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notnctu · 4 years

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switchin’ lanes - l.jn | ridin’ club

━ welcome to the ridin’ club smut series

genre ➠ slow burn, smut, pwp???, fluff (if u squint) wordcount ➠ 8.3k details ➠ fem!reader, streetracer!jeno, badboy!jeno, college!au, ━ where you and jeno are in a relationship, but not with each other. warnings ➠ explicit language, cheating, flirty banter, alcohol consumption, drugs, yall at a party, physical fighting (not with you), mentions of cuts/bruises, hickeys, drunk public dry humping, thigh riding, fingering, oral (f/receiving) synopsis ➠ If your boyfriend didn’t decide to join such a stupid unofficial club, then maybe you wouldn’t be in such a sticky situation where Lee Jeno is literally knuckles deep in your sticky situation as he drives you home. Or maybe if your boyfriend actually touched you, then you wouldn’t be seeking it from someone else, who can’t keep his hands off of you. taglist ➠ @rabbit-doyochi ; @darkneogotmyback ; @im-lame-irl ; @p-mini ; @niniluvsmarkhyuck ; @saniahmichael ; @jaehy9ngs ; @danyxthirstae01 ; @jaehyunoos ; @pikijaemin ; @suhweo ; @dearlyminhyung

a/n ➠ hi yall its author doie❀!! i hope you enjoy the series pls leave me feedback lmaoo ill literally take anything. we also hit a milestone for followers and honestly its so crazy to know how quickly this tiny sideblog has grown! we’re so thankful that yall follow us, thank u for lovin us and we will try our best to put out more content!! also through the lens hit 1k notes how is that even possible like wow im speechless thank u for everyone who left such kind comments i treasure every form of feedback :)

The heavy double doors of the classroom stare tauntingly at you. The evening setting in, painting the sky with strokes of orange and pink. You managed to remain complaint free the entire day, until your forgetful boyfriend canceled on you because of a club meeting. A meeting for an unofficial club on campus because it is illegal to street race. A club consists of delinquents that are obsessed with cars and steal your boyfriend away from you.

This is the fifth time this week that your boyfriend stood you up or coincidentally forgot your dates. You can’t remember the last time he physically stood in front of you and not through a phone screen. However, it is not completely the stupid club’s fault that your boyfriend has neglected you.

He truly is the worst boyfriend ever. He blames everything on his bad memory and does not prioritize you in his life. He loves one thing --- his car. You could be lying in a hospital bed, and he wouldn’t care to check up on you.

So why did you stay with him? Because you’re scared of being alone? Possibly, but it is a can of worms that you did not want to open just yet. Sex is definitely not the reason you stay with him. He hasn’t touched you sexually since the first and now, last time you two slept together.

You try your best, to only be waved off with a yawn. He doesn’t compliment you. He doesn’t look at you lovingly. He doesn’t even kiss you for longer than two seconds. You are a toppling tower, ready to crumble at any given moment.

The anger in your body fuels you as you pull the door open to reveal several men in leather jackets chatting away with each other. One by one, they all begin to lay their eyes on who abruptly interrupted their joyous conversations. Your eyes scan the room full of intimidating men, whose auras cause a shiver to run down your spine.

Your boyfriend is nowhere in sight, given that there are plenty enough guys who have the ability to cover him. You walk into the open space and the entire mood of the room shifts.

Heavy cologne and a deafening silence fill the air. One particular male, who has been eyeing you the entire time, gets up and walks towards you.

“Are you lost, baby?” Scoffs and chuckles sparsely cover the corners of the room. The unknown male has a jarring cut on his eyebrow, matching a small bruise on his upper cheekbone.

“I’m looking for my boyfriend…” Your weak voice trails off from the sudden attractive male intimidation. The tall man peers around the room, crossing his arms.

“If you are this beautiful woman’s boyfriend, please fucking come out now. It’s very rude to keep your girl waiting for you!” Initially, his low throaty shout startles you. A heavy heat falls on your cheeks when you register his choice of adjectives.

The whole room falls silent once more, before your pitiful boyfriend steps out from between two bulkier men. “Hey babe, what are you doing here?” His eyes nervously bounce around the room, a shaky laughter erupting from his gut.

“Sorry, Jeno. I didn’t mean to cause such a scene. I didn’t even see her come in.”

Like a trigger, you remember your intentions for storming in uninvited. Jeno gauges your flaming reaction to your boyfriend’s apologetic words. He nods, not out of acceptance of the apology, but out of disbelief.

He pulls your boyfriend by the collar of his white shirt and your eye widens at the condescending tone that causes your boyfriend to cower, “I’m not the one to apologize to.” With a careless toss, your boyfriend ends up shaking in front of you.

“Jeno is not the only one you should be scared of.” You whisper angrily to him as the rest of the room continues on with their previous chatter.

Your boyfriend rolls his eyes, “listen, Jeno’s been arrested before. You don’t want to get on that man’s bad side.”

Your eyes wander behind your boyfriend’s hunching shoulders, catching Jeno steal peeks at you too. There is no interest in the other rambling male that stands in front of him. He just wants to check you out a bit more.

He is the hottest person you’ve ever gotten the attention of. You feel flustered, and a bit flattered at his lingering gaze. His brown hair is slicked back messily, giving you more to admire. Jeno is an absolute cliche from a bad boy fanfiction. He is unreal, and the odd chance that he can’t keep his eyes off of you, is also unreal.

But with a light nudge from a blue haired fellow, Jeno’s eyes peel away from your’s. They exchange a few words, which then propels Jeno to hurriedly put on his slightly tattered leather jacket.

You lick your lips to the sight of his body lines as he stands up to follow his friend, but not without another look back at you. Noticing your stare still on him, he bids you a tiny wave goodbye with a smirk to die for. And like that, he’s gone.

“Are you listening to me?” Your boyfriend’s voice finally reaches your reality. Your focus shifts to the obviously irritated expression on his face.

“I guess, I’m not. Don’t fucking stand me up again or I will key your car.” You aren’t actually those kinds of girls, but your boyfriend didn’t take a threat seriously unless it involves his highly treasured car.

And like Jeno, you also make your exit out of the steamy room. The chilly night brush against your unknowingly hot cheeks. Then, you take yourself to the only unhealthy coping mechanism you can think of: a place of free alcohol and no boyfriend.

It takes you a few months to completely stop caring about your dying relationship. You figure how easy it is for your boyfriend to do it, so you make the same decision.

He spends his nights with his friends he made from his club, and has totally become a self proclaimed car enthusiast. You lose yourself in copious amounts of cheap alcohol at your local parties and it’s almost like you stop sulking over a man who kisses his car goodnight.

While being alone did not bother you as much as you had been dreading, the sexual frustration is a completely different issue. You are absolutely drooling whenever your eyes find Jeno in the crowds of sweaty bodies.

If there is one good thing that came out of your boyfriend’s membership in that club, it had to be Lee Jeno and a few other notable people who attended the same parties as you.

He became a very close acquaintance, and you had learned some very important names associated with the Ridin’ Club. Na Jaemin, Lee Haechan, and Huang Renjun. But the three could not compare to the kindhearted Jeno that makes butterflies stir in your lower abdomen.

Over the months, you also had learned rather quickly that your sexually clouded mind had tricked you previously into thinking that Jeno’s stares were full of lust for you. His girlfriend makes it clear that it isn’t the case.

Although you have caught the couple making out several times when trying to use the bathroom, your feverish, impure attraction toward Jeno never calmed down.

“You’re looking very tempting tonight, baby.” Jeno’s beaming eye smile greets you, even after completely undressing you with his gaze. His arms are wide open to embrace your warm body.

The parties are always too hot to wear a fully clothed outfit. You often settle for a cute tank top and a short skirt to prevent your legs from collecting extra moisture. Jeno, without a fail, shows up in black jeans that clad his lower half, tucked with a simple white shirt. His tattoos and toned arms being on full display for you to admire.

“Better make sure your actual baby doesn’t hear that.” The loud beats of the music make Jeno’s chuckle almost inaudible, but his expression remains cheerful, as per usual. “Did you get into another fight?”

The fresh wound cut through his smooth complexion, which will eventually join the rest of his collection of fading scars. He mindlessly grazes over the new bandaging and dramatically winces. Clearly concerned, you grab his hand away from the injury. “Don’t touch it, stupid.”

His smile curves into a sly smirk, as he intertwines your fingers and kisses the back of your hand. “It doesn’t hurt at all.” His chest heaves into a fit of giggles, “just wanted to see you care for me.”

Groaning, you shake his massive hand off of your’s. “Very funny. I should start charging you for my attention.”

“Name your price, I got all the money in the world for you.” He winks, while lightly pinching your cheek. You are lying to yourself if you thought you could ever stay away from him. Jeno stirs up a part of you that craves the cheesy nicknames, flirty comments and the undivided attention.

He motions you to follow him into the mess of people. Almost as if he’s a god, the crowd parts for you two to walk through without unnecessary extra bodies. The fear that settles in many individuals’ chest is understandable.

Like your first impression, Jeno is a complete walking fanfiction trope. He negotiates better with his fists, usually with good reason. The guns of the Ridin’ Club, though, his friends are very much to be feared as well. They will not hesitate to run someone over, if given the heated situation to do so. And most definitely, you can count them to be backing up their fighter, Jeno.

You had not been mindful before of the chatter that regarded the secret Ridin’ Club. They are notorious for fast paced very illegal races in the middle of nowhere destinations and tempers that aren’t meant to be provoked. Besides their intimidating aura, it melts away after getting to know them.

Lee Haechan, the most annoying brat, but has the strongest, the most loyal bond to his boys. He’s also notably funny, often making you laugh with an exchange of banter.

Huang Renjun, the whiniest and initially quiet boy, but grows to be one of the loudest and will chew you out if anyone dares try engaging in verbal combat.

Na Jaemin, the flirty playboy who always has a swarm of girls, but the gentlest man with a soft spot for cute things.

And finally, Lee Jeno, the owner of your nights. He is the friendliest of them all, despite him being the toughest one. While his stare can kill, melting away his layers reveal the warmest heart. Not that Jeno is the only one to show initial interest in you, but he is the most considerate to the people he holds close to him.

He has taken care of you for many drunk nights and watched protectively over your intoxicated figure in the crowds. He makes you feel safe and seen, which are some of the many reasons you are entirely attracted to him.

“(Y/N)!” Jaemin’s scream pierce your ears the moment the blueberry catches your eye. He excitedly nudges the other two boys, who are busy pouring drinks into red cups.

“You’re going to make me spill it, idiot!” Renjun grumbles, but looks up to see your dazzling smile and tremendous excitement. His own smile grows, “so the life of the party finally decided to say hi.”

“Hi, my fanclub. I appreciate the long awaited greeting.” Your over the top, sarcasm causes all of them to chime loudly. Haechan hands you a cup and wraps his arm around your shoulders.

Jeno joins you at your side and the five of you clink your drinks to the ceiling. A fit of yells over the music and a competition of who can finish first. As per usual, you set your cup down after draining the entirety. The others are still chugging the burning liquid down their throats.

Haechan coughs after dropping his cup onto the counter. His face is twisted with the most disgusted contour, “I don’t know how you do it, (Y/N).”

“I already drank more than you guys, so it just tastes like water now.” You scream over the loud music. Jeno, Jaemin and Renjun toss their empty cups into the sink.

At this rate, you are completely blindsided by the effects of the alcohol as your legs give out to gravity. Jeno catches you quickly, holding your elbows and your head is placed on his shoulder. Jaemin chuckles lovingly, before helping Jeno balance you against the island. Your head feels heavy on your shoulders, as the room spins in front of you.

“You good?” Haechan pats your head gently, whispering close to you.

“I---” You try catching your breath after being winded. “--It’s hitting me now.”

