pick on you given that you didn’t have many friends left. That stopped pretty much immediately after you and Bucky became cuddle buddies.

Things grow with Bucky. Sometimes either of you are sitting too close to be considered normal, even when it wasn’t cold. You lay in each others arms after particularly gruesome days. When you look over sometimes, Bucky’s looking at you, too, in some type of way. Bucky also always looks incredibly guilty, which you understand. You don’t like it, but you understand.

You’re more than comfortable in your own skin at this point in your life, even if society wants nothing to do with you and your people. If Bucky's still feeling guilty about his feelings towards other men, so much so that he doesn’t seem to be out to himself, then you weren’t going to be the one to draw it out of him.

And then your regiment was captured. You were trapped in chains after cell after cage and were constantly separated from Bucky. You were really worried about him and your remaining friends, Gabe and Morita, were always trying to get you to confess your worries to them. You were never able to tell them.

Then, there was a miracle.

Everyone was saved by this guy, called himself ‘Captain America’ whatever that meant. He marched right into the camp in Italy with nothing but a fake shield (moron) and beat up all the nazis and rescued everyone.

You don’t know who this Captain America guy is, but you think he’s a real good guy and were thankful he saved you and your fellow soldiers’ lives. Captain America’s real name is actually Steve Rogers and you know this because Bucky found you after not even an hour back at camp and dragged you to introduce you to each other.

You and Steve look at each other, equally confused. Then, you and Steve look at Bucky where Bucky is looking back and forth between you and Steve. Bucky’s face is contorting in a weird secret grin, looking as if he’s trying to hold back a smile that would stretch across his entire face.

You and Steve share a look.

Neither of you know what Bucky’s up to, but you both can see that meeting each other is obviously exciting him. You both can see clear as day that Bucky wants you two to like each other, so you both silently agree to be friendly.

You stretch out your hand. “Y/n L/n.”

“Steve Rogers.”

The rest of the interaction is only slightly awkward. Bucky makes his exit with a quick and vague explanation of tents, food, or unpacking. Or maybe all three.

You and Steve stand awkwardly next to each other. You stutter and ask, “So, uh, how do you and Bucky know each other?”

“We grew up with each other,” Steve answers quietly.

“Oh,” you say, “that’s cool.”

“So,” Steve stutters himself, “how did you and Bucky meet?”

“Oh, um, we met during battle,” you tell him, knowing that it sounded cool to only those who’ve never been in battle before. “My, uh, my Captain was killed and he had to take over.”

Steve says a strained, “oh,” and then, “that’s cool.” You smile awkwardly at your feet and sigh.

Bucky’s eager face flashes through your mind over and over again. You know he really wants you and Steve to be friends, so you figure you should make more of an effort than this, for Bucky.

You look over, pausing.

Steve is looking at someone. You follow his gaze and see him staring at Bucky (who is not so subtly glancing at you and Steve while he pretends to be talking to another soldier). You set aside his stiff posture and really look at the way he’s looking at Bucky. He’s biting his lip and looking longingly at Bucky as if he’s his entire world.

“Oh,” you suddenly say, catching Steve’s attention.

He looks over and asks, “What?”

You laugh heavily. “Are you and Bucky lovers?”

Steve gasps and blushes. He averts his eyes and shifts around on his feet. “Are we really that obvious?”

You smile. “Only to people who are just as queer as you are.”

Steve blushes even more and looks at you. You smile back but look away again to focus on Bucky.

You’re able to admit you’re a little disappointed because you know how you feel. You were just so sure that Bucky had wanted the same thing as you. It’s confusing because Bucky seemed too enthusiastic to stick you and Steve together for him to want you to just be friends.

“Um,” you stutter, facing growing hot, “do… do you want to go get some food? We’ve had a long walk,” you look over at Steve hopefully.

Steve is blushing and he looks at you for a long second, emotions shifting behind his eyes. Then, Steve nods. “Yeah,” he agrees, smiling genuinely.

“We should invite Bucky,” you tell him, looking towards the Sergeant.

“Yeah,” Steve nods and agrees again, “we should definitely invite Bucky.”

(NOT MY GIF)

Main Blog // Other Side Blog

((NO ONE HAS MY PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WORK ANYWHERE EVEN WITH CREDIT))

#stucky x male reader #stucky x reader #reader insert #marvel cinematic universe

[buoyantsaturn]

all that I want (2/6)

summary: Nico woke up to the sound of a clock bell tolling. His head was pounding before he even opened his eyes, and he groaned when his phone started to ring somewhere near his head...again?

word count: 1205 (2407 total)

WARNINGS: graphic depictions of violence, major character death

read on ao3 | read part one

Nico woke up to the sound of a clock bell tolling. His head was pounding before he even opened his eyes, and he groaned when his phone started to ring somewhere near his head.

He looked up to make the noise stop, but froze at the sight of the room around him - it was a dorm room, just like the one he remembered waking up in the day before. Across the room, he saw the same tall blond - wearing the same flannel shirt two days in a row, really? - and Nico sat up with a groan. God, he needed to stop drinking so much, but at least it was Saturday, so he didn’t have to go to class.

The blond - what was his name? Will? - spun around and smiled at him, which gave Nico some serious deja vu. Then he opened his mouth. “Oh, good! You’re awake! I wasn’t sure if you wanted to be woken up for class or not, but I have to head to mine pretty soon, so it’s a good thing you’re up!”

“I don’t have class on Saturdays,” Nico told him as he stood, and frowned when he realized that he was wearing the same clothes he’d woken up in the day before - his boxers and somebody else’s t-shirt, Will’s if he had to guess.

Will cocked his head in confusion. “It’s Friday. Are you alright?”

“Fine,” Nico snapped, “just...had a weird dream.” He reached for the stack of folded clothes on the dresser next to him, and pulled on his pants.

“I, uh, folded your stuff for you,” Will said, awkwardly rocking back on his heels, “since, you know, nobody likes wrinkles, right?”

Nico rolled his eyes, though it only aggravated his hangover. “Do you have Tylenol?” he asked as he pulled off his shirt, and once again, Will turned away - this time, though, Nico noticed a touch of pink high up on his cheekbones.

“Um, sorry, what was that?”

“Tylenol,” Nico repeated, and watched as Will turned toward his desk to start his search. “It’s on your bookshelf.”

“Oh, right!” Will retrieved the pill bottle while Nico put on his shirt.

As Will handed Nico the Tylenol, he said, “Um, by the way, I’m not sure if you remember my name or not - I mean, you were pretty wasted last night, but, uh, I’m--”

“Will,” Nico said, and Will beamed. Nico shook out two pills and popped them into his mouth, swallowing them dry.

“Right! Uh, did you want some water?”

“Nope.” Nico stepped into his shoes and turned to leave. “See you.”

“Oh, uh, goodbye!” Will called after him.

What a weird morning.

Nico remembered everything from his morning lecture, yet he couldn’t find his notes for it anywhere. He’d started to convince himself that he’d dreamed everything that had happened the day before, but was it possible to dream an entire lecture’s worth of information that he didn’t already know?

At lunch, his roommates asked the same pestering questions, but Nico shot each of them down with just as much ease as he had the day before. He really didn’t want to hear what anything of them would have had to say if they knew he’d slept over at the same guy’s dorm room two nights in a row - or, one night? He still wasn’t quite sure what was going on, and he wanted this weird day-long deja vu trip to end already.

He stood up to throw out the remains of his lunch, remembering a split second too late what had happened the day before, and ended up with a shirt covered in barbeque sauce once again.

“Oh shit, Nico, I’m so sorry,” Will said.

“It’s fine,” Nico grumbled, reaching for a few napkins off the table to wipe the sauce off of his arm.

“No, really, can I, like, buy you a coffee or something to make up for it?” Will offered, and as much as Nico would’ve appreciated some caffeine to get through the rest of this day from hell, he was already going to be late for his next class since he now had to go home to change.

“Would you just give me my ring and leave me alone?” Nico almost felt bad about snapping at him when Will’s expression dropped, but he dug the ring out of his pocket and dropped it into Nico’s awaiting hand.

“Sorry,” Will said glumly, and turned to leave with his head hanging.

Nico’s attention was drawn away from Will’s retreating form when Percy said, “Dude, did you hook up with him last night? You should invite him to the party tonight!”

“Why on earth would I invite a hookup to a party?”

“Maybe because he actually seemed like a decent person, unlike every other guy you’ve ever hooked up with,” Jason pointed out.