Jeno wraps his arm around your lower waist to draw you close to him, “want to go sit down?” He mumbles into your hair. You nod, Jeno and Renjun supporting your limp body to walk over to the couch.

The dark living room is lit up only by colorful led lights, but it is not enough to make out much of anything. Everyone is in their own world, dancing and socializing within their own selves. The two men set you down on the cushion, but your impulse catches onto Jeno’s wrist before he leaves. Renjun is already lost in the crowd.

“Can I sit on your lap?” You pout cutely, all the shame in your body has been displaced with courage. Jeno’s eyes soften at your sudden request, and kisses the top of your forehead.

“The throne is all yours.” He says as he sits at your side and pulls you on top of his thick thighs. His arm is loosely dangling around your waist, resting on top of your thighs.

The intimate position causes your mind to wander into dark thoughts. His strong, sturdy legs feel delicious against your clothed core. While you’ve been in this position once before, you could never forget how protected, yet very horny it makes you feel.

“What’s on your mind, (y/n)?” Jeno’s deep voice brushes against your bare shoulder and you feel his chest press against your back. “You’ve been pretty silent tonight.”

You turn slightly to face him, “if I told you, I’m scared it would ruin things between us.”

“There’s nothing in the world that can hold me back from you.” He is always so quick to spill such alluring words. His soft lips graze lightly on your skin as his sparkling eyes look up at your expression.

All it takes is one more tiny kiss on your arm to get you grabbing his face, drawing him into a steamy, long awaited kiss. Surprisingly, he kisses you back, open mouth and tongue lapping with your’s. His hands reposition your legs to where you straddle him. Your faces dive deeper into each other’s as the kiss continues to intensify.

Jeno’s lips still have a hint of alcohol, but he mostly tastes like mint gum. And they are comparable to a cloud, the softest lips you have ever made out with. It is like kissing pure heaven, completely different from your boyfriend’s two second pecks. Jeno devours you in a needy way, like he’s been waiting to explore the wonders of your lips.

However, you pull away when you feel the vibration of his phone against your inner thigh, almost like a wake up call. As if all the liquid courage disappeared, you blink back in shock at Jeno’s plump wet lips. The thought of his girlfriend crosses your mind, and maybe slight guilt for your own boyfriend fills your system.

You quickly start getting up from his hot body, “fuck, I’m so sorry..” But his hands pull you back onto him, your legs finding their way open above his thighs again.

“Don’t be, I’ve always wondered what your lips would taste like.” A smirk, then a hearty chuckle relaxes your contracting nerves at the potential of a ruined friendship.

“But, your girlfriend..” Your tiny voice trails off and Jeno picks up your chin. His fingers rubbing along your jawline.

His eyes do another lap around your features. He admires your averting shy eyes, your beautiful lips, and how they all come together to make a stunning you.

There is no doubt in Jeno’s mind that he is very attracted to you. He knew it the moment you barged into the club meeting. You are his type of woman, a good mixture of confident and timidness. You like to have some fun, and aren't afraid to be bold. Not to mention, that you are incredibly hot and every time you flirt back just makes him melt inside.

“She won’t care. She hooks up with people all the time.” It puzzles you, all this time you had been holding yourself back from Jeno because he has a girlfriend. All to find out that the relationship isn’t as serious as you thought it to be.

“I know, it doesn’t make sense. But we aren’t two people to be tied down, but at the same time, we like each other enough to want to stay together.”

Your confused expression causes Jeno to laugh and ask, “what’s the dilemma with your boyfriend?”

Rolling your eyes at the mention of your boyfriend, you sigh, “it’s like we’re still together, but we aren’t at the same time. We’ve abandoned the relationship unknowingly.”

Jeno runs a warm hand up and down your thigh, while he listens intently to you. He nods, grabbing your waist to pull you over his groin. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“No, he’s a shitty person and an even shittier boyfriend. We literally haven’t fucked for the past year. I’m practically a virgin again.” His hand automatically gives your thigh a light squeeze.

Jeno’s eyes light up as you quickly cover your mouth out of embarrassment. A devilish smirk raises his cheekbone, and lust clouds his mind. Gauging his reaction, your cheeks turn hot.

“We’ll have to change that, don’t we? My baby must be all kinds of frustrated. Tell me, do you like when I touch you then?” Jeno drops in tempo, usually when he wants to be more intimidating with a deeper voice.

You clear your throat intending to speak, but you can only nod your head in response. “C’mon, (Y/N). Use your words, like a big girl.” Even with the loud music and continuous chatter, you can hear Jeno‘s taunting whisper.

His words tickle your collarbone as he runs his lips against your neck. Your heart is pumping rapidly at the turn of events, as if the possibility of having something beyond a kiss from Jeno is more than possible at this rate.

Jeno enjoys your small whimpers as he marks your neck with purple love bites. Right in the center of the crowded room, Lee Jeno is just casually giving you hickeys.

“Yes, I love that you can’t keep your hands off of me.”

Almost immediately, you can feel his lips curve into a smile on your skin. Pop! Jeno marvels the darkness against your skin in the mood lighting. A small part of him hopes you do end up seeing your boyfriend sometime soon, so he can see who you really belong to.

“How about we try touching like this?” Jeno pushes you down hard against his pelvis, the veins on his hands becoming evident from the grip and the tiny drawings permanently staining his fingers.

You gasp the moment you feel Jeno’s hip begin to move underneath you to the beat of the song. He rolls your hips rhythmically to match his speed. His clothed hard on can be felt through the only barrier you have on --- your panties.

The thin fabric is soon drenched in your juices after the continuous friction up and down his length. You throw your head back to every bump against your clit, the electrifying feeling enact more of your wetness to puddle.

You can’t believe you were grinding against Jeno in the middle of a full party, as if his friends aren’t a few feet away. It is a good thing that your skirt pools around both of your waists to conceal the dirty deed underneath.

Jeno’s lip escapes under his top row of teeth as he rubs his clothed length against your barely covered pussy. He can feel his jeans dampening from your wetness and his eyes roll to the back of his head from how the feeling of wanting you consumes his body. He really becomes uncontrollable when it comes to you.

This is the most sexual activity you have had with another person for over a year. Jeno just looks absolutely heavenly intoxicated with lust, and your mouth waters at how big his cock must be. You can feel his length the harder Jeno rolls against you, and it is definitely bigger than your boyfriend’s.

You are trying so hard to stay quiet and unnoticeable, but the pleasure seeps out every crevice. Jeno is trained on you as your hand reaches up to cover your mouth, the muffled whimpers escaping your lips uncontrollably.

“I’m so close.” You admit, your body jolting every time his jean button grazes against your sensitive bud.

Jeno moves you over his thigh, forgetting his incredibly hard dick straining in his jeans. As long as you are satisfied, he can care less about his own pleasure. A low scream erupts from your throat when he flexes against you.

His thigh is much more stable, with more control for consistency. You quickly notice the dark, wet spot on his jeans and you blush even harder. Your underwear clings onto you from the excessive moisture, but Jeno continues to help you finish.

The strands of hair cover your face, but Jeno needs to see your fucked out expression. He is taken aback when you start riding his thigh faster, grinding harder without the aid of his hands.

His mouth hangs slightly open in awe at your neediness, he truly did not know the extent of your sexual frustrations. Oh, but how he is incredibly turned on by you getting off on him.

“I want you to cum for me, you deserve it.” Jeno brings you in for another passionate kiss. The mixture of his tongue sucking harshly on yours, and the friction on your clit are more than enough to reach your climax.

Your legs clenched tightly around Jeno’s thigh. The small knot in your stomach that built, drops like the beat playing in the background. The feeling of white is familiar, but it is more intense than when you would touch yourself. You are finally receiving the pleasure from someone else’s touch, someone who wants you to unravel for him.

Jeno pulls away from your lips, kissing down your neck and collarbones as your chest heaves for air. His palm soothes your shaking legs as your climax subsides. You fall into his arms, and he laughs. The reality that you two just did that publicly registers in both of your minds.

Digging your shy face further into Jeno’s shoulder, he whispers lovingly, “let me drive you home.”

“Are you still drunk?” The muffled question tickles Jeno’s neck.

“I think you beautifully cumming on my thigh sobered me up.” He jokes and you quickly cover his mouth. Your heart practically stops and you hope no one else heard him.

It is silly that you are now self conscious, as if the whole room didn’t just watch you and Jeno grind on the couch. But, the feeling of embarrassment and regret lingers in your stomach. You mentally thank the dark room for concealing both of your identities.

“I’m sorry for your jeans.” A pout begs for forgiveness as you stare at Jeno’s beaming smile. He takes your hand off of his mouth, not forgetting to give your fingertips a lingering kiss.

“I’m sorry for your boyfriend. He doesn’t know what he’s missing.” Jeno parts your hair from your neck, admiring the marks he left on you. A small sense of pride builds inside of him, accompanied by a tiny bundle of possessiveness.

“Let me say goodbye to the boys and I’ll take you home.”

Nodding, Jeno carefully lifts you off of him and onto the cushion. He leans over to kiss your cheek. As he gets up, you see the darker shades on his jeans from your doing. However, Jeno is completely unbothered and continues to find his friends.

Now that you are alone, you feel a bit nervous that someone would come up to you and talk about what they saw. Checking your phone, your screen blinds you with absolutely no notifications from your boyfriend. Going on social media is worse, as you scroll to see that your boyfriend posted a photo.

It is a photo of his hot, red polished car. He obnoxiously posed squatting next to the front wheel, his lips puckered up and kissing the rims. With a caption that makes every regret in your body disappear, “with my one and only.”

The phone is tossed somewhere else, wishing to delete the image from your memory. Your eyes wander around the room, when they spot a suspicious man sneakily dropping a small pill in an unattended drink. He, then, looks up and catches your stare. Caught red handed.

But the male smugly smirks, “you’re going to pretend you didn’t see that, like how half of this room pretended to not see you grinding on Jeno.”

“You’re complete scum, I can’t believe you just roofied someone’s drink.” You yell in utter disbelief at the unwavering man. His disgusting smirk changes into a menacing smile.

He approaches you, his height allowing him to tower above. You gulp, scared at how he can easily overpower you at any second.

“And what are you going to do about it? What? Jeno didn’t loosen you up enough?” His revolting hot breath beating down your nose, invading every corner of your personal space.

Before you can find any insult to speak back, his figure goes flying sideways and out of your face. It’d be a lie to not admit your heart skipping a beat at the sight of Jeno’s clenched fists and locked jaw. His sharp gaze watches as the stranger gets up from the ground, inflammation already growing on his left cheek.

“Dude, what the fuck!” He shouts angrily, holding his cheekbone as he winces at the pain. Immediately, the conversations are replaced with gasps, and small whispers at the sight. People gather around the living room to see the commotion. Even you are unsure how to react to the sudden fight.

The other man lunges at Jeno with full force, but Jeno stops him by grabbing the man’s collar, “this,” Jeno punches his lip, busting it open, “is for dropping a roofie in someone’s drink.”

The stranger groans at the impact, but still gets up with a fist straight for Jeno’s gut. Watching Jeno take a blow is much more difficult than you had been expecting.

He crouches over from the punch, but quickly regains his composure to put the man in a headlock. A few more gasps erupt and wonder if you should stop him before he does something unnecessarily stupid.

“This,” the man squirms to try to get out of Jeno’s iron grip, “is for disrespecting my babygirl.” And with a shift snap, the male falls limp and unconscious.

A surprised intake of air and Jeno peers up at your scared expression. He calmly walks over to you, ignoring the swarm of people that had gathered around the scene. He can only see one thing — you. Jeno’s wandering eyes try to read your expression, but all he sees is a terrified girl.

“I’m sorry you had to see that, are you okay, (Y/N)?”

Blinking blankly for a few moments, you are mortified at the laying body, “what did you do to him?”