Nico rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I have to go home and change before class.”

Nico was a little bit more on edge that night as he was walking alone to the party, remembering what had happened the night before. He got a text as he was walking, choosing to take the long way around to the party rather than cutting through the woods, and decided to at least listen to one of the voicemails his father had left him that day.

“I can’t believe you would leave me at that restaurant,” his father spat into the phone. “Two hours I waited, and you never showed up. You promised you would have dinner with me tonight, Nico! I know you think this is some kind of coping mechanism for you, but I miss her too, and cutting me out of your life is making me feel like I lost two children instead of one.”

Nico deleted the voicemail.

In a few minutes, he found himself outside the frat house that was hosting that night’s party, the music shaking the ground across the entire block. As soon as he was inside, Percy was there pressing a shot glass into his hand. Three or four shots later, Nico was being led away from the party by some frat guy, heading into one of the many bedrooms. There was no doubt in Nico’s mind that this guy was looking for a hookup, and Nico was drunk enough that he didn’t care what they got up to one way or another.

They made out on the guy’s bed for a little while before the guy headed out to the bathroom “for supplies,” and Nico shot off a text to his roommates to tell them not to wait up for him. After another moment of lounging back on the guy’s bed, Nico got up and started looking around the room. He had his back to the door when it opened, closing again silently.

An arm slipped around Nico’s waist from behind, causing him to flinch as he was pulled back against the body behind him, and something cold and sharp was pressed to his throat.

Nico tensed. “Dude, I’m not into that kinky shit.”

What great last words those were.

The knife cut in, slicing through his skin and windpipe, leaving Nico to drown in his own blood.

thanks for reading!

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#solangelo #will solace #nico di angelo #mine #my writing #auctober

[buckitybarnes]

Don’t Fence Me In [Bucky x Reader]

Summary: She has always locked her true self away from others, and Bucky knows it. Still, he willingly plays this dangerous game and lets himself get hurt.  

\Warnings/Themes: Angst, violence/blood, self-deprecation, mentions of sex (but no smut!!), lil fluff.

Author’s Note: Hey! How you doing? I’m fine. I lied. I’m dying inside. 

Jokes aside, I don’t think I have much time to write anymore and that’s pretty darn sad. Oh well! This was something I crapped out in order to get my creative juices flowing. It has not been edited/checked for fluency issues. 

Last Chapter

Buy me a Ko-fi? -

Bucky watches her as he swipes his tongue across his bottom lip, catching a drop of bourbon.

There’s something mesmerizing about an untamed, give-no-shits kind of person. From what he’s gathered, she hates being held down and hates being held back. She’s elusive and never allows herself to be cornered. Maybe that’s why she leaves a trail of broken hearts behind. Maybe that’s why she turns away anyone who’s even slightly interested in her.

What’s ironic is that she’s got herself wound up in her own feelings, locking her heart away with barbed wire and sealing the entry shut. No one comes in and she never comes out. Through her glass walls, she observes and conquers without being touched.

He’s no exception to the ones trying so desperately to break down her walls. He won’t admit it, but he knows that from the moment he’s caught her eye, she saw right through him, like a cunning wolf who’s confident she’s got her little lamb wrapped around her finger. It’s a trap he willingly walked into, allowed himself to be snared and torn all for the sake of loving her.

With her head slightly tilted away as she speaks to another hopeless bar-crawler, she quickly glances over, her darkened eyes playing a dangerous game. She’s no stranger to him and neither is Bucky to her, but every time they stepped into this bar, they were no longer colleagues or friends. They were acquaintances at war, afraid to not only give in to themselves but to each other.

She won’t admit to it, but she’s fallen just as hard as he.

Spotting him a few feet away did nothing less of distracting her. She’s seen him on the battlefield and even as a bloodied mess, he looked like Death’s angel. Long, freshly-conditioned hair, a groomed beard, and a tight black dress-shirt? He suddenly became Death itself with how he makes her heart stop. “I don’t do that shit,” she mutters more to herself than to Bucky. He’s sitting next to her now, holding a strong composure. It’s a bit hard when she smells absolutely delectable, though.

“Do what?”

She looks up from her beer, smirking just slightly. “Relationships, you know? I just don’t do ‘em.”

He hums, taking a sip of his own drink. “What about Agent Wiley? Didn’t you have a thing going on with him while he was in training?”

“No strings attached, just like the rest.”

Well, if she was into that sort of thing, maybe she would….

No.

Bucky shakes his head. He silently promises himself not to get involved. Things could messy real quick with a no strings situation, especially if he wanted something more. And there was no denying that he wanted to see more of her, the real her -- not the detached, pretty siren that she plays in public. He knew he wouldn’t be able to handle the heartbreak of her just up and leaving him after sex.

“Everything alright, Barnes? You seem distracted tonight,” she says without batting an eye.

He snaps out of it, only to zone out for a different reason entirely. He was nowhere near drunk tonight, but his head feels a bit funny after looking at her. It’s like a movie in which all of the background noise is blurred and all he can focus on is her.

Because it’s always been her.

And when she places a hand on his thigh, eyes staring at him with feigned innocence, his breath hitches. He watches her tongue dart out as she thinks of how to word her proposition.

He’s certainly not the only one distracted tonight. She’s been eying him all day. She just happened to be assigned to the same mission as him. She conveniently bumped into him at the gym today while he was a sweating mess. And as if fate was toying with the both of them, it brought them to the same exact bar.

She’s distracted by him and only him -- not the dirtbags around her. Sure, on one of those nights where she wants to let out steam, she’ll give it a go, but tonight, all she could think about was him.

And, funnily enough, she thinks that it’s always been him. She’s only realizing it now.

The thought is scary to both of them -- love and commitment, being infatuated with someone so much that no one else really mattered. They both have been hurt in the past.

But tonight, for now, they put that fear on the back burner.  

“Do you wanna get out of here?”

Just a simple question has Bucky’s mind running at a thousand miles.

He can’t.

He won’t.

This only ends in heartbreak.

“Yeah,” he says breathlessly. “Let’s go.”

--

Just as he expected, his heart breaks when he wakes up in bed without her beside him.

The sex was definitely mind-blowing, but to have her all to himself was even more baffling. Never in a million years did he think that she’d want him, She never did approach him about something like this. Hell, she even flirted with Steve before she so much as glanced at Bucky. To have her in his room, looking at him all doe-eyed, built up his confidence so much. For once, maybe the love that Bucky Barnes gave to someone was reciprocated.

And yet, when she left, his chest stung with self-condemnation for believing in something that was never there.

It became glaringly obvious that he was in too deep, and he hated himself for it.

His alarm beeps, stating that it’s 7:30 AM.

He sighs, steels his composure, and gets ready for the day.

--

He’s tying his tactical boots as she walks in, unfazed and almost unaware of his presence. Instead, she passes his section, completely focused on someone else.

“Why am I with him?” she calls out to Steve, jutting a finger in Bucky’s direction. His eyebrows furrow and his lips instantly frown in confusion at her sudden coldness. A mixture of hurt and even anger begins to seep out of his very heart.

She did notice him and she did know he was right there.

Bucky tries to list what he could have done wrong last night but comes up short. It only frustrates him more.

“What’s wrong with Buck?” Steve asks incredulously. “You usually never have a problem working with him. Did something happen?”

That very question causes her to freeze. She can’t tell Steve that she fucked up and slept with her close colleague. She can’t tell him that she woke up, abandoned his best friend, and broke her own damn heart getting involved with a man she grew to like. she just couldn’t.

So instead, she takes a deep breath and answers him tersely. “Nothing happened. I just wanna get this mission done and over with.”

When she walks back, she makes eye contact with a livid Bucky. He stands from his bench, hiding his broken heart with rage and disappointment. “Well then, let’s get this over with so that you can get the hell away from me as fast as possible.”

The way he says it makes her flinch. She wants to apologize, but maybe it’s better this way. If he thought of her as a monster, it would be easier for her to let him go.

--

An animal was tearing its way out of her chest. It rattles the cage, forcing air out of her lungs at an intense rate.

She fucked up.

She fucked up so bad.

During the mission, she hadn’t communicated with Bucky that she was heading toward the control room. It was all because of her pride and her insistence on keeping him at arm’s length. And now, they’re both suffering the consequence. She wishes she can turn back time and stomp down her hubris to think clearly.

It’s her fault that they’re both extracted from the mission.

Her fault that he’s being wheeled away on a gurney because he came to her aid last minute and stepped in front of her attacker.

And her fault that he’s probably going to die protecting her.

She chokes on air, unable to breathe it and unable to form words when Steve rushes up to her and asks what the hell happened.

“Are you listening to me?” he snaps, blue eyes boring into her own. “[Y/N],” he says in a softer tone at the look on her face. He’s never seen her so detached before. He’s afraid she’s dissociated completely. “[Y/N], he’s fine.”

She can’t hear him, or rather, choose not to believe him. “No, he’s fucking not. Jesus Christ -- I should’ve never --”

Steve reaches for her but she dodges him, eyes glancing across the hospital hall to the ICU.

She runs out and walks all the way back to the tower.

When she gets home, it takes almost 2 hours until she musters up the courage to shower. After, she locks herself in her room, only coming out for food or to use the bathroom. Everyone has tried their best to coax her out, but it just doesn’t work.

Steve relieves her of her duties until she’s in the right state of mind.

--

It has been 2 weeks.

She goes through her routine, wakes up in the middle of the night from her nightmare, remembers the mission, and hauls herself out of bed because she’s sure that sleep will not come.

Opening her door, she pads into the kitchen, sure that everyone was asleep by now (or at least, holed up in their own rooms).

When she opens the fridge, she first notices the plate with leftovers on it. A sticky note with her name on it is attached. Steve always left some dinner for her, even if she wasn’t hungry.

Instead of reaching for it, she grabs a pitcher of water. Her tired eyes miss the pan of chocolate chip brownies -- Bucky’s favorite dessert.

She rummages through the cabinet and pulls out a glass cup.

“You know, I’m a little sad that you didn’t come to see me.”

She yelps in shock, dropping the glass. It shatters on the floor in front of her. Whipping her head around, she sees Bucky leaning up against the entryway, a calm demeanor on his face. He continues to speak, disregarding the shards scattered along the ground.

“Kind of hurts, especially since I volunteered to be your human shield.” He lets out a bitter laugh, and underneath his amused smile, she can feel his anger. He’s still frustrated, still annoyed that she just up and left him that night, and even more furious that she decided risking her life was better than talking to him.

Her eyes roam over his bare torso, noting that his right shoulder and stomach, where he was shot multiple times, were almost entirely healed. Deep scars were all that was left, which, by morning, will probably be gone altogether. Still, just the sight causes her heart to lurch out of her chest.

He’s here, but is he really here? Was she dreaming? Was he still lying on a hospital bed somewhere, suffering and waiting to go home?

She feels her throat constrict again and she closes her eyes to stop the tears. Her head begins to spin, lungs begin to burn from her poor breathing.

Her fault.

All her fault.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers pathetically. “I’m so sorry, this is….I’m….please forgive…” She doesn’t know what to say. Forgive me? You mean so much to me? If you died, I would never forgive myself?

Bucky sees the sign of a panic attack coming along and cautiously steps over, catching her when her legs give out so that she doesn’t stumble over the broken glass. He sighs deeply, holding her there until she can catch her breath. His hair hangs over his eyes. He's torn on whether to comfort her or stay mad.

“I missed you so much,” she chokes. “I didn’t mean for --”

“I missed you too,” he interrupts, throwing her a guarded smile.

Something about his gravelly voice and the contact of his arms around her waist sends an odd spark up her body.

This is not the fucking time, she chastises herself, averting her gaze from his cerulean eyes.

He seems to be on the same page, his thoughts conflicting with each other. This was a dangerous game they were playing. She’s already hurt him, why the fuck is he wanting her now, of all times?

“Bucky…” she didn’t mean for her voice to come out so low, so helpless.

But even so, it awakens something inside of him. Something feral.

Without thinking, he dives in, crashing his lips against hers.

“You -- you’re hurt, we can’t --” she pulls away, trying to control her emotions.

“I’m fine,” he mumbles impatiently, pulling her away from the shards. He’ll clean it in the morning. “I just want you.”

She wants him so bad, but this is wrong, and she knows it. This addiction can’t happen without horrible side-effects.

Still, when he coaxes her into his arms with his honeyed voice, she can’t help but brush aside those warning signs.

--

He wakes up earlier this time and is slightly surprised to see her beside him. She’s turned away, shoulders moving as she sighs in her sleep.

She’s beautiful. She always has been.

He’s afraid that when he closes his eyes, she’ll leave him again. He braces for it.

But a quiet sob from her breaks him out of it.

“[Y/N],” he calls out.

No response.

She's trapped in a nightmare. Bucky knows all too well what that’s like. He gently rubs her arm, calling out louder.

She awakes with a start, arm swinging out on instinct. He allows her to land a hit on his shoulder. He barely feels it anyway.

“Fuck! I'm so sorry,” she cries out, analyzing him for potential injury.

He only smiles. “Nothing to be sorry about.” eying her cautiously he sits cross-legged. “Talk to me.”

But she can't. When she glances up at him all she can see are the bullets whizzing past her and into him. She can see him stare at her with regret and fear and anger.

“I thought I lost you,” she murmurs, sitting up with him. “I was fucking terrified.” When he opens his arms, she immediately clings onto him. It’s the most intimate they’ve ever been with each other.  

“Can’t get rid of me that easily,” he speaks softly against her neck. “You, on the other hand --”

“Are a stubborn jackass who made a mistake one night and --” She freezes. He tenses up, heart picking up the pace in dread.

“Mistake?” he repeats defeatedly.

“That’s not what I meant!”

When he begins pulling away, she immediately lurches after him, shaking her head. “No, Bucky I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean to --”

“Fuck me? Is it because I’m so damn dispensable --”

“No! God, no.”

“Then what the hell is it, [Y/N]?! Because I sure as hell am starting to get tired of whatever’s going on between us.”

“I didn’t mean to fall in love!” she blurts out, tears instantly pricking her eyes. Here she is, laying out all of her cards. He’s silent, and she takes it as rejection, but she won’t leave until he knows exactly how she feels. “I told you, nothing good ever comes out of relationships, especially with me involved. I’m not….I know you deserve someone better, and I’m sorry.” His eyebrows furrowed at her apology. She continues on, sniffling and staring at anything but him. “I’m sorry for pulling you into this mess. I’m sorry that I flirted with you that night. I told myself I wouldn’t, not to you. But then as soon as I saw you there, I realized I couldn’t even look at anyone else but you.”

Bucky remains quiet for a minute before inquisitively looking back at her. He almost can’t believe anything she’s saying. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he croaks, feeling his own throat begin as his heart aches.

She makes eye contact now and she doesn’t intend on looking away. “Because I’m so scared.” For a moment, he thinks it’s because of him, but she stares at him with such adoration in her eyes that he’s not sure anymore.

“I’ve never been so in love with someone like this before. You mean a lot more than the world to me. And even if we only stayed friends, it was a lot better than ruining that relationship. I didn’t want to think about what would happen if you weren’t apart of my life.” She sighs, wringing her hands. “I love you so much.”

Blood pounds in her ears, her throat constricting instinctively as she braces for the inevitable sting. He'll reject her here, call this a deal-breaker, or worse, she’ll peer into his eyes and see a broken promise or a tattered bond.

But the silence cuts through her pounding heartbeat. Her face heats up, an uncomfortable burn behind her ears, yet the lightheadedness that follows after is somewhat pleasurable. He smiles at her, and it magically kills the anxiety bubbling from her chest.

“I love you too,” he responds gently. “I don’t want anyone else but you.”

He leans in, brushing his lips against her own before pulling just an inch away. “Whatever happened in your past made you start lying to yourself. You’re not a mess. You’re not unworthy of anything. You’re you and that’s who I fell in love with.” He presses his forehead against hers and closes his eyes. “So why not give this a chance?”

Bleary-eyed and almost awestruck, she laughs wholeheartedly.

He brings his metal hand up, brushing her tear-stained cheeks with his thumb.

It’s different from the rest.

In this relationship, she’s not trapped behind cold wire. No, she's peering through the gate that he's left open, and tentatively taking a step out of her self-made cage.