Jeno looks back at the stranger casually, “I put him to sleep for a bit. He’ll wake up in about 20 minutes.”

A rush of reassurance washes over you knowing that he is alive and Jeno didn’t just kill someone in front of you. You exhale all the anxiousness and nerves,

“thank you for stepping in.”

“I don’t fight without a good reason. You are more than a perfect reason to fight for.” He pinches your cheek cutely, and his tough exterior fades away yet again.

His famous eye smile that warms your insides is back as if the scary, intimidating expression didn’t exist a few seconds ago. Jeno’s good sides only appear with you. Nevertheless, you are happy to know how special you are to see them.

“Violence is never the answer.” He nods, only taking it for a grain of salt. “Are you okay? It looked like stringbean knocked some wind out of your gut.”

The teddy bear thrusts himself forward into a fit of laughter, his head resting on your lap. His melody lights every dark corner inside of you. “He did get a good punch in there, didn’t he?”

His rumbling laughter stops, and he peers up at you. “I can’t believe you were still worried about a complete asshole.”

Scoffing, you break the shared gaze. “I’m a compassionate human being.” Jeno stands up, extending his hand for you to take.

“I know, you’re the best kind of person.” He genuinely means it with the way his tone remains quite stern, eye contact unwavering. He is revealing more of his intimate parts, and in return, you wish for him to see your’s.

Silence drowns out all the commotion between you two. Jeno grows shy at the way the galaxies reflect in your stare. “I--” Never once, did you think you would witness Lee Jeno stammer over his words. “I-I, let’s-- I want to take you for a drive.”

To Jeno, a drive to him is equivalent to your hand in marriage. Even his own girlfriend has never been on a drive with him. It is a big part of his personality, given that he is a crucial member of the Ridin’ Club. However, out of all of them, he is the last one to flaunt his hobby. It is special, almost sacred to his entire being.

“Me?” It is the dumbest question to ask, but you really want to clarify his intentions. Before this night, you two were barely considered friends. You two never saw each other outside of the late night parties.

But now, Lee Jeno wants to take you on a drive. It makes you wonder if the desire of companionship is mutual, that he too pines to further your relationship.

“I’m not looking at anyone else,” Jeno still waiting for your hand and holding an intense eye contact. His heart lays exposed for you, just right on his sleeve. An innocence paints his usual intimidating aura, “let me show my special girl, what is special to me.”

He must possess some magic because he knows every way to make you swoon. And like that, your palm meets his and he locks his fingers between yours.

The moment you enter Jeno’s striking, eye catching car, you automatically relax into the leather seats. His pristine car matches his personality --- simple, but captivating. Your boyfriend’s car is the exact opposite, which is why you never enjoy sitting in it.

Jeno has pieces of himself that scatter his car, like an adorable small plushie that watches out the back window. A beaded lanyard dangles from his rear view mirror. It even matches his scent of a deep ocean breeze.

Unlike your boyfriend’s obnoxious details, Jeno did not have a light up stereo that flashed annoyingly to every beat drop in a song. Instead, a sweet lilac color illuminates at your feet, along with his.

“You like what you see?” Jeno catches you astonish at the tiny aspects of the interior.

“Of course, it’s yours. It’s exactly like how I would imagine it to be.” Jeno is proud, hearing you praise his car. Even he can admit, it is a bit weird to be so connected to an inanimate object.

Nevertheless, his car, racing, driving became a huge part of his life. And unlike his friends, he feels rather shy and slightly embarrassed for being such a geek.

But hearing you actually appreciating the small details of his car when you probably hate every aspect of racing due to your boyfriend’s doing, it makes him feel very happy.

Maybe happy is an understatement, more like overjoy at how you freely can recognize the things that make him content. You respect him, and are mindful that as mundane as a car is, you know that it is something important to him.

Silence becomes the majority of the ride out of the quiet, suburban neighborhood. While Jeno’s eyes remain focused on the road ahead, you are concentrated on him.

He drives with one hand on the wheel as he rests his elbow on the middle console. His eyebrow creases here and there. It is the most normal, mundane activity anyone can do --- drive. That is all he is doing, yet the effect it suddenly has on you can not go unnoticed.

Abruptly, with the rev of the engine and a press on the gas, the car practically flies on the empty freeway. It catches you off guard, causing you to hold onto the grab handle. Jeno peeks over at your shocked figure, and smiles to himself.

“Relax, (Y/N).” He calls your name, reaching over to rub your thigh as a way to calm your anxiousness. Automatically, your hand grips onto his for support and the other one drops from the handle.

Exhaling, your eyes are trained ahead. The car is moving so fast that you can’t even make out anything around you. Everything becomes nothing, but colorful streaks against a dark background. The gravity against your chest feels crushing.

“How-- How fast are you going?”

Jeno glances at the speedometer and intertwines your fingers into his own. “I don’t think I should tell you that, you might actually have a heart attack.”

The window rolls down and you are hit with rumbling wind, “I know you’re scared right now, so stick your head out the window and take a deep breath.”

You look at him in pure fear, “what?! I can’t even move, let alone stick my head out the window!”

Jeno shakes his head, “trust me. Please, trust me.” He needs you to experience the same thrill he does. His own adrenaline is through the roof, out the entire atmosphere of the vehicle. The amount of joy he is experiencing became tenfold now that you are sitting beside him.

You trust him and very meticulously, go against the wind. Your hair crazily dances along with the rush and your eyes water from being dried out. Adjusting to the pressure, you also stick your hand out the window. It whips backward, but you feel the wind slip between your fingers.

The rise in heartbeat and excitement pump through your veins. The beauty in the white streaks that create a runway, it is nothing but you and the open space. There is no other way to explore it, except at a high pace. You understand why Jeno loved it so much.

Jeno bounces between the road and half of your figure out his window. Your eyes are closed initially, before you barely squint open. Tears fly by with strands of your hair, but you start to move your hand to physically feel the thrill pass between your fingers.

Then he sees it in the side mirror: the sweet curve in your lips he loves the most and the wideness of life in your eyes. It only makes him press the gas harder.

“That was incredible! You should take me riding with you more.” You marvel at him as he starts the route to your place. It is complete playfulness that hints in your tone because you are aware of how sacred these are to him. Nevertheless, a part of you still hopes he agrees to do so.

Jeno nods, “only because I like you,” He pauses, gauging your reaction with his side eye gaze, “a lot.”

Your heart sinks to an unsettling place in your stomach. Jeno could not possibly be serious, however, his tone no longer matches the playfulness of your own. It almost seems like he is telling the truth. But you didn’t want to believe that.

Your eyes make a full circle before settling at the disappearing sidewalks, “stay in your lane, Jeno.” It is to keep the mood still light, you and Jeno aren’t ones to be serious.

His hand has been on your thigh for the whole night, whether it be out of habit or comfort. His touch is always welcoming and warm, but suddenly, you feel the small squeeze on your flesh. Turning your attention on his face, you can see how a smirk has grown.

“But yours seems much more fun.” Immediately, your stomach leaps with somersaults. Your throat gets dry and tight, not anticipating that response.

“Beside, you can’t act like we both haven’t swerved. It was barely moments ago that you were cum---”

“---No need to further explain.”

“And I’d proudly do it again.” His voice drops several decibels and his hand slowly snakes it’s way up your thigh. All the while, his eyes still on the road ahead.

You gulp as every heartbeat constricts your throat. Lifting the ends of your skirt higher to expose more, you secretly want Jeno to cause your legs to shake again. “D-Do what again?”

Jeno perks up to the sweetness of curiosity in your tone. He pulls up to a red stoplight, being able to finally look over to your innocent face and needy hands gripping the cute, thin fabric. He stares deeply into your eyes, “make my baby cum.”

Similarly to the stoplight, you give Jeno the green light to pull your panties to the side. You spread your legs wide as his finger massages your pussy lips. He gets dangerously close to your erect clit, barely skimming over it.

A needy, yet delicate moan escapes your lips and Jeno’s jaw tightens. He’s more upset that he’s missing the view of your legs spread, open mouth in ecstasy, half lid eyes all in the passenger seat of his car. He hopes for another red light, just so he can peek over at your delicious figure.

“Jeno, please touch me.” Your voice is airy and desperate. He hummed in response, completely withdrawing his hand from your core. However, you catch his wrist and bring it to rest on your inner thigh. “Please.”

The distinct beg in your tone drives him crazy. As he dips his finger into your sudden wetness, a shiver runs up your spine. Right when he applies minimal pressure on your bundle of nerves, you jolt and close your thighs around his hand.

One touch already feels too good to be true, that finally someone, Lee fucking Jeno, is actually touching your nakedness. Peering down, Jeno’s arm is flexing in between your legs. His veins popping ever so slightly and his tattoos paint his smooth skin.

“Open your legs, babe.” His low devilish chuckle rumbles in your lower abdomen. “Let me give you the lovin’ you’ve been deprived of.”

You shudder at his cadence and slowly pry open your legs. Jeno stops at a red light and gets to see your reaction as he rubs you in a fast rhythmic pace. A soft cry yelps from your throat and you have to grip the handle to keep yourself from spazzing out any further.

Almost like a trance, he doesn’t notice that the light turns green. He’s locked into the sight of your contorting body. Your hips have a mind of its own, yet again, as Jeno feels you rolling deeper into his touch.

“Poor baby, you’re so touch starved that you can’t control yourself.”

“It feels better when you do it.” You whine, your lip being bruised from your biting. But your eyes notice the green illumination and you blink over at Jeno.

He is practically drooling at the sight of you, his eyes are trained at your needy hips and dripping wet core that soaks his fingers. You stop every urge to steal more kisses from him.

Jeno briefly recovers from the trance and steps on the gas. He takes this opportunity to ease a finger into the core, causing you to exclaim and squeeze around his digit. “Oh fuck, you’re so tight.”

“More, Jeno.” The way his name rolls off of your tongue makes his heart flutter and his dick to raise in his jeans. Without much hesitation, he slowly slips in another finger and you moan at the stretch. Pumping and curling, he ensures that you are enjoying every action.

His fingers curl against your plushy flesh and your legs spread wider for him to go deeper. You’re a moaning mess when he curls up to your sweet spot, rubbing his fingertips quickly. The familiar queasy feeling builds in your lower regions, and Jeno becomes merciless with his fingers.

He guides them in and out of you, feeling your tightness release and invite him back in. The sloppy wet noises fill the car and drown out the engine. Your half lidded eyes bounce at Jeno’s unbothered figure and the entire scene seems absolutely unbelievable to you.

One hand on the wheel. The other knuckles deep in your pussy. Eyes focus on the road ahead. A comfortable man spread. His hair is messy from the long night.

It is all too unbelievable, that Jeno’s already giving you a second climax of the night when you could barely get one in a year before. And he loves touching you as much as he loves driving.

However, the guilty raises as fast as the ball of tension in your gut. You two pull up in front of your apartment building, while Jeno’s tugging his fingers against your flesh aggressively. In a split second, you hold onto his wrist to stop him.

He shifts into park when the car settles into a spot and peers over to you. A curious expression daunts onto him, rather concern that he might have been too much. “I’m starting to feel guilty.”

Jeno nods, and retrieves his fingers out of your dripping core. The feeling of emptiness causes all the built up pressure to dissipate.

“I understand,” he begins, but pauses at the sight of your sticky juices glistening on his fingers. Your eyes widen as he licks them clean, a soft moan escaping from the back of his throat.

The small action spikes your heart rate and you rub your legs together. With a pop! Jeno hums delightfully, “baby, you taste so good. I’m a little sad I won’t be tasting more, especially directly from the source.” His lustful eyes glance down at your thighs and back to your profile.

“I’ll walk you up to your apartment.” He says way too casually, unbuckling his seat belt. A mixture of emotions are running through your head. There is guilt, but lust is too powerful to ignore, especially when it’s Lee Jeno. The damage is already done, right? It’s not like it wasn’t moments ago that you humped him in the middle of a party.