#james bucky barnes #bucky x reader #Bucky Barnes #james buchanan barnes #The Avengers #the winter soldier #the winter solider x reader #bucky barnes reader insert #reader insert #white wolf #marvel #mcu #fanfic #fanfiction #writing #wolf writes #oneshot #angst #fluff #captain america

[bulletproofice]

Party Poison - Bulletproof Heart

(Y/N) - Your name (Y/EC) - Your eye colour

• Reader: Gender not mentioned, but I've used my Killjoy name (Solemn Sunflower) The killjoy's real name will be left up to the reader. •Warnings: Swearing, guns, general violence, mention of blood, death? •Word Count: 1687

Party's POV

I laughed at a joke Jet had made as we raced through Zone 6, not bothering to keep on the lookout for Crows. It had been a week since we had last run into them in this particular zone. I ran a hand through my hair as I looked over to Sunflower, their smile causing me to reciprocate the action. I took in all of their appearance, not being able to believe that somebody as attractive as them existed, let alone loved me as much as I loved them. Their Y/EC eyes sparkled in the afternoon sun, shining brighter than their happy smile. Their lips looked chapped but I didn't care, every inch of their face was perfect t no matter what the state. The sunflower tattoo on their neck was barely visible from the jacket they were wearing, but the bright flower only made the day better. They turned to me and smiled, leaning into my chest as we both turned back to Jet as he drove the car and shouted about nothing. The sun beat down on us and I appreciated it. As lively as we currently were, I was as peace here.

I gently kissed Sunflower's head and watched the familiar pink blush dust their cheeks. I smirked knowing that after all the time we'd been together I still had the ability to get such an adorable reaction.

It was then that I saw Ghoul making a gagging face at our little moment. I kicked him harshly in the leg as I rolled my eyes playfully, resulting in a muffled "ow". Kobra turned around in his seat but immediately turned back as he scoffed at Ghoul's immature behaviour. Honestly, I couldn't care less about the reactions of my friends, I was still focussing too much on my favourite Killjoy who was dosing off on my shoulder.

___

We only stayed out in the sun for another half hour before returning to the diner, watching the sun melting into a red line on the horizon. However barren the land was, it never failed to astonish me how beautiful the world could really be. As we sat down in our regular booth, Jet tuned into Dr Death Defy's channel as he picked up a couple of cans of power pup and some dusty sodas. One of my arms draped lazily around Sunflower's as they animatedly described a dream they had the previous night. Their eyes lit up as every detail of their wacky adventure unfolded, hands flew everywhere and their volume increased rapidly.

"And then just before they gave the glowing thing to me - I woke up!" They finished irritatedly before huffing jokingly and leaning back into my side. Everyone at the table smiled amusedly as a more interesting subject topic was introduced. I zoned out for a while, choosing instead to look out the window. I wasn't hopeless, everything I needed was in this diner with me, as far as the apocalypse went, this wasn't that bad. My arm hugged their waist as I pulled them closer towards me, still staring out of the window.

I felt a pair of soft lips grazing the skin on my neck and I closed my eyes from the feeling. Y/N kissed up and down my neck gently, sending shivers down my spine. Yes. This was all I really needed.

___

I woke up the following morning to a strangely empty bed. I could tell that Sunflower had slept beside me as usual but it was cold, meaning that they'd been up for a while. Groggily, I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and pulled myself out of bed. I got dressed quickly into some clothes that weren't quite as filthy and ambled to the main section of the diner. From there, I could see Jet and Kobra drinking quietly in a booth. Ghoul and Sunflower were sat on top of the car's bonnet and were deep in conversation. They were both laughing and shouting, with the occasional insult being thrown at the other but they looked like they were having a good time.

I headed out towards them in hopes to wake myself up as well as wanting to see the face I had the misfortune of not waking up to.

"You're up late Party!" Sunflower yelled at me as I opened the diner's doors. I could only smile and nod, knowing that I had slept in a lot longer than I usually did. Ghoul met my eyes and shook his head in mock disappointment, like I'd let the whole group down by waking up last eleven.

Sunflower walked up to me and smiled cockily. "I found something cute today that I thought you could have." They handed me a small scrap of metal with the words photograph dream engraved on it. Although it was a sweet phrase I wondered what it meant. The thing was indeed cute but before I could properly examine the object I heard shouts coming from indoors. I instinctively grabbed Sunflower's hand and pulled them towards me protectively incase of danger. Ghoul ran inside first to see what was going on and we followed shortly after, I tucked the piece of metal in my breast pocket for safe keeping.

Inside, Jet and Kobra were looking out one of the back windows and cursing violently. "That's crows and dracs out there. Shit... fuck... shit. Guys grab your guns, they're getting closer."

I looked down to my partner and they looked up at me, clearly surprised that after all our time not bumping into any enemies, they were all flocking to us now. We both grabbed our guns and stood by the windows that faced the crows and dracs. If they drew closer then we'd be able to shoot a few before they reached the diner.

It didn't take long for them to draw close and then we only had a short window of time to kill as many of them as possible. We got a couple each but now they knew that we were prepared. About 15 of them emerged from the three cars and ran towards the entrance. We knew the drill. We each ducked behind our respective barricades/booths and readied ourselves for an ambush. Three came in to begin with and they were shot easily, they were clearly unprepared for any threat we might have posed. Five more then came through and only two were shot, falling to the floor ungracefully and resulting in blood splattering across the nice leather seats on the diner. Jet leaped up and blasted one more whilst Sunflower took the others.

The other seven came through and shot rapidly in every direction. A couple of shots narrowly missing Ghoul and a shot barely whizzing past Kobra. The three of us who weren't yet standing stood up and shot wildly too, they outnumbered us but I trusted our aim more than I trusted our numbers. One was shot by Jet again and I got rid of another, leaving five to go. I was happy to say that we weren't doing too badly overall.

I heard a cry of pain and turned around just in time to shoot a drac in the back of the head. They crumpled to the floor, revealing Ghoul holding his foot and wincing, I pushed him into a corner of the diner and returned to the fight at hand, growing more confident by the second. True, Ghoul has been shut in the foot, but it was a long time overdue.

Only four were left now. I watched a crow fall to the floor as their rapid fire grew slowly more desperate. Another crow fell down but before we had the chance to take out another for myself I felt a sharp pain in my chest. I remember falling backwards and feeling a sharp pain in the back of my head before entering an abyss of darkness.

___

I woke up to a bright light above me, I instantly gasped for air and shielded my face from the intensity of it. I felt hot and my head hurt, I was confused.

"Am I dead?" I asked as I saw the outline of the one person I loved most appear in front of me. If this was what heaven was, it wouldn't be so bad. It was attractive at least. I was brought out of my thoughts by a couple of sniggers and a deep sigh.

"You're always so over dramatic Party. It's been about ten minutes and you're staring into the sun. I get you're confused but please stop blinding yourself." I heard the voice of Y/N say quietly. I propped myself up and saw that I was indeed still alive.

"But I was shot! In the chest!" I insisted, my eyes finally adjusting to my surroundings. I was outside the diner and all my friends plus Y/N were crowded around me. I was happy to still be alive but I was also confused.

"You can't have been Party, you just hit your head on the floor too hard." They smiled at me kindly, sweeping the hair out of my face and kissing my cheek lovingly.

I put my hand over where I had been shot and felt my hand press against something solid. I fished into my pocket and found the scrap piece of metal Sunflower had given me earlier. Except now that I looked at it it was more in the shape of a heart and had a singe mark on the front where the ray gun had shot at it. Sunflower smiled at it curiously as I smiled at the gist they had given me. How lucky I had been to have recurved the gift just moments before the attack.

"Hmm." I mused, "I guess you could say I've got a bulletproof heart."