“Wait,” your hands find themselves gripping onto his leather jacket tightly. Jeno gently reaches over to release your strong grip and replaces the leather with his hand.

“Yes, babygirl?” Jeno’s round, friendly eyes meet yours. The lust clouded darkness is no longer there. His hand feels hot and somewhat rough.

“I’m going to break up with my boyfriend, so promise me, you’re not going to dip out of my life afterwards… I don’t need you to be anything more than a friend. I just can’t lose you too.”

He turns around in his seat to face you comfortably. “I don’t think you’ve noticed, but I can’t stay away from you, let alone have the ability to leave you.” He reassures you with a soothing and calm tone. His thumb draws circles around your knuckles. “I’m always going to be your friend, whether or not I know how you taste.”

“Do you still want to try it … you know, from the source?” You shyly ask, an innocence embodying your gaze and voice cadence.

Jeno raises an eyebrow, a smirk on his lips. “I’d love to, only if you let me.”

Instantly, you shift to get on your lower back. Jeno watches as you excitedly position yourself open for him and actually finds your eagerness quite adorable. Your left leg bends behind the driver’s seat and your right rests on the dashboard.

He hooks his arms underneath your thighs to pull you forward towards him and your whole body slides against the leather. With a slow lift, your skirt reveals your drenched panties. Rolling them off and tossing them to the back seat, he lays eyes on your still dripping pussy. Jeno takes a second to admire your flower, this being his first time he’s seen such a private part of you.

“You’re beautiful, you know that right?” He chuckles deeply, before his tongue licks a long strip up to your clit. You exclaim out of the tingling pleasure that seized your insides.

He flattens his tongue against your bundle of nerves, flicking and circling. His finger enters your pussy again, curling up to rub at the same pace he is licking. The pure sight of Jeno’s head in between your legs is enough for butterflies to explode.

His sole motive is to make you feel good. There is nothing else in the world that he wants at this moment beside pleasure to overtake your body. Jeno eats you out like he hasn’t had a meal in months. His mouth wraps around your clit. The mixture of his flicks and sucks cause electric bolts to run down your legs.

You get more wet as Jeno pumps his finger in and out of your hole. Your juices are practically dripping onto the interior of the car, but Jeno doesn’t care.

He fucking loves it. He loves the taste of you lingering on his tongue. Your breathless moans. Your waterfall dripping on uncontrollably. The view of you unwinding because of him. Nothing can be more perfect.

Running your hands through his messy locks, you press him closer into you. A devilish smile draws on his face as he flicks his tongue side to side. “Oh, fuck! I’m.. so c--close.”

Your back arches upward into Jeno’s mouth, feeling his muscle lick harder and faster on your throbbing clit. He adds a second finger, and the simultaneous stimulation practically throws you into another dimension. The pleasure overtakes your entire lower half, your legs trembling from pure ecstasy as you approach your orgasm.

“Don’t stop, I’m going to---” Then, Jeno pulls away and shoves his tongue into your warmth. A gasp hits the air as he also continues to rub circles on your sensitive nerves. His tongue fucked your pussy incredibly skillfully and deliciously. With this switch, your legs violently shake and try clamping together.

However, his strength holds you wide and open for display. A low grunt follows suit as his dark eyes zone in on your contoured facial expressions. Then, the white light blind you once again and the ball of tension unravels itself on Jeno’s tongue. Squirming and screaming, your hips buck forward on their own.

It is close to being too catastrophic, this being the most intense orgasm you’ve had after a whole year. Nevertheless, the satisfaction is right on the tips of your toes and you greedily indulge in the euphoric moment. Jeno feels your walls squeeze around his muscle as he laps every last bit of you up.

He is absolutely addicted to your juices, making sure he catches every drop. Finally pulling away, he wipes the extra drip on the back of his hand. Jeno blinks at your raising chest and limp legs. Chuckling, his warm hand massages feeling back into your body.

“Do you want me to carry you back up?” His hoarse, raspy voice wakes you from your post orgasm daydream. You flutter your lashes at him fondly and happily nod at his offer.

Getting out of the car, Jeno walks over to the passenger side and your arms rest nicely around his neck. His palms support your butt, but also smoothing your skirt over to cover your decency. A poke against your outer thigh makes you realize that Jeno is strained against his jeans.

“I can take care of you too.” You pout cutely at Jeno, but he shakes his head.

“It’s not about me tonight. It’s about you.” Leaving a soft kiss on your cheek, his eyes turn into moon crescents from his lovable smile. The kind, friendliness makes an appearance again.

Or so you think! In a sheer second, Jeno’s deep voice rumbles your stomach and his hooded eyes pierce your soul, “next time though, I’m fucking you real good, babe.”

You hum in response. Saliva collects in your mouth, already looking forward to more of Jeno. But a chilly draft brushes up your exposed area as Jeno carries you up the flight of stairs.

“Wait, Jeno… I don’t have my underwear on.” The ‘Level 3’ sign is in view as Jeno turns to walk.

He only laughs and shrugs nonchalantly, “it’s better that way anyways.” Without another word, he continues upward to your floor and you playfully punch his solid chest. In all honesty, that’s not going to be the only time you leave behind your panties in his beloved car.

Your hatred for the notorious Ridin’ Club subside after such a wild night. If anything, you owe it all to your shitty ex-boyfriend for joining such a ridiculous club. Without him and the club’s existence, who knows if Lee Jeno would’ve still swerve into your lane.

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aenaxes-moved · 3 years

Text

inertia

[crosshair x gn!reader] removing crosshair's inhibitor chip was never going to be an easy task, but you never expect it to demand an item of equal exchange. otherwise known as picking up the pieces with crosshair, together.

warnings: past paralytic injury, general angst, hurt-comfort

w/c: 2.2k

a/n: as much as i hate physics, you can't deny there's a poetry to the laws of the universe. inertia keeps heavy objects in place, and guilt's one of the heaviest burdens of all.

There are certain universal laws you learn while living on a ship, like the slightly upsetting fact that magnetism is relative and so is time. But there are constants: the behavior of gravity around a massive star, the physics of self-contained gas giants, and, on a less macrocosmic scale, that Crosshair’s armor has neat paint, all clean lines and sharp edges bordering plastoid and standard issue paint.

It only makes sense, a steady hand demanded by a life behind the trigger, you think quietly, watching Crosshair carefully scrape the excess red paint from his brush on the side of a flat scrap of metal. With only the low hum of the Marauder to fill the silence, you follow his brush as you stand in the armory threshold and simply observe the slow deliberation of an even, unwavering line drawn from a memory even the inhibitor chip could not blur.

Not that it’s a particularly difficult thing to paint, the sharp, stylized edge of a nine. But there is a silent weight to its image, a firm and resonant return in its bold crimson colour, reclaiming its rightful place on his shoulder in amends, if the restless bob of his toothpick says anything.

If you look long enough, it’s like he never left. Like you never lost your legs.

“You’re back early,” Crosshair says, dipping his brush back into the paint squeezed over his makeshift palette.

“The rest wanted to explore, but the humidity was getting to me. And I missed you,” you add, and your heart swells when you hear him laugh softly in return.

“I believe you,” he chuckles. It’s a rare thing to come by, laughter genuine and sweet, even with Crosshair’s return—perhaps, because of his return—but you take it gratefully either way.

Two cups of caf in hand, you push yourself off the doorway and move to join Crosshair at his place on the armory floor. But as you set a foot forward, a bolt of pain laces up your ankle. It’s the kind of pain that precipitates a fall, starting low in the arch of your foot, gaining a momentum that renders you immobile by the time it’s clawed up your thigh and fizzled around the cybernetic plate welded to the base of your spine.

It fells you without warning or remorse, cracking you open with the bone-deep sensation of memory. A single ultra-ionized shot through a modified rifle and silencer, calculated and surgically precise, a one of a kind and the only one you have known.

(It wasn’t his fault.)

You jerk forwards, caf sloshing dangerously close to the rim, and you distantly register the clatter of plastoid across the floor before you feel a shoulder push up from under your arm. Long fingers dig into your side, reminiscent of better days and tender touches shared in the quiet comfort of a bunk, and you pitch unsteadily, eyes squeezed tight enough to see white.

As much as you would like to confirm the certainty of a stable support before you can relax, the lingering dredges of atmospheric humidity and exhaustion of breaking into a high security imperial compound work cruelly against your strength. You can do little but give in.

Your knees buckle beneath you, and you sag against the only person on the ship able to brace your fall. Miraculously, the caf, handles squeezed tight under your white-knuckled grip, remains unspilled.

“I ruined your paint,” you laugh through your teeth, fuzzy black edges slowly receding from your field of vision as you blink your eyes open.

“And I shot you,” Crosshair hisses.

Crosshair lowers you to the floor, and you feel a full-bodied flinch shock through his form as your unmoving legs splay awkwardly over the cold metal. He is quick to take the cups out of your hand, setting them down with a hard clack before he returns his attention to you. You had always thought Echo would be the one on the receiving end of carefully placed touches to coax the pain of surgical scars and rough wiring away.

You never once dreamed it might be you, too.

One arm secured around your shoulders, he reaches down like it’s muscle memory to rub slowly over the scar tissue framing your implant. The scars are fresh, just barely a week old and forever seared over your skin, but guilt, you have found, tends to hasten the learning process, the scrambling compensation.

“It wasn’t your fault,” you sigh, leaning against Crosshair’s chest and dropping your head back against his shoulder.

“I aimed. I pulled the trigger, y/n.” He’s angry, a low, simmering rage held close and bubbling under the hard edge in his voice as his grip tightens around you. You feel it in the faint tremor in his arm, how he holds you tight to his side and silently wills you to stay.

He is angry, but it is not for you.

“You weren't you,” you mumble.

It’s second nature—it always has been, now, simply with pause—to turn your head when he’s nestled up against your back, to lean close, nuzzle into his neck, and ground yourself, ground him, in the silence of touch. Relief floods your chest, warm sunlight dawning over the thorn in your side, when you feel him chase your touch, settling both his arms around your waist and ducking down low to press his chin atop the crown of your head.

Nothing would ever be the same, but this was a start.

“If it wasn’t me,” Crosshair starts, his voice catching on a sputtering inhale, thick with the tangle of words unsaid. He clears his throat, and if you notice the curling edges of a tremor on his tongue, you say nothing. “If it wasn’t me, who else can you blame?”

“I don’t blame anyone,” you say into his skin, lips ghosting over his rapid pulse.

It’s a diplomatic answer. Of course you blame someone—Palpatine, Tarkin, the fact that Crosshair and his brothers, every last one of the clones, had been built around a single, biding initiative that he hadn’t the luck or the chance to resist. You had been sleeping with the enemy even before he knew that he could be the enemy.

But thinking about it makes your head spin. Blame is too hard, too tiring to place when you, yourself, had been sewn into its vast web. So while Crosshair had slept with a bacta patch plastered to his temple, you had rewired your spinal cord and decided to be away with the anger, the resentment, the mornings waking up in tears when you lifted your blanket and barely recognized that you had legs at all.

“Don’t fucking lie,” Crosshair spits, and you feel him shake around you. Anger, such an easy defense. Such a flimsy one.

“I’m not—”

“I hear you cry in the mornings when your cybernetics don’t click; I hear you scream when you try to move and your mind tells you one thing but your legs don’t fucking work because I made a killshot that paralyzed you—”

“And it paralyzed me because you had every chance to put a bolt through my head but you aimed for my back. You were fighting it, Cross,” you counter, voice quivering.

“But it was me. I took that shot, and you pretend like you don’t—like you don’t hate me because I still had my chip. But I remember it, and it was still me, and you have every right to—”

“Cross!” you shout, and he starts hard enough that you feel him jump. You feel blindly for his hand, gripped tight at his own wrist, and squeeze, hard. “I have my legs back. And sometimes they don’t work just right, but all I care about right now is that you’re back. It’s all I’ll ever care about.”

“I find that hard to believe,” he mumbles into your hair, the sudden burst of vitriol tamed and locked away for the moment.

You’re distinctly aware that he itches to push you away. You feel it in the uncertain pause rigid in his movements before he turns his palm to twine his fingers with yours. After all, it’s easier to cope when the object of your crushing guilt is at an arm’s length.

“This is the part where you’re supposed to comfort me, tell me that you missed me too and that I was right, and you say that everything’ll work out, Cross,” you laugh weakly. You gently knock your head against his collar, prodding, urging, anything to break the crushing silence you know haunts him every time he closes his eyes.

Instead, you feel a shuddering sigh against your ear, and Crosshair only dips his head low, hiding his face in your shoulder as his grip tightens around your waist. There is no sardonic quip or playful bite to offer you peace—only slow, mechanical breaths pressed into your skin in a desperate attempt to keep from falling apart altogether. You reach up, gingerly carding your fingers through his hair when you feel that telltale warmth seeping through the fabric of your shirt, salt sharp on your tongue.

“I shot you. I aimed to kill,” Crosshair mumbles, almost hysterical in level calm, the steady veil locking his tense jaw and drawn shoulders in place. “Why are you comforting me?”

“Would you rather I never speak to you again?” No malice in your tone, you shift your weight, bearing down against Crosshair and begging him to move closer. He does.

“It would be more believable if you did,” he mutters, and you catch the tail end of a soft sniff.

“Not really my thing, grudges,” you say. “Especially against the people I love.” Trailing your fingers lower, you slip below his hairline and begin stroking your palm over the back of his neck, bent forward at an unforgiving angle. You wonder how many times he’s curled into himself like this that he can simply sit, penance and grieving, and the ache that seizes your ribs hurts more than your cybernetic misfire.

“After all that,” he finally mumbles, something close to hushed awe in his voice. “You still love.”

Slowly, melting through the numb static crackle, you feel the sensation seeping back into your feet. You could always rebuild your mobility with some careful cerebrospinal implants, seasonal aches and occasional pains be damned, but you could never replace him.

“Of course I do,” you whisper back. Careful to keep the quiet, tremulous peace, you bring your hand down, sliding around the side of his neck to cup his jaw from behind, ignoring the wetness streaked over his skin. “Still loving,” you affirm, voice steady as you thumb over his cheek. “Still loving you.”

It takes a beat of silence, your words lingering in the still air of the armory, but instead of the tense, fraught grief of when your implant had fizzled out, there is warmth, present and forgiving. You know that nothing will ever be the same, but when Crosshair turns his head to press his lips into your palm, you know that you can still try. Like the waking groan of a crashed ship, you will pick up the pieces and power up one more time, again, again, again, as many times as it takes.

Crosshair nuzzles close, quietly basking in your presence as you sit curled together on the armory floor. And at last, his breaths still, slow and deep as the ship hums around you. He’s never been one for words, not even at his fever pitch of disorientation and distress. He doesn’t need to speak for you to know what he means when he clasps your hand again and holds tight, but his voice is a welcome sound all the same.

“Thank you.”

And for a while, that’s how you stay, breathing slowly and clinging to each other like moving apart would mean never coming back. And that’s how it genuinely does feel—the safety in stillness, carving out your own constant in the cosmic entropy of conquest and loss. For a moment, you can simply savor the quiet simplicity of being.

But the universe wills motion, stars colliding and collapsing and breathing new life all over again. So too, do you feel the strength return in lapsing waves to your legs and the coiled fear leach out of Crosshair’s posture.

“Promise me this,” you whisper, just loud enough to rise above the ambient noise of the ship as you curl your toes and feel again, lurching into motion like gears fallen into disrepair. Crosshair rouses behind you, and he sniffs deeply, once, before he presses his cheek to the side of your head—he is listening. “Promise me that we’ll move on.”

“I can’t promise that,” he says after a brief pause, words measured and low. “But I’ll try.”

“That’s good enough for me.”

As much as there are variables scattered through star systems and wreaking havoc wherever they go, so too are there constants pushing back against the chaos, aligning the universe. Like clockwork, when you wake, the stars turn, the gas giants dance, and when you squeeze Crosshair’s hand, he squeezes back.

#anyways if you want something to listen to while you read: we are by lee jin ah #that or: tunnel by colde #i just want him back hsdf #crosshair x reader #the bad batch x reader #yaej.writes

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missymurphy1985 · 3 years

Text

Nobody's Perfect (part8)

Warnings - injury / surgery / smut

Also - I have zero medical training so if I've got something wrong, please let me know!!

Taglist @queenshelby @margoo0 @being-worthy @peakyscillian @ntmynouis @janelongxox @elenavampire21 @noctvrnalmoth @ysmmsy @cloudofdisney @lauren-raines-x @namelesslosers

You arrived at the hospital with Cillian's parents and a nurse ushered you into a private room. Sitting the three of you down, she took a deep breath, making you nervous.

"He had a seizure around an hour ago. He's been taken down for surgery again, we'll know more afterwards. It looks like a ruptured spleen, it could have been a stray fragment of glass or the sheer blunt force of the stabbing, we can't tell just yet. It's a significant bleed into his abdominal cavity, Mrs Murphy we need to perform a blood transfusion." His mum started to cry, his Dad holding her. You just felt sick.

"How long before he's out of surgery? Will he be okay?" You asked, shakily.

"We don't know yet. Once he's out of surgery we'll know more, but for now.. it could go either way. I'm so sorry..." You took the nurses hand and squeezed it, thanking her. You could see her welling up a little too.

It had been hours. How many, you didn't know but the sun was up before you knew any more. You were waiting in the hallway on the phone to your mum when the double doors behind you opened. You saw the trolley being pushed through, with nurses either side, and a body covered in wires and tubes. You choked when you saw his Peaky haircut under it all.

"Mum he's back from surgery.. I'll call you later okay? Love you.."

You desperately wanted to follow him into the room but you held back, instead going into where his mum and dad were waiting. It was then, you burst into tears. His Dad stood and wrapped his arms round you.

"Stop trying to be strong in front of us y/n..."

"This is all my fault... All of it..." His dad squeezed you tight and shook his head.

"I'll hear no more of that, understood?" He was stern, but still gentle with it. The doctor came into the room.

"He's okay for now. We've sedated him to allow his body to recover. His spleen ruptured and bled out into his abdominal cavity. Luckily we've managed to stop the bleeding and save his spleen. He's had a significant blood loss, so we've given him a transfusion. He'll be out of it for a few hours, but you're welcome to come see him." The three of you walked through the doors into his room and his mum was beside herself.

She took his hand, careful of the cannula, and held it. His dad squeezed his eldest son's shoulder. You stood at the foot of the bed, watching the love of your life lie still, wires in him, a mask over his face, machines beeping everywhere, a massive bandage around his middle.

"I'll call his sisters and brother.. let them know what happened?" You asked his mum, before his dad turned to you and shook his head. You felt useless, you needed to be doing something.

"No, I'll call them. You stay here with him. Talk to him - he can hear you."

"How do you know?"

"He's squeezed my hand a couple of times. He knows we're here. Just too tired to wake up yet."

He left the room to make the calls, and you took his hand, kissing his head lightly. His dad was right, he squeezed your hand a little.

"Hey you... You trying to scare me away again? No chance Murphy, I'm not going anywhere." Another gentle squeeze.

You knew he wouldn't wake up for a while, but you were happy to wait, just talking to him. Even the Peaky cast had sent video messages so you could play them to him.

You were dozing in the chair, exhausted from no sleep for what felt like days, when he woke up.

"Y/n...." You'd never woken up so quickly. Instantly you were by his side and you pressed the button for a nurse.

"Right here, I'm right here. It's okay.."

"Did I get hit by a truck?" He smiled. The nurse came in and removed the mask from his face. Checking over everything as you stood back. Once she'd finished, you took your phone out to call his parents. They'd headed home to feed the dogs and get some sleep. Hanging up, you kissed his lips gently.

"Stop trying to scare me away Murphy..."

"I'm getting out of here and you and I are going away. Somewhere just us, yeah?" You nodded, unable to form words. Your tears slipping down your cheeks as he brushed them away with his hand, his own eyes watering a little.

*************************************************************

He was in hospital for a week recovering, then another week at his mum's being fussed over and interviewed by police about the stabbing. You were now at his holiday home in Kerry, a full month after Silé's wedding, relaxing on the patio in the warm July sunshine. You'd arrived a week earlier, and had no plans to leave any time soon. Your family had even sent get well cards and gifts through the post for him, even though they hadn't even met him yet.

You got off the phone to Orla as Cillian came outside. Still limping a little but getting stronger every day. The sea air definitely helping.

"Liane's been charged. Attempted murder, Cill."

"She came very fucking close y/n."

You watched him sit in the lounger next to you and he took your hand in his, interlocking your fingers and leaning back.

"The press are going wild. They've found out everything - Liane having Mark's baby, the stabbing, and us. They're desperate for a statement, my agent keeps calling me."

"They can wait. I'm alive, that's all they need to know. The rest of it isn't important. Come here.." he pulled you to sit across his legs. You hesitated before you sat down but he nodded and you relaxed a little. You could feel his erection under your shorts and he pulled you closer to kiss him.

"How long has it been?"

"Long enough... You sure you're okay?"

"Shut up y/l/n and ride me..." You didn't need any further encouragement, and your shorts were off followed by his, discarded on the floor next to you. His hard cock, already leaking, sprung up against his stomach, the scar across it already healing well.

"No one can see us out here, right?" You asked, suddenly remembering your neighbours.

"I don't care if they can.." you lifted your body over his and sunk down on him easily - you'd been aching for him for a month, hesitant to initiate anything in case you hurt him, but he'd clearly been aching for you too, his hands on your hips moving you up and down his shaft.

"Fuck... I missed this...." He groaned, finding your lips with his before you leaned back and rocked against him slowly.

He found your clit with his thumb and rubbed circles over it, making you squirm against him and grind quicker. This wasn't going to last long, both of you knew it, he needed you to come and quickly. He brought your hand down to rub yourself as his hands rested on your waist again, rocking you faster against him. He wanted desperately to pound up into you but the discomfort in his stomach stopped him, allowing you to take the lead.

"I'm close..." You whimpered, a powerful orgasm building in your stomach, before throwing your head back and panting his name as you came over him.

"I'm gonna come... Y/n...." His release quickly followed, hot streams of cum flowing into you in bursts, leaking out onto his thighs. You rested your head on his, both catching your breath.

"When did you stop taking the pill?" He asked.

"Two weeks ago..."

"That did it, I've got a good feeling."

"Quite possibly Mr Murphy..."

"You sure you want this? It's not too soon?"

"I think we've gone well past the 'too soon' part of our relationship, don't you think?" You laughed.

"Very true. You're going to look incredible with my baby inside you..." His hands found your belly and he rubbed it gently, making your heart flutter.

"Love you..."

"Love you more."

********************************************************

Six months later

"I'm sorry, Mr Murphy, the chances of you conceiving naturally are extremely low." The doctors words cut him like a knife. His head fell back and he unclasped your hand to run it over his face. You both knew there was a potential problem - after all, he'd be been trying for a baby with Liane for years without any success, so there was always the possibility he would struggle with you too. He didn't want to wait a year to find out, so he'd paid for a private sperm count test.

"We do have a few options here though," the doctor spoke again. Cillian looked to you, you nodded in return.

"Cill, it's okay. We prepared for this, didn't we?" You took his hand again and looked back at the doctor.