#mcr #mychemicalromance #killjoys #killjoy #fanfic #imagine #partypoison #jetstar #kobrakid #funghoul

[luci-is-a-devil-]

Soulmate!Seungkwan

(Notes! So this is the last seventeen soulmate!AU, who do you want next? Also this is a monster of an au but I really love seungkwan.) warning: violence, blood (not a lot of either though) •So the way you find your soulmate is by touching them •when you touch them, you just know •some people say that your heart starts beating very quickly •others say it slows down along with time •so stories vary from town to town • •Some kids are afraid to touch others but not you •you touch literally anything and everything •people, dogs, cats, snakes, clothes, you name it, you've tried to touch it •when you went to kindergarten your mom asked you why you needed to touch everything •you look her dead in the eyes •"if I can't touch them, how do I know it's not fake?" •when she argued with you, saying that they were thing that you couldn't touch, like love or fear •but you explained to her that you could touch love, touching yourself you said that you felt the love between your parents •touching your head, you said you were touching what people fear, a creative child •your mom stared in shock, thinking 'when did this child become mature' •but as you left the room, touching the walls on the way out, you could feel her eyes burning into your small figure • •as the years continue, you grow as a person •learning what you love, what you hate •you like painting, drawing, art is an outlet that lets you get away from the real world •the world in which your parents are fighting over you •your mom arguing that you're a freak, that no one could love a freak •your dad arguing that so what, you're their daughter no matter what •that night, you paint a picture of a happy family •but not with a daughter, with a son •a young boy, and a baby •when you finished, you leave the painting on the table in your room •silently slipping out of the window, to go away for a while •go to a place where you're not strange, where you could be yourself •walking downtown in jeans and a hoodie, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible •as inconspicuous as a twelve year old walking in the dark can be •making it to the skate park where a teens are hanging out •the familiar smell of smoke clogging up your nose •laying down on a patch of grass, looking at the stars twinkling •reminding you that the world is huge while you are just a tiny speck in the universe •spending hours looking at the stars until, the teens start to smoke something else •walking back through the alley, you try to avoid the incoming teens •when you make it back to your house, you climb back through the window •seeing the paintbrush that you had used, was now clean, along with the paint now put on the wall where it belonged •of course your dad came to check up on you, but didn't yell at you for leaving the house •it's a terrible environment for a child, always fighting • •years pass by, and you're no longer the twelve year old who avoided those teens •you're one of them now •one of the teens who loiter at the skate park at night •with the other teens who feel unloved and unwanted •with each night you went to the skate park, the angrier your mom got •your dad was still living at the house but you both knew that he was having an affair •your mom was an alcoholic, who pretended that everything was alright •as if her child wasn't hanging with the delinquents, and her husband is cheating on her with a younger female •she wouldn't leave because that would make her a 'bad mom' •but at least this left you with inspiration for your art •according to the teachers though, that was your only ticket out • •so in your science class, your teacher pulled you over •she was a sweet lady, and a good teacher but you honestly just didn't understand the class •she explained that with you grade so low, you couldn't move up a grade •but she had asked around for you, looking for someone who needed community hours •there was a boy who needed them and had been willing to tutor you •she told you to be at the library tomorrow at three after class •giving her a tight lipped smile, you walked out of the hell hole you were required to go to •with a sigh, you walked back home •each step heavier then the last •knowing that both of them would be at home, meaning there was a fight waiting to happen •climbing through the window, you found your dad sitting on your bed, head in hands •when he heard the soft sound of your feet hitting the floor he sat up, looking at you •it had bees so long since you've looked at him, really looked •sitting down next to him, you rest your head on his shoulder •hearing soft sobs start to come from him, you knew •it was over, he was leaving •you'd stay with your mom until he got a big enough apartment that he could go to court •with every tear that he wept, your heart got heavy •you had caused this, heartaches and pain for everyone •"it's okay dad." •making him sob harder, because it was his turn to think 'when did this child become mature' •when he had calmed down, he kissed your forehead and left •left your room, the house, left you •letting a few tears escape your eyes before sitting at your desk and starting to paint •ignoring the homework you had, you painted, you painted what you felt •anger, sadness, fear, so many emotions but you couldn't pin point which one was the main one •wrapped up in painting. You didn't hear the door slam open •or your mom storm in, bottle it hand •you only realized she was in the room when her hand pulled away from your face •striking you, hard with the hand that had her wedding ring •again and again she hit you, yelling that you caused this •when she finished and spat on you, and then left to go drink herself into oblivion •standing up slowly, you touched your sore cheek •it was most definitely bruising, and there was small beads of blood trailing down from where the ring had hit •standing up, you packed a bag •clothes, and a sketchbook, paints, whatever fit in the bag •slinging this bag on your shoulder, and your school bag in your hand •you left, unsure if you were returning •with each step, you started to run •feeling your heart beat quickly, your lungs start to work hard •running aimlessly, you allow your feet to carry you to wherever they choose •somehow you feel free, as if the chains that were holding you back, were now off, the weigh on your shoulders disappeared •as you ran, you felt stares from people, their eyes glaring into you •judging you •but you didn't give a fuck •you ended up at the only constant in your life, the skate park •teens were starting to gather there already •while some older kids were still using it for its actual use •doing a quick scan of the park, you saw that the emptiest place was under a tree •hopefully far enough that when the other teens came, they wouldn't bother you •laying down, you put the bag that had clothes in it under your head •after what happened today, you were tired •mentally, emotionally, physically •curling into a ball, you fell asleep • •when you woke up, the sun was shining unlike the sunset you had fallen asleep to •the birds were tweeting, and there were no teens in sight •realizing that you overslept, you stood up and ran again •even though your thighs were killing you, and your feet were screaming at you stop, you pushed harder •running to school, because that's what would get you out of here •when you ran into the building, you heard your name called by the vice principal •when he saw you though, he gasped •asking you what happened, with worry written on his face •shrugging at him and responding that you overslept •you waited for your weekend detention slip •it came, but he kept prying, wanting to hear the drama •but you wouldn't tell him, walking to your locker, you stuffed the bag with your possessions inside •and carried on to your classes •in every class you went too, everyone stared at you •you were in the same clothes as yesterday, your cheeks were bruised and you had a split lip •but you ignored all questions, if you answered you'd go into foster care since your dad couldn't care for you •and that would not help, so you zipped your lips •when you got too science class though, your teacher gasped •visibly shocked at your wounds, she tried asking what happened •giving her a small smile that probably made more questions, you sat down in your seat •ignoring the looks, you looked at the window •when the bell rang, you were the first out •running to the library, so you wouldn't be late for your tutor •sitting at a table, you waited until a short boy and two others sat at the table nervously •"I'm seungkwan, your tutor" •the short boy greeted, introducing the two as Vernon and Chan •waving at them, you felt the stares at your wounds •"what are we studying?" •apparently that's not the response that they were expecting •all of their mouth wide, eyes shocked that you didn't curse at them •giggling, you took out your science book, and looked at Seungkwan •with that, he woke up from his trance and started helping •his two friends got over it and started messing with each other •seungkwan was good at tutoring and made weird ways to remember everything •like little songs that made you laugh because, he's singing about the chemicals in stuff •sadly you do have to leave since the library is closing •packing up your stuff, you waited for the three boys to leave so you could go back to the park •but it seemed that they wanted to walk you home •because according to Vernon "their all gentlemen" •with that, they walk behind you even when you slow down to stop to get your bag of stuff •when you passed the skate park though, you turned to the males and just kinda pointed at the tree you had slept under •"that's home" •cue the shocked face again •and seungkwan just kinda flails because you can't sleep outside, you'll get sick •and you shrug and wave at the boys, intending to walk away •but before you could, Seungkwan grabs your hand •and everything stops, you can hear your heartbeat, you can feel the concern that he has, the warmth that he carries •looking at him, he's even more shocked now •you're his soulmate!!! •his soulmate cannot sleep outside, making his point even stronger •pretty much dragging you, he walks toward a street of houses •with Vernon and chan running behind you, because they have no idea what's going on •when seungkwan opens the door to a pretty White House and calls for him mom •you kinda freeze •what the hell is this kid doing??? •when his mom comes out from the kitchen and looks at you, she too like all other adults today, gasp •you sigh, knowing that you're going to have to explain what happened •which you're correct, but what you don't expect is for her too pull you into a hug, to tell you that she's so sorry but you're safe now •tears in your eyes, because maybe just maybe this could be your new skate park • • •it was the day of graduation, a lot had happened in a year and a half •Mrs.Boo had made you go to the police to report your mom •but she managed to have them let you stay with them •one night you and a few of seungkwan's friends returned to your house to get your stuff •within six months you dad found an apartment, and you moved in •he divorced your mom, who you were not forced to see thankfully •but most importantly, the boy who kept you sane through all of this was with you every step of the way •seungkwan had managed to get your grades up, which made some art schools interested in your talent •completely turning around your life, all thanks too you failing science • •when you got your diploma, all you wanted to do was curl up with seungkwan and the other twelve boys you'd grow close too •but they had different plans •within two hours, you and seungkwan were at the movies, going on a date because according to them study dates don't count •when the movie was about to start you grabbed his hand •"thank you for being my star, boo" •"pshh… ur welcome" •both of you have rosy cheeks and are super embarrassed • •yeah, you might be a small speck in the universe but you matter to a bunch of other specks •especially the speck with soft brown hair and rosy cheeks •the speck who sings you bed when you have nightmares •the speck who tells you that one day, you'll design the cover of his album • •(that speck is boo seungkwan, and he's not a speck to be messed with)

#seventeen #seventeen au #seventeen scenarios #boo seungkwan #koreabooeauty #kpop scenarios #seventeen seungkwan #hansol vernon chwe #lee chan #soulmate #au

[blankhound]

Another Paint - short story based on Barbara Baynton’s ‘The Chosen Vessel’

This is a short story I wrote for my English class in university last year which I thought would be good to post here. There is a critical component attached to the end for anyone wanting to know why I wrote this and what it is based off. Thank you. 