"We have IVF, as many rounds as you need. I have leaflets on how it'll all work right here." Cillian took the leaflets and shook the doctors hand, before walking out of the room. You apologised and thanked the doctor before chasing Cillian down the hall.

"Stop, for god's sake!" You shouted, making him pause and turn to you.

"It's one thing thinking there's a problem y/n, it's something else entirely to have it confirmed..." He leaned against the wall and looked at the IVF leaflets. "What if it doesn't work?"

"We have to at least try, don't we?" You took his face in your hands and pulled him in to kiss him. "We'll make a father out of you yet, Cillian Murphy."

#cillian smut #cillian murphy #cillian x fem!reader #cillian murphy x reader

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mxvladdy · 3 years

Note

That Diavolo angst was perfect. The best, most high quality cheese at the end. Domestic fluff galore. Decadence straight from the source of your hands.

Could we get some Diavolo fluff with an MC who ran away from home(of lamentation) that wants to spend the night at the castle because the brothers were being dismissive [in tsundere and sibling fun-poking ways] but it just kept reminding MC of their abusive home life in the most innocuous ways

i.e. Satan mocking the books they like for being "too whimsical/fanciful". Asmo making a few too many degrading comments on their skin/hair care or lack thereof (like, tell me the RIGHT way to do it then! If I'm such a fuck up on my own). Mammon and Belphie.... being Mammon and Belphie. Levi gate keeping them from devildom equivalent interests because they're "not a real fan if they don't [x]"

A/N: Awww you spoil me with compliments ~^.^~! I hope this is to your liking!

It was late and Diavolo was exhausted. Diavolo looks down at his over inundated schedule, black and red ink covering the pages, barely any of the original white pages could be seen now. Squinting he chuckles at the elegant handwriting of his butler. He had quite literally penciled in two hours for sleep. A sweet gesture for the evening. It was unfortunate he had wasted half of that time going over in his last meeting of the night.

The meeting was supposed to be just a brief update on the expansion of the kingdom out west. New trading routes with the colonies and lands not yet in his domain. But, as usual, the evening turned to his exchange program and he always had time to talk about his pet project, even if his schedule didn’t. Each of the brothers was adamant that the program was going well. Better than they had hoped in fact, they all warmed up to you much to his delight, even saying they were treating you like you were part of the family.

That should have been his first clue. He knew the brothers and how they acted with family. Perhaps it was because he was exhausted that the comment went over his head, perhaps it was his own ego telling him everything was going great. He brushed aside the remarks to conclude the meeting and get to his rooms without a second thought. Diavolo practically vibrating with excitement at the hot bath waiting for him. Maybe he could nab some chocolate from Barbatos’s secret stash too. With those sweet thoughts filling his head and his eyes buried in his agenda he overlooks you standing by his door. He skids to a stop only after almost knocking you off your feet with his massive bulk. “My apologies, I did not see you there.” He steadies you looking you over for any injuries. “Do you need something?” He forces an energetic smile onto his face to hide his exhaustion and slight irritation at yet another snag in his evening.

He watches you shuffle in place for a moment, eyes downcast. “Sorry-sorry, it’s silly, but could I stay with you for a bit? I don’t want to be at the house.” Your voice warbles, hands coming up to wipe at fresh tears. Diavolo’s hearts sink, his previous exhaustion taking a backseat to you.

He beckons you into his room without a second thought. “What’s wrong? What happened?” You shake your head rubbing harder at your face, your skin getting more and more agitated. He purrs deep in his chest pulling you close on instinct to comfort you and for you to stop agitating your skin. You bury your face in his uniform.

“It’s stupid really, I don’t know why I’m upset.” You laugh. The weak sound getting caught on a wet hiccup. “I just can’t handle the teasing right now.” Anger begins to brew in his gut, the brothers, you were obviously talking about them. Had he been to lose with his leash? Did they lie to him?

He leads you to his favorite chair by the window and crouches next to you. “Explain, please? If I need to correct this I will.” He listens, letting you vent and get your frustration out. He never had siblings nor any real family to relate your experiences with like you did, but he understood the mounting weight of words. There was only so much one could take before even the strongest shoulders crumble. “I’m sorry they hurt you.” He reaches to squeeze your knee in reassurance. “I could have Barbatos explain the matter to them, if you allow it.”

You sniff and give him a watery smile. “Thank you but I have to express this myself- I just needed some time away from them.” You cover his large hand with both of yours and squeeze back. “Thanks for listening.” Diavolo rumbles warmly, eyes locking with your warm hands.

“Anytime mi giglio,” He leans back onto his heels. “If I’m honest, their little jabs are utter baseless garbage.”

“Yeah?” You chuckle wiping your nose with his gifted handkerchief. “You don’t think I’m some boring sentimental human?” He shakes his head letting out a dismissive snort. You are beautiful and if Asmo was too blinded by his own standards and routines then it was his loss. He loves the character and different textures of your body. He loves your permanent laugh lines and the way your skin by your eyes crinkle when you smile. The way your nose scrunches when you are happy just makes him glow when in your presence.

Even the tiny scars and marks on your skin told stories that his body never could be able to do. He envied the way human lives could be seen through their bodies, the stories their bodies tell with or without them knowing was amazing. Demons, with their smooth lines, tight hard skin, and hidden agendas couldn’t do that. The idea of “gate-keeping” as you called it was a completely new contempt to him, and sounded ridiculous too. It was counterintuitive to his whole program. If you enjoyed the programs and culture then why were the brothers chastising you over it? He makes a mental note to find time off to take you to enjoy some of the sights of his Devildom without the brother's judgment.

“No. You- you,” He waves his free hand in the air trying to find words that won’t embarrass him. “You are fascinating and so unashamed of your interests. The life you live is unlike any demon or fallen angel could ever comprehend. If they tease you on such trivial things then that speaks to a fault in their character, not yours.” He lets them hang in the air between you, not wanting the meaning to be lost in useless banter.

The silence between you was comfortable and Diavolo basked in it. Normally silence was always tense around him, everyone always waiting for a decree or punishment. Right now though there is none of that. “Wise words, where did you get them?” You move away to pat at your blotchy face, trying to wipe away the tear stains.

Diavolo huffs at the loss of your soft touch. “Little D.” He jokes, voice deadpan. You laugh turning to face him. “There we are!” He cracks a small grin already feeling your mood relax. Leaning in close he wipes away a stray tear. “Feeling a bit better? Perhaps we can-” Your phone buzzes from your discarded bag making you jump apart. You rush over digging through the bag to grab the blasted device looking at the rapid-fire amount of texts and calls all come in at once. “The brothers?” Diavolo sighs cursing their interruption. He can see the long streams of text bubbles scroll by in the reflection of your damp eyes.

“Yeah.” You look up from your screen. “They are wondering where I am.” Diavolo grimaces not even trying to hide his feelings. You glance back at the phone with little interest, then shrug powering it off. “I think I can let them stew in it for a bit, don’t you? Mind if I crash here for the night?” The Devil perks up, gold eyes following the trajectory of your phone as you toss it. The decorative case disappearing into the cushions.

“I couldn’t agree more.” He claps his hands together in excitement. “Come! Read me one of the stories Satan found jejune. I think I have a few Devildom children's stories on a shelf somewhere to share too!” Diavolo gets up already deciding which room you will stay in for the evening. Perhaps if he plays his cards right you could stay the weekend.

#request #obey me #obey me diavolo #he a good a boy

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writing-on-standby · 3 years

Text

time of dreaming (part three)

Summary: Soulmates meet in their dreams from the age of 16 until they meet for the first time. Once they meet, they share their physical and emotional feelings with one another until they die. Tom Holland was just starting to learn how to take over the family business and ignore the urge to find his soulmate when everything changes and he’s found face to face with you. You’ve always wanted to meet your soulmate and spend the rest of your life with them until you actually meet yours and life changes forever.

Warnings: Drug use, swearing, alcohol, angst, mentions of scars/injury (not self harm)

part three: coping mechanisms

A few days after your last interaction with Tom and Harrison, you were discharged from the hospital. Jazmin had taken you home and spent the week after at your house, helping you. She didn’t ask for details about what happened, but word was quickly spreading that you were assaulted in a drug deal gone wrong. Wrong place, wrong time. And you didn’t have the heart to say otherwise.

After a week of time off, however, Jazmin had to go back to work, leaving you alone to take care of the hundreds of stitches you had that kept your chest closed. Your arm was still in a sling and wandering around the house was difficult. There was a constant dull ache in your stomach where Luke O’Malley had stabbed you. You didn’t know what happened to him and you had no idea what happened to Tom and Harrison, but you didn’t care. At least that’s what you told yourself.

Nothing was more heartbreaking, however, than to feel the hands of another woman on Tom, exploring his body and getting to know him. You’d wake up in the middle of the night, tasting cigarettes and whiskey while feeling the lips of someone on your skin. You’d try to block out the sensation of Tom sleeping with another girl, but nothing worked, not even you drinking.

Eventually, one night that Tom was getting frisky with another woman, you looked at the medication you were given to help ease the pain you were in. You took a deep, calming breath, determined to get this feeling out of your head. Without another thought, you popped two painkillers and laid down on your bed. A small smile lifted your cheeks as you could only focus on the comfort of the bed.

Maybe it wasn’t the healthiest coping mechanism, but in that moment, you were desperate to feel anything other than Tom fucking another woman. You nestled deeper into your bed while your body felt light and airy. You slowly closed your eyes and smiled. This was working. For once, you had a way to numb Tom’s feelings and the sensations he felt and for the next six hours, you’d finally pretend he wasn’t your soulmate.

Two weeks and some bad decisions later, you were out of pain killers and your body was screaming in pain. You groaned and crawled out of bed. The stitches had come out of your chest, but the mark was still there; angry and harsh against your soft skin. You had been kicked out of the internship program due to your incident and while the director denied it was because if that, you couldn’t hide the nagging reminder of the scar that somehow showed through any article of clothing you tried.

Tom’s feelings and sensations weren’t making things any better, either. If he wasn’t hooking up with random women, he was drinking whiskey at the worst time of day and smoking cigarettes like he would die without them. On days you tried to be productive, Tom would get into fights. His knuckles constantly ached as did his throat. Having him as your soulmate was insufferable and when you got a particularly bad cramp during your period, you couldn’t help the petty joy you felt, knowing he was also suffering.

You dragged yourself out of the house. The shirt you wore showed off the jagged edge of of the scar you had. The worst part of having the injuries you had wasn’t the pain, but the combination of a massive scar on your chest and the need to wear specific shirts to accommodate to the sling you had to wear. You sighed, trying to ignore the sense of dread seeing the injuries filled you with, but nothing worked.

You walked out of your dingy apartment and onto the streets of London. You were trying to find a way to get more pain killers, but the doctors had already refused your request. As much as you hated yourself for even entertaining the idea of illegally obtaining drugs, you couldn’t go another day with the feelings you had. Luckily for you, you lived in a sketchy part of town and happened to know where the drug deals went down.

Not even caring that your soulmate was a glorified drug dealer or that what you were about to do was definitely illegal, you approached the dealer who stood in the alley by your flat.

“Hey pretty thing,” the dealer spoke, gruffly. His face was ragged and covered with stubble. His blue eyes weren’t menacing like you always pictured a drug dealer to be. “Need something to help with that?” The dealer gestured to your injuries with a cigarette dancing between his finger tips. “Since you’re so pretty, I’ll give you a discount.”

How kind of him, you thought to yourself, sarcastically. You sighed and nodded, slowly. You ignored the spade shaped pin on his chest even though you knew it indicated who he belonged to - the Hollands. “How much?”

The dealer chuckled and told you his price. It wasn’t bad and you handed him the cash. With a sickeningly sweet smile, he handed you a bottle full of painkillers. “Don’t take them all at once, sweetheart.”