Warnings: violence, abuse, murder, blood, graphic

She sat on her bed, reading and listening to quiet music, while her baby slept, curled up beside her. She was new to the city, alone in her apartment, isolated from anyone she knew. She knew that she had many neighbours’ living just a few feet away from her in all directions, but despite the close proximity of so many people she still felt as though it was only herself and her baby, alone except for the company of each other. Her only interaction with her neighbours was the occasional note left on her door regarding the noise her baby made, but she wasn’t sure who it was from, and they just made her feel more alone.

Her phone was charged, as it was always kept, and the doors and windows were locked, for she had been taught from a young age to have things locked even if there was little chance of her needing such things locked. The apartment was small and only consisted of a joint kitchen/living room, a bathroom, toilet, and the bedroom which she shared with her baby. Her last house had been much bigger, and had with it the comforts of family support, but she had decided that it was time for a change and moved hoping for excitement.

Despite her hope for excitement she was home most every night, such as this one, relaxing in the quiet and calm, despite weather warnings on the news just a few hours earlier of heavy rains, the sound of gentle wind knocking the branches of a nearby tree into her window was all that indicated there might be a change of weather later. She could hear traffic in the street bellow faintly through the closed window, and footsteps in the outside hall, probably one of her neighbours returning late from work or school.

She sat watching her baby sleep happily, making small movements in their sleep, before going back to her book. Her music had ended but there was no need to turn it back on, soon it would be time for her to put down the book and go to sleep before work the next day. In the quiet of her reading she could hear footsteps again out in the hall, seemingly pacing down the length of the doors, maybe trying to find the right door.

Suddenly the doorbell rang, loud and clear against the silence. The noise woke her baby, but she comforted it quietly without leaving the bed, sure that she had secured the multiple locks on the door, but surer still that she was not expecting company and that no one should be arriving at her door at this time of night.

The bell rang twice more, her baby letting out a small sound while looking up at her, before the sound of a door handle rattling could be heard. Her eyes flashed, and she trembled slightly as she picked her phone up and dialled the police, taking two tries before getting the numbers right due to her shaking hands.

She heard the door giving as she explained to the operator what was happening, crying softly out of fear, but still talking as quietly as she could to not alert the person trying to break in. She prayed into the phone, begging for help, “Oh God please, Oh please, Oh please.”

The door had stopped making noise now, but still she could her the little clicking-like noises of her locks being undone. She dropped the phone in her fright as the sound of the front door opening reached her, the operator could be just heard still from the phones position on the floor, “Hold on ma’am, help is coming.”

Being as silent as she could she locked the already closed door to her room, turned to her baby, shushing it as she picked it up and carried it to the closet. She barricaded herself and her baby in the small space, hoping the intruder didn’t know they were home and would not try to open the small closet.

She could hear movement in her apartment, shuffling and searching, like the person was after something specific. She heard them struggle with the door to her room, breaking the lock loudly instead of picking it like they had the front door. She held her baby close to her, keeping her hand on its mouth to prevent any noise it might try to make.

Suddenly the closet door started banging, she whimpered, praying “Please God, please.”

The door broke open to reveal a man, someone she’d passed on the street a few times, but never took much notice of. He ripped her baby from her arms and threw it against the wall next to her bed, the baby crying out as it landed. He grabbed her, forcing her to the bed without saying anything, just breathing heavily while she pleaded for help. He ripped at her clothes and sneered in her face, muttering silently about whores and drink.

And then her baby, small though it was, was on his back, bitting into his neck violently, red painting over the white walls and whiter face of the girl.

When the police arrived, it was to a hallway full of people, a small girl wrapped in a blanket, clinging to a smaller dog, its muzzle bloodied.

 Critical Component

For my short story I have chosen to rewrite Barbara Baynton’s The Chosen Vessel (1902). I choose to rewrite the story in a more modern setting, a young girl in her apartment, instead of a young mother in her homestead. I wanted to write the story in a way that the woman would win against the brutal man, instead of the ill-fated demise that Baynton gave her character. I wrote in third person, leaving the heroine and villain unnamed, like Baynton, so that the story would feel more intimate, as if it could happen to anyone. Much like Baynton I didn’t write the actual death, just gave an indication of the struggle that occurred, though I did make it more graphic than anything in Baynton’s text as I felt that the brutality of what as implied in Baynton’s could only be matched by something more explicit and vivid. I made the “baby” of the text a dog, coming to its “mothers’” aid and saving her from the attack, as opposed to in Baynton’s text, the baby is weak and left to die with its mother, while the dog in her story is a warning that the intruder is still there, almost an accomplice to the man. I wanted to make the baby a dog, and have it only addressed as baby (not by its name or by dog) so that the reader is made to feel concerned for this baby and its mother being attacked, making the ending more unexpected and satisfying, a happier ending than what is expected.

#barbara baynton #the chosen vessel #critical writting #creative writting #short story #critical thinking #murder #violence #baby #dog #women #power #graphic #death #struggle #my work #university #english #another paint

[sequencefairy]

Torque

Summary: The neon-soaked nighttime streets of Tokyo: home to an underground of fast cars and bad choices — the kind that can get you killed. Being in the wrong place at the right time gives upcoming driver Ichigo Kurosaki the chance to immerse himself in the seedy and cordite-laced world of high-powered backroom deals and rain-slick asphalt. Soon, Ichigo will have to make a lethal choice, and see if his skill behind the wheel can save his own life, let alone hers. (Canon-typical violence, smut, a bit of angst)

Read it on AO3 - [AO3]

OR

Catch up here: [Part 1] - [Part 2] - [Part 3] - [Part 4] - [Part 5] - [Part 6] - [Part 7]

Thanks again to @gunnerpalace for the beta! Couldn’t do this without you, mon ami. 

---

Part 2: Fistful of Silence

There are no more races that week.

Ichigo supposes it’s both out of respect for Hitsugaya’s death, and probably also to give everyone time to cool off. The chatter on the message boards is divided sharply between people who think that revenge is a dish best served at high speed and those who are calling for level-headedness.

While not one to start a fight, Ichigo can relate to those who are encouraging a more radical reaction.

The week passes, in a blur of classes, after-school hangouts with friends he doesn’t see as often as he should and the evenings down at Renji’s garage, tuning engines to the sound of whatever demo tapes Renji’s picked up that week from the studio. They swap (in Renji’s case, vulgar) stories about the girls who hang around at the driver meetups, and Ichigo tosses a spanner in his direction when the talk turns particularly bawdy - Renji’s imagined woman seems to bear a strange and pointed resemblance to Yuzu.

Renji yelps and barely evades the tool that comes at him. He retaliates by lobbing a grease-splattered rag at Ichigo, who catches it with his face. Renji freezes. Silence reigns for all of half a second before Ichigo is lunging across the floor and Renji makes a laughing run for it.

Once Ichigo runs out of things to throw at Renji that won’t outright kill him, they collapse on the hood of an old beater in the yard out back, staring up at the sky.

“You know,” Renji says, and Ichigo turns his head. His friend is limned by the spill of city lights across the backlot. “I never said, but I’m sorry about Hitsugaya. I know he was your friend.”

Ichigo turns to look at the sky. Hitsugaya had been his friend, had been a good friend even, but, well - they’d grown apart over the last couple of years. Beside him, Renji fidgets and underneath them, the car’s ancient chassis creaks. The sky is clouded over, and the city lights reflect back in an almost eerie glow.

They are quiet for a long time before Renji rolls off the hood onto his feet, and Ichigo pushes himself up to sit. The hood has warmed beneath his ass, but it's still cold under his hands. His breath fogs the air when he exhales on a sigh.

“C’mon,” Renji says, and starts walking back towards the warmth of the garage.

Ichigo follows behind him, slowly.

It’s easy enough to imagine that Hitsugaya’s fate could have been his own. There’ve been many close calls in his racing career: stupid civvies, persistent cops, and a very bad night on a closed freeway in the rain - Ichigo still gets goosebumps thinking about the way his tires had lost the road entirely and he’d been completely at the mercy of inertia with the concrete barrier coming at him in a deadly kind of hurry. He is sure it was some kind of divine intervention that allowed his tires to grab the road again, and that there was still time to wrench the wheel and hit the brakes and end up only kissing the concrete with the front quarter panel.

He’d sat in his car after that for nearly twenty minutes, shaking and unable to let go of the steering wheel. When he’d finally felt stable enough to drive, he’d made it another quarter mile before he was hitting the brakes again, throwing open his door and vomiting up everything he’d eaten for the last twenty-four hours. He hadn’t stopped trembling for another forty-five minutes.

He’d managed, just barely, to get home, had parked the car and then snuck back into the house. He hadn’t slept. Every time he'd closed his eyes, all he could see was the onrush of the barrier, all he could hear was the squeal of his tires and the rhythmic slap of his wipers counting down his last moments.

Ichigo hadn’t driven for nearly three weeks after that, convinced that the next time he got in his car was going to be the last. It wasn’t until Renji had bullied him down to the garage and stuck him behind the wheel of a beater in the backlot, and insisted that he “just drive already. Seriously, Kurosaki, get back on the goddamn horse,” that Ichigo had put his foot down to the mat and left a cloud of dust in his wake. Renji’s whoop of triumph rang in his ears.

Later that night, Ichigo had gotten into his own car, turned the key and eased it down the driveway. He’d driven down the road a ways, to the corner where his mother had been hit. There, he’d pulled around the corner, to the little park they’d used to walk to, from which they’d been walking home that night. He’d sat in his parked car, eyes burning and throat clogged with a hot swell of grief, remembering.

It hadn’t been raining when they’d left for the park, and they’d played for a long time before it had started. Ichigo remembers his mother taking his hand when the sky had turned dark, remembers the rain-washed city lights, and the susurration of car tires as they’d passed them by on the sidewalk. He remembers his mother stopping at the crosswalk, remembers the way her hand had tightened around his as she’d stepped off the curb, and her smile, bright and blinding as always. After that, it’s a confused loop of too bright lights, too loud sounds, the smell of wet pavement and the chilling emptiness of his hand. He woke up in the hospital, his arm in a cast, and his mother gone forever.

He’d overheard the nurses talking about what a miracle it was that he’d survived, that his mother had had time to throw him out of the way, that his arm was only broken because he’d landed on it, that otherwise, he was completely unscathed.

They never caught the driver.

Now, remembering another night with a close call, Ichigo wonders if it was divine intervention that kept him from becoming an indelible stain on the concrete barrier -  wonders, as he looks up at the low clouds that cover the sky, if she’s been watching over him from the time he was nine. The chain around his neck seems to tighten, and Ichigo brings a hand up to his chest, to feel the kotsu-anzen charm under his shirt. The round medal feels warm against his skin, and Ichigo closes his eyes, offering a brief note of thanks to whomever might be listening that he has, so far, managed to avoid Hitsugaya’s fate.

Renji chooses that moment to stick his head back out the door. His call of: “Hey, fucker, what are you doing? We got places to be!” disturbs Ichigo’s reverie.

Ichigo jostles Renji goodnaturedly when he pushes past him at the doorway.

The funeral is held a week after the crash and is well attended by both sides of Hitsugaya Toshiro’s life. When he wasn’t finding parts no one else could or running interference against whoever needed to be messed with, Hitsugaya had been studying glaciology, with a particular interest in ice floes in the Antarctic. The day is sunny, clear, and cold. Ichigo stands, in his somber suit, apart from the other mourners, Renji to his left. They are the first to turn away after the coffin is lowered.

Renji hosts the wake at the garage, and Ichigo gets blind drunk on cheap whiskey and takes one of the car bunnies upstairs. Her plush curves are the perfect counterpoint to all the sharp edges he seems to be made of lately and he wakes up alone the next morning, his head pounding and his eyes gritty.

Renji feeds him and sends him home, managing to restrain himself to only one or two jabs about the company Ichigo is keeping these days.

It’s not until nearly two weeks later that Ichigo gets behind the wheel of his car with the intent to push it to the limit yet again.

#ichiruki #bleach #ichigo kurosaki #rukia kuchiki #irbb #irbb 16 #sequence fairy's fic #chapter two #look at me go #let me know you're reading!

[wanderingtiff]

The Unsung Battle of Bravery Rated R18 Content Tags: Period - War in Iraq, PTSD, Military Elements, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Alcohol, Explicit Sexual Content, Character Death, Anxiety, Grief/Loss, Depression Table of Contents - TBA

After coming out as gay in a small town in the middle of nowhere, war  veteran Arlo Paxton is forced to leave and move to the Pacific Northwest  for a better life. He has wanted to choose a new career path for  himself, but the trauma that has plagued him keeps him from finding a  new calling. When he moves in, he is suggested to take up a small job as  a librarian, which leads into a building relationship and a strong urge  to tell his story to a person that he could protect from the harshness  of life.

Welp, this is the first chapter of my NaNoWriMo 2016 novel! I want my followers and mutuals to take a look at my content before I officially send it top publishers. This novel is a NaNoWriMo winner with almost 60,000 words by the end of November! I’ve worked hard on this piece, so I hope you guys enjoy it! I will be posting chapters after I finish cleaning and editing them.

Cheers!

Nothing really just “hits” me, like how other people describe their sudden realizations. The fact that I had been critically injured on the battlefield didn’t “hit” me. The fact that when I woke up that first morning after my coma and saw that my right arm had been replaced with a profuse amount of bandages covering a stub didn’t “hit” me. After I came home and was caught holding and kissing my best friend for comfort after experiencing the loss and trauma of losing my loved one on the front lines, it didn’t “hit” me when people started ostracizing me and criticizing me, even though I had risked my own life to protect these people.

For me, it feels more like shattered glass. Every time I try and pick the pieces up and put them back together again, there would be more shattered glass in its place. If I stepped too close to the situation, I’d cut myself further than any realization ever could.

War is ugly. There is no denying that. A lot of bad things happen that no one would ever wish to pass onto. I’m sure if there really was another way to settle a crucial and necessary discourse, our ancestors would have adopted that thousands of years ago.

I don’t like to think of why there has to be a reason for war in the world. And I don’t like the fact that I was there, right on the front lines defending my country. There is no regret felt to this day, but the pain will always be there.

There are nights that I lie awake wondering “Why?” There are times when I go down the street and see everything that I saw on those terrible days and nights. I will see everything that I’ve done. Everything that happened to my fellow soldiers. It will always be there.

When I wore my uniform at the airport leaving Wyoming, everyone was smiling at me and thanking me for my service. They were telling me that they were sorry that I lost my arm and that everything was going to be okay in the long run. I’ll “see.” Well, tell that to the people of my own hometown, where they treated me like an outcast as soon as I kissed a man, let alone slept with one.

By the way, my friend stopped talking to me after that incident.

It sickens me to see that people will spit in my face for one thing about my character and then praise me with the highest honor for the other. I don’t know who to trust anymore.

When I landed in Oregon, thousands of miles away from my hometown, there was already a major change. The atmosphere is different, the people are different, and just the whole area itself is a lot stranger than where I originally came from. I guess this is what people like to call “culture shock,” but I just think that any time I move to a new place I’ll get at least a fraction of unease since I have no idea where anything is or who to talk to.

I guess I should give you a little bit of background about myself. Sure, now I can just say modestly that my name is Arlo and be done with it, but back at my platoon, I was known as Corporal Arlo Paxton, the “Sweet One.” Ever since my first day of training, I never really liked to yell or cause a huge commotion. A lot of the lower ranks as I moved up made fun of me for that little quirk, but that hasn’t fazed me since high school.

I feel like I’m the most diligent in my contributions once I’m on the battlefield. I don’t know how else I could’ve gotten as far as I have. When I was out there, I was just focused on staying alive, protecting my platoon. At that time, it didn’t matter how many enemy soldier’s I’ve killed or how often I’d gotten shot at. If everyone on our rosters made it back to our camp for role call at the end of the day, that was all that mattered to me.

There was always this rush when I was out there. I’ve felt so much adrenaline going through the motions, and I look at myself back when I was a Private and realize that I was a totally different person then. But after I’d gotten wounded… I didn’t know what else I could be capable of doing.

I don’t know what I was originally thinking when I joined the Army. Of course, I will never regret defending my country in the way that I did, but I can’t take back any lives lost, no matter how many times people try to shame me. And I can’t change the way that I am, either.