You ignored the smirk on his face as you turned and started walking away. Your heart was racing and your body was warm. You ignored every part of your instincts telling you to drop the painkillers and run, but you needed it. You tried to slow your breathing, knowing that Tom would be able to sense your anxiety. What did you care, though? He didn’t give two shits about you. He had made that perfectly clear.

Tom stood in his office talking with Harrison. It was the end of the day and they were waiting for the report on the sales his drug dealers had. It was a typical routine that happened almost every day. Tom filled two glasses with whiskey and grinned as he handed it to his best friend. Things were starting to look up.

Over the last three weeks since he had met his soulmate, he’d only felt the soreness in your shoulder along with a dull ache in his stomach. He shrugged off the pain, easily having worse injuries in his life. However, when your period came around, Tom struggled. While your cramps weren’t awful, Tom never had to get used to dealing with them and he simply found it way too uncomfortable.

As the days went on, Tom noticed you feeling more lightheaded and less pain came from your shoulder and stomach. Tom ignored it, assuming that you had finally healed up the wounds. He had tried to ignore any thoughts or emotions about you. It was too hard to think about the look on your face when he last saw you. Your eyes were wide with pain and a frown sat firmly on your lips. It was hard to process the fact that his soul was forever connected to another person and now he had a face to match with the sensation.

A swift knock sounded on Tom’s office door. Tom called for the person to enter and turned to see who it was. Jason, the drug dealer who was in charge of the southern part of the city, walked in. His blue eyes beamed and the stubble on his face added an extra disheveled look to the man. Tom greeted him and he nodded.

“How was the day? Did you make any sales?” Harrison asked, arms crossed. Harrison kept track of the finances in the mob. He knew that Tom was shit with numbers.

Jason chuckled and leaned back. “There was this one bird who came today. Poor thing,” he muttered with his thick cockney accent. He shook his head and lit up a cigarette. “Had her arm in a sling and a nasty scar.”

Harrison and Tom looked at each other. Without saying a word, they both were on the same page. “What arm was in a sling?”

“Where was the scar?” Harrison added, looking at Jason, intently.

Jason looked at the two of them for a brief second. Tom knew this sounded insane, but he didn’t care. Why would you be buying drugs? Jason took a deep drag off his cigarette and sighed, letting all the smoke blow out of him. “Her right arm was in the sling and the scar was right on her sternum. Looked like it went further, but the shirt covered it. What’s the big deal with her?”

Tom shook his head. “Jesus fuck,” he groaned. “Jason, if that woman buys from you ever again, call me as soon as she leaves. Got it?”

Jason furrowed his brows. “Can I ask why?”

Tom chuckled, but there was no humor in his laugh. He shook his head and threw his empty whiskey glass at the wall. It shattered right behind Jason, causing the drug dealer to jump to his feet. Most people had grown to fear Tom and despite his distaste for that power, he used it to his advantage more often than not. “No you fucking can’t,” Tom shouted. “Get the fuck out of my office.”

Jason walked out of the office without another word, leaving Tom and Harrison alone. Harrison looked at Tom in disbelief. Despite the two of them being best friends, Tom had grown distant from Harrison. “Tom,” he whispered. “What’s going on in your head?”

Tom shook his head, trying to ignore the massive amounts of guilt he was feeling. Most nights, before he went to sleep, he’d feel fear and anxiety build up in your bones. He felt you shake awake from nightmares in a cold terror. Tom could feel the ache still present in your body and worst of all, he could feel every time you took drugs. It just took you buying them illegally from one of his drug dealers to finally face the truth. Tom knew that this was a new behavior. In fact, he felt your anxiety earlier today, but assumed it was something normal, not a drug deal. The guilt was crawling into Tom’s lungs and nestling itself firmly on his chest. It was his fault that you were now breaking the law and abusing drugs. “It’s my fault,” he sighed.

“No, it’s not, Tom,” Harrison spoke, confidently. He took a step closer to Tom, but Tom shook his head.

“Don’t fucking lie to me, Harrison.” Tom looked at the open office doors and took a deep breath. He closed his eyes and tried to think of his father. In moments like this, Tom could always count on his father to help him get his thoughts in order.

“I know you’re excited that you met your soulmate, Tom, but you cannot meet her. You know that you can’t, right?”

Tom took a bite of his cereal and nodded. Tom was getting better at focusing on the future of his mob rather than the vague-faced woman he saw in his dreams. “I know, dad.”

“Good,” he sighed. Tom’s father was always loving and encouraging to the boys, but when it came to soulmates, he wouldn’t budge. Tom knew that the distaste for soulmates was because of what happened with his mother, but Tom never dared to mention such a thing to his dad.

“Dad, what if I accidentally meet her?”

Tom avoided his dad’s cold stare from the other side of the table. It was a genuine question, on Tom’s part. He knew that meeting his soulmate wasn’t allowed, but what if she happened to be in the same store one day? Or what if she was a cop that he ran into one day? Tom’s dad finally sighed and shook his head. “Tom, you won’t meet her. And if you do, then you’ll start feeling her every thought, feeling, and emotion. That makes you weak, Tom. You can’t let yourself be weak. Not when you belong to this family and you have this job.”

Tom nodded at the bowl of cereal in front of him. His dad had been preparing him for the lifestyle that he was expected to continue, but Tom was still not ready to shut out normal emotions in the way that his father expected him to. Tom tried to ignore the nagging feeling he had in the back of his throat that meeting you in your dreams as frequently as he did was worse than actually meeting you. Tom had already grown attached to the way you laughed at his serious tone or the way you’d be able to tell when he didn’t want to talk about meaningless things. He was attached to the way you were so easily there for him, even when he was being a relentless asshole. Tom couldn’t help but feel like he was already breaking your heart despite only knowing each other for a few weeks. And even then, you didn’t even know what the other one looked like. Tom looked up at his dad who raised his eyebrows. Tom knew that his dad was expecting him to agree and to show submission to his father’s request. Tom sighed, ignoring the soul crushing guilt he felt when he slowly nodded at his father. “Okay, dad.”

You walked back to your flat and shut the door with a sigh. Your hands were shaking as you popped open the pill vile and took two pills. At this point, your body was so used to taking the pills that two weren’t enough for you, but you weren’t sure if there was a difference in illegal pain killers and legal pain killers. You took a deep breath, trying to ignore the overwhelming sense of guilt that you could feel coming from Tom. Your first instinct was to find him, hold him, and comfort him. After a few seconds you shook your head in disgust. If Tom gave a single shit about you, he’d come over every time you woke up with tears streaming down your face because of nightmares. If Tom cared about you, he would check up on you every time he felt you get high. If Tom cared, he wouldn’t sleep with random women nearly every day. If Tom didn’t care, why did you?

You ignored the ache in your heart that was now because of your own thoughts. Instead, you focused on the way your body felt lighter with each step you took. You focused on the soft fabric of your shirt and the way the rug under your feet felt. You sighed, drowsily, as the pain killers slowly took effect on your body. You flopped onto the couch and felt your body sink into the plush cushions. You turned on the TV, planning to watch some trashy reality while you enjoyed your high, but your phone ringing caught you off guard. The phone number wasn’t recognized, but you didn’t care enough to worry if it was something serious. You silenced the call without another thought.

The phone started ringing, again, however. You groaned and silenced it again, not wanting to talk to anyone. If it was that important, they could leave a message, you reasoned with yourself. The phone rang for a third time, and you felt anger prick at your cheeks and burn into your chest. You suddenly put the sensation with the incessant calling and realized that it was Tom calling you. Tom was calling you and you ignoring him was pissing him off. You smirked at this realization and chuckled. Before you could think of any reason why Tom would be calling you, you shut your phone off and turned the volume of the TV louder. You popped open the pill container you were given and took a third. With the smile still lazily spreading across your cheeks, you walked over to the kitchen and poured yourself a glass of wine. Without thinking, you guzzled the whole glass and poured another. “Fuck you, Tom Holland,” you muttered to yourself, as if toasting to this statement. You raised the glass to your lips and took another drink, already feeling sick.

Your stomach was flipping and lurching, but you didn’t care. All you could focus on was the fact that you were feeling a cigarette burning your throat and the warmth of Tom’s anger. You were pleased with yourself for dragging these feelings out of Tom. It was high fucking time that he was suffering because of you just as much as you were because of him. You finished the second glass, forcing the alcohol to burn every inch of your throat and stomach. You knew you were going to be sick, but the thought of making Tom feel your suffering and pain was too glorifying for you. You filled a third glass and took a drink as you stumbled into the living room with drunken giggles. Maybe you didn’t care so much about the scar you now held forever, or the fact that your future was put on hold because of Tom. Maybe you could pretend for a small minute that everything was okay.

You flopped on the couch, spilling the wine on your shirt, but all you could do was giggle. You were growing more tired and sick, but you couldn’t let yourself be bothered. All you could do was chuckle, lazily. You forced your eyes to stay as open as they could, but the alcohol mixing with the pain killers was making you so incredibly drowsy. It didn’t matter, though. You could never sleep, lately.

The last few weeks, you would wake up in a cold sweat, thinking of the man who held you against him and slashed your chest open. You hadn’t slept a full night since the assault, but the drugs were helping. You smiled at the thought of being able to sleep for a few hours without seeing or hearing that man. Maybe one day, you’d sleep through the night without the help of drugs, but for now, you were medicating yourself. What else was there to do?

Before you could stand up to fill a fourth glass of wine, your apartment door busted open. Your reflexes were slowed and your logic was out the window. You stood up and wobbled back and forth, trying to balance yourself. Ignoring the smallest rational voice in the back of your brain telling you that it was Tom, you still walked towards the door. You stumbled and peered your head around the corner to see Tom and Harrison both standing there. Anger filled your bones as you looked at their dumb faces. You could see Tom wobbling slightly, but he wasn’t nearly as affected by you. You stumbled into their view and threw the wine glass at Tom as best as you could. It missed his head, narrowly, and shattered at his feet.

Tom whipped his head to glare at you. “What the fuck are you doing?”

You chuckled. “Fuck you, Tom Holland,” you slurred. A laugh erupted out of your diaphragm, even though you knew this situation was far from funny, but this was all you could bring yourself to do in this moment. You shrugged at the boy. His brown eyes were concerned and his eyebrows were knitted, but the drugs in your system blocked his feelings from you. Tom took a step closer to you and you flinched backwards, causing you to trip over the rug behind you. Your ass hit the ground with a pathetic thud and Tom walked over to you. He knelt beside you and helped you up. “Get the fuck off me,” you whimpered as tears slipped out of your eyes. An uncontrollable sadness was washing through your veins and you knew it was yours. It was the sadness over your lost career, your lost soulmate, and the weight of the trauma that you’d experienced in your life.

Tom helped you sit on the couch as he pursed his lips. You could see the fear and the guilt dancing along his eyebrows. He shook his head as he wiped a tear from your cheek. He pushed the hair off of your face and slowly rubbed your back. The last thing you wanted right now was to be comforted by Tom, but you couldn’t ignore the ache in your soul to just be with Tom. “Why are you doing this?”

You sniffled as the world kept shifting around you. The alcohol was fully hitting you and all you could do was accept it. “I can’t sleep; I can’t eat. I have nothing. All I can think of is…is…him,” you sputtered. “All I can think of is the fear and the smell of him. I can’t sleep without seeing him and I can’t eat without feeling the knife against my chest. I can’t function with you sleeping around with other women. I can’t escape this-this anger and sadness.” You wiped your eyes, roughly and shook your head. “You’re not here because you care. You’re here to make sure I don’t fuck with your mob or the cops.” Your lips curled in a sneer as you spit on the ground. The more you talked, the more saliva filled your mouth. Or maybe it was the tears that were now uncontrollably falling from your eyes that were filling your mouth. It didn’t matter to you, not right now. “I won’t fuck with anything. I’m just trying to keep my head above water.”