After I’d left Portland International Airport, I’d gotten into a cap and called the landlady of the apartment building I was going to so that she knew I was coming. The building is about six floors, and I just so happen to be on the top floor. I hope not a lot of people live on that floor.

The cab driver saw me go to the trunk, and I’m grabbing my multiple bags. Or at least I’m trying to, on account of my arm. But the driver stops me, of course, coming up to me and trying to take my stuff away to hold it all himself. I guess he’s trying to help, but I’ve wanted to do this myself.

“Thank you, but I’ve got it,” I tell him while taking one of my suitcases back.

He looks at me with this distraught look on his face. “But you shouldn’t have to get all this at once, Sir.”

“Thanks, but I’ve got it.” As I repeat that again, I’m gritting my teeth. I don’t need anyone feeling sorry for me anymore. I’ve had enough of that on the flight here.

He lets me take two trips to my new apartment, and I open my bags now that I’m by myself. I have to prove myself to strangers everywhere I go. I hate it, and I’m sure that most other people hate it as much as I do. But of course, they’re not going to really say anything.

My landlady really is a nice person. I feel a little bad, because I’m just going through the motions, almost robotically, while Ms. Patrice is trying to interact with me in a friendly manner. I don’t typically care too much for human interaction right now, after spending days trying to get out of my hometown and hours getting here and going through the traffic on the way to this apartment. I just listen to her talk about the utilities and rent, and I know that I have to get a job. But honestly, who is going to hire me? I have an Associate’s Degree in General Education from the community college I went to, but that’s not enough for a steady job.

“Mr. Paxton, what do you plan on making your career?”

Ms. Patrice makes me look up once she asks me that question. “I don’t know.”

“Well, did you have any previous passions before you sent to war?”

“I guess I’ve always wanted to be a writer?” I’m pretty indifferent about it. “I liked expressing myself and my ideas back in high school. But that sounds like a pretty childish career, doesn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” she shrugs. “I think you could be a great writer. I’m sure you have a lot of stories to tell.”

“Not enough to write a book about it.”

She goes over to the window looking over some of the city. “You know, there’s a library not too far away from here. You can apply there and start yourself off. The jobs are fairly easy, and not a lot of stress involved. And it offers enough to pay rent and still have finances left over. I think you’d like that, as a nice change.”

“I’ve never thought of being a librarian,” I chuckle. So far, I’m considering this a downgrade.

“Their application is online. I’ll put in a good word for you, okay?” she smiles and moves back. “Don’t worry. Just consider this a good deed after moving into a new neighborhood.”

I perk my head up. “Hm?”

“I’m sure you’re sick and tired of people constantly forcing their help onto you because they feel sorry for you. Am I wrong?”

“Not… technically,” I say back to her.

She grins. “Rent and utility is all due on the last day of every month. And if you plan on having a service dog, it’s an exception to the ‘No Pets’ rule, and I can accommodate if you put a request in my office.”

“I appreciate that you’re being considerate of that, but I’m not getting a service dog any time soon,” I tell her. “I’m allergic to dogs.”

“Oh. Okay. Less paperwork for me,” she smiles. “I think you’ll like living here very much. Welcome to Portland.”

“Thank you, Ms. Patrice.”

“Good night, Mr. Paxton.”

After she leaves, I can get right back to work with organizing my apartment. None of my furniture is coming until the end of the week, so I’m sleeping on a couple blankets tonight. Not that it makes much of a difference.

My computer’s charging, and I look out the window to watch the rush hour outside. There are people walking around outside my place, and I guess that’s because other neighbors are coming home from their jobs.

What is this job as a librarian going to be like? What would they let me do? Yes, I say let, because lately I’m just being held back all the time. They better not just make me stay at the checkout desk. I’d be bored as hell, out of my mind.

At around eight at night, there’s some arguing going on outside. It’s coming right from beyond the door. I’m guessing the two of them are a couple. One of them is screaming while the other is trying to talk and sounds upset.

I suddenly hear a shove against the door, and I flinch away from my computer. I’m forced away from my spot on the floor, and everything goes by in flashes. The banging on the door reminds me of a dark time in the past recent years. When we’re barricading different buildings to stay protected, or when enemy soldiers are so determined to get through our defenses that they start breaking down the doors—walls, even.

My mind is racing, and I hoist myself up ad storm over to the door. As soon as I open it, someone falls right down in front of me. The man that had caused all this is looking at me in shock.

“Sorry… I thought nobody lived here.”

“I just moved in,” I mutter and help the other guy up. “And I clearly see a problem here when someone is overpowering their partner like this. I don’t appreciate the way that you are treating him. Now if you don’t get away from my apartment within the next ten seconds, I’ll slap you around with my good arm.”

I guess he’s more intimidated by my semi-uniform more than by my threat. I don’t really blame him, though. He does run off, not before proclaiming that I’m a “freak,” and the man that I just rescued from that assailant is leaning against the wall. He looks at me with these sad eyes.

“Thank you,” he mumbles, sounding more defeated than grateful.

“You’re welcome,” I smile. “I’m not really as scary as I might’ve sounded. Honest.”

“That’s comforting,” he chuckles and starts drying his eyes. “I really mean it. Every other day, it’s like the other neighbors completely ignore us when we’d get like that. Especially out in the hall.” He sighs, looking a little better than before. “Don’t worry. After what happened just now, he’s not coming back here anymore.”

“Good for you,” I smile. “I’m Arlo. Corporal Arlo Paxton. Er, formerly ‘corporal,’ I guess now, but you get the idea.”

“I do,” he smiles. “My name is Owen. Owen Stein I live right across the hall.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Owen.” I go to reach my right arm out, forgetting that it’s completely down from the elbow down for a second there. “Oops.” I find myself smiling while correctly holding out my left hand for a handshake. “Sorry.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” he grins. “I’m guessing that you were... originally left-handed?”

“You have no idea how hard it was to figure out a new legal signature,” I quickly tell him. “My left hand’s so weak compared to how my right hand was, so physical therapy mostly involved me relearning how to write.”

“I can imagine that’s really tough.” Owen frequently looks at his own apartment door while he’s talking to me. I hope he isn’t too uncomfortable. “I’d better get back inside. I gotta cook dinner.”

“You go ahead,” I insist. “By the way, I originally came here from Wyoming. Well, in case you wanted to know a little bit more about your crazy one-armed neighbor.”

He laughs at my small joke. “Interesting,” he smiles and walks out of my apartment. “Well, see ya around. Cpl. Arlo Paxton from Wyoming.”

“Yeah...” The apartment door closes behind him as quickly as he’d opened it. “...Owen Stein from Apartment Number 624.”

At least I’d made one friend since I’d gotten here. I don’t really count the cab driver, because he seems a little too sympathetic. And Patrice is my landlady. I can’t really befriend her without the fear of eventually making my living arrangements awkward. So I really am glad that I met Owen.

Later on that night, I apply for the job at the library. It was a little hard to find the application page, since I’m not too savvy with the internet. I never really grew up with it back at home. But when the application does go through, I feel a little bit better about myself.

I’m ready to start a new chapter in life. I’m ready to put everything in the past behind me and start fresh, so long as everyone around here lets me grow at my own place, that is. I’ve heard that Portland, Oregon is a pretty cool place. Everyone is much more accepting here when it comes to sexuality and identity, and no matter what your background is, you’ll always find the perfect niche that you belong to. At least, I’m hoping all of that works out for me.

I turn my computer off once it’s about ten o’clock at night, and I go into my pretty much empty bedroom. I have a few blankets set up as a makeshift bed, and I lie down on the roughly carpeted surface. I’ve slept on much worse. And besides, it’s not like I’m going to be sleeping tonight anyways. I don’t really like to anymore.

Every time I dream, I go back to the endless deserts and excruciating haze while adjusting to dehydration. I’ll be honest, every time I go back through dreams and flashbacks, I’m just reminded more about how much I’ve truly hated it but kept my hatred suppressed at the time. I hated being in that environment, I hated going through those deserts, and I hated that we were stationed in a place where I knew I shouldn’t have been in.

It was constant death from both sides, and there was always so much blood that made me queasy and uncomfortable. Even as I moved up in ranks, it had always been awful to me. Dismembered bodies everywhere, agonized cries, commands in different languages, screams declaring that death shall fall upon each of us...

I can’t take it anymore.

It’s two o’clock in the morning, now. I stay awake the rest of the night.

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#flute writes words #the unsung battle of bravery #r18 writing #ptsd