Tom’s heart was breaking at the sight of you. The scar was clearly visible and tears were freely falling down your cheeks, but you were still speaking your mind. He knew that the universe made you his soulmate because you weren’t afraid to speak your mind to him. “Love, let’s get you into some pj’s and get some rest, okay?”

“What’s the point,” you spat. “I don’t sleep anyway.”

“C’mon,” he ushered, softly. He helped you stand and walked you towards the bedroom. You didn’t fight him as he wrapped his arms around you waist and you certainly didn’t fight him when he held you close to his side. He helped you with every stumble and wobble, but his grip never wavered.

Once in your bedroom, Tom held you up as you grabbed some sweatpants and a loose t-shirt. He covered his eyes as you changed, but his hand was still softly at your side. Maybe it was the drugs or the alcohol that was lowering your ability to think clearly. Two hours ago, you would’ve punched Tom so hard in his face, but in this moment, as he took care of you, you couldn’t feel the anger anymore. You could feel his guilt and his sadness, but you didn’t feel angry anymore. His brown eyes were so concerned as he helped you lay on your bed. Without asking, he took off his heavy knit sweater and climbed into bed, next to you.

“I’m so mad at you,” you whimpered as tears fell out of your eyes. “I can’t fucking stand you.”

Tom could hear the weakness in your tone and knew that you were trying so hard to come off menacing. He couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle as he heard Harrison sweep up the broken glass and tidy up the flat. “I know, princess,” he whispered. “Let me try to help you sleep, okay? You need to sleep, love.” Your eyelids slipped shut as he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’ll be right here. I promise.”

You couldn’t fight it anymore. You let the wave of sleep wash over your exhausted body. Tom’s arms were tightly wrapped around you, filling you with a sense of security. You listened to his steady heartbeat and felt your soul rest, finally.

And for the first time in weeks, you finally slept through the night without any nightmares.

part four

#tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fan fiction #tom holland au #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fic #tom holland #mob!tom holland #mob!tom #au fanfic #au fanfiction #au #soulmate au #soulmate fanfic #soulmate fanfiction #soulmate!tom holland #soulmate!tom #writer #writing #writerscommunity

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flowerypeaches · 3 years

Text

Dealmaker

Trembling hands caressed a cold face.

“Oh, Sidekick.” Hero said, tears pricking their eyes. “What happened?”

For the past couple months, Sidekick had been begging Hero nonstop to be assigned solo patrols. Hero eventually gave in, if only to stop their incessant pestering, and gave Sidekick a small neighbourhood to start off with. They had been doing so well, that Hero eventually gave them larger and larger areas to watch over. Everything had been going fine. Until today.

When Sidekick failed to check in, Hero immediately knew something was wrong. They ran out into the night, looking in every side street and roof for information.

It was after four grueling hours that Hero found Sidekick, dead in an alley and cold to the touch.

They didn’t believe their eyes, but when Hero got close enough to see the familiar freckles that peppered Sidekick's skin, they broke down. Hero knelt over Sidekick, tears dripping down their chin. Guilt clutching their chest with an iron grip. If only they said no when Sidekick asked for solo patrols, or kept them in the smaller areas, or decided to join them for the night, instead of taking a break.

Mind full of what-ifs, Hero didn’t notice the sudden drop in temperature.

“Looks like they’ve seen better days.”

Hero shot up, startled out of their grief, and hastily rubbed away their tears.

“W-who’s there?”

They searched the damp walls and cracked pavement of the alley, illuminated only by the yellow street lamps, for the owner of the voice.

But no one was there.

Did they imagine it?

A cold laugh bounced off the walls.

Hero spun, fists raised. Eyes darting around, they found a figure hidden in the alley’s deep shadows.

“I see you. Come out!” Hero thought they saw a glint of red. A trick of the light, surely.

The figure didn’t move.

There was only one reason why someone would stick around a corpse without calling for help.

“Did you do this? Did you kill Sidekick?” Hero said, unable to hide the tremble in their voice.

The figure finally spoke. “Afraid not, Hero. The one responsible would be your darling Villain.”

Hero narrowed their eyes. Villain was a lot of things, but murderer wasn’t one of them. It was one of the few reasons why Hero let Sidekick patrol alone; Villain’s territory was safer than most crime-riddled areas. Supposed to be.

They shook their head, “You’re wrong, Villain would never kill Sidekick.”

“Not intentionally, no.” The figure moved, still lingering in the shadows, and Hero could see that the figure was incredibly tall. As if they could reach out and grab Hero from where they stood. “But when one's nemesis has the strength to lift cars, it's easy to forget that not everyone can handle the same amount of power. With how often you two fight, I’m surprised this hasn’t happened sooner.”

The hairs on Hero’s neck stood on end. This person, whoever they were, was making it up. They had to be. “You’re lying. I don’t know why, but you are. Why else would you wait around a-a…” Hero spared a glance at Sidekick. “Why else would you stay here?”

“To find you.”

Hero stepped back, heart pounding. Their instincts told them to run, to get as far away as fast as possible. But running meant leaving Sidekick, and Hero wouldn’t forgive themself if they did. Couldn’t.

The figure didn’t elaborate. Gesturing to Sidekick, instead. “Do you think any run-of-the-mill villain could inflict wounds like that?”

If the figure wanted to kill them, they would have done it while Hero’s back was to them. They took a deep breath, and knelt back down to Sidekick, still facing the figure, just in case. Hero turned their gaze down, eyeing the mess of cuts and bruises that was Sidekick’s torso. Analyzing their injuries for evidence, until...

Hero grit their teeth.

They’d recognize those stupid miniscule marks anywhere. After all, their own body was covered in them. Little scars that came from a direct hit of Villain’s power.

Mock sympathy dripped from the figure’s voice like oil slick. “And when your dear old Villain realized what they’d done, they ran.”

“T-they wouldn’t.”

“Why not? They’re a villain. Not taking responsibility is in their nature.”

They didn’t argue.

“Do you think Villain would tell you the truth? If you confronted them?” Hero could hear the smile in the figure's voice. “No, knowing them, they’d do everything in their power to convince you otherwise. That those unmistakable marks were from someone else. That they were being set up.

“And, when they finally realize it’s hopeless, they’d beg you for forgiveness. Maybe even offering to turn themself in. All because they couldn’t bear to lose you, their darling nemesis who makes them feel whole. They have such a big soft spot for you, it’s sickening.”

Hero certainly felt sick. Their tears returned, blurring the world around them. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I think we can help each other.”

“I don’t want revenge.” Hero said, though there was no conviction in their words.

“No, but I can bring Sidekick back.”

Hero’s head snapped up, ready to tell them off, when the figure walked out of the darkness.

Street lamps illuminated something that could only be described as otherworldly. Wisps of smoke trailed behind them like coattails. Piercing eyes that burned like fire. They were a walking shadow, consuming any light that got too close.

Hero froze. “You're not, you can’t, t-this isn’t real.”

The figure, creature, stalked closer, until they were looming over Hero. They could now see just how tall they truly were. Like someone grabbed their head and feet and pulled and pulled. Stretched too thin and too tall and too close. Hero fought the urge to flee.

They reached down and grabbed Hero's jaw with their massive hands, forcing Hero to their feet. “I'm as real as your friend’s corpse on the ground.” Flecks of ash flew around them, the smell of smoke filled the air.

“What are you?”

They sighed. “Demon has such nasty connotations. But, I suppose that would be the closest definition you humans understand.”

Hero winced as an ember landed on their skin.

“No matter, I have something to offer, and you have something I desire.” Hero felt the demon’s nails dig into their cheeks as they were forced to their tiptoes. “What do you say, Hero? Care to make a deal?”

They stared into the demon’s eyes, seeing visions of hellfire. Whispers of agony in their ear. Brimstone choking their lungs. Pain and suffering swallowing them whole.

Hero pulled away, falling to their knees and gasping for air. Clutching the ground in an effort to anchor themself to reality.

“I’m not selling my soul to a demon.” Hero said.

The demon bent down, and Hero flinched, expecting to be forced to look in their eyes again.

“Not even to save your precious Sidekick?”

Hero shook their head, guilt gnawing at their insides.

The demon hummed. “And here I thought you cared for them.”

“I do care! It’s just, I just,” Hero looked at the body, then to the demon. “I don’t want to, to…”

“Go to hell?” They offered.

Hero nodded.

They were a coward. A real hero would sacrifice themself in a heartbeat, but Hero couldn’t even consider it for a second. They weren’t there to protect Sidekick, and now they were letting an opportunity to save them slip away.

But what they saw in the demon’s eyes…

Hero shuddered.

It scared them more than any villain ever did.

If they sold their soul, Hero knew their pain would be the fuel to light the flames.

Coward.

“You're in luck, Hero. For it's not your soul I desire.”

Hero’s brows knit together. They looked up hesitantly, avoiding the demon’s eyes. “Then… what do you desire?”

The smoke parted in an approximation of a smile. “A body.”

“A body?”

They nodded. “It takes a lot of energy to maintain a corporeal form on earth. Possessing a body would lessen that burden greatly.”

“W-why?”

They shrugged. “A demon needs to eat.”

This was a chance of a lifetime. Saving Sidekick without being condemned to eternal damnation. What a deal!

Letting a demon possess their body, though. Hero didn’t know what that entailed. Would it hurt? Could they be killed while the demon was possessing them? If the demon killed someone, by making deals or otherwise, would it be their fault?

As if reading their mind—maybe they can—the demon spoke. “You wont notice a thing; It will be as if you’re in a deep sleep. My visits won’t take long either, so there will still be time for you to play hero. I’ll even make sure not to mess with your civilian life. Aren’t I considerate?”

“And my hero life?”

The demon huffed, blowing smoke into Hero’s face. “I won't ruin your reputation, but I can’t guarantee people won't see me. Oh! Maybe I should get my own costume, wouldn’t that be fun?”

Hero didn’t respond.

“Unless you’d prefer me to use your civilian identity?”

“No! I-I mean, please. Please use this identity. Or make another one. Please.” Hero cringed at their pleading, but the demon seemed satisfied.

“So it's settled.” Sparks flew from the demon as they clapped their hands together, causing Hero to jump. “I give Sidekick a second chance at life, and you give me your body to possess whenever I desire, withstanding I give you time to live your silly little human life, unaffected.”

Hero looked at Sidekick. Their face tinged grey, resembling wax more than skin. If they didn’t do this… did they really deserve to be called a hero?

They swallowed.

No. They were doing this. No turning back.

Hero looked up, staring directly into the flames. “Deal.”

The demon smiled, and took Hero’s face into their terrifying hands. “Pleasure doing business.” They leaned in, and, for a moment, Hero expected a kiss.

Instead, the shadow that made up the demon dissipated, rushing into their nose and mouth, replacing the air in their lungs. Hero choked as the smoke invaded their body, spots dotting their vision. They reached out, trying to hold onto something, anything, but only found air. The essence of the demon flowed through them, filling up their entire being. They couldn’t move, couldn’t cry out in fear. All Hero could do was wait.

They opened their eyes, taking long and heavy breaths. It was done. Hero leaned back, trying to calm down.

They hoped they wouldn’t regret this.

A loud gasp followed by a series of coughs made Hero lurch upright. They scrambled towards the noise, almost falling over as they reached Sidekick.

“Sidekick? You’re alive. You’re alive!” Hero took Sidekick into their arms, holding on tight. “I thought I’d lost you.”

“H-hero? What happened?” Sidekick said, eyes unfocused.

“You were out on patrol. You didn’t check in, and I got worried.” Hero held onto Sidekick as if they’d disappear the moment they let go. “It took me so long to find you, I was so scared.”

“I saw Villain.” Sidekick looked up. “I thought I could take them by myself, b-but I couldn’t. I’m so stupid, I should have called you as soon as I saw them.”

Hero squeezed their shoulder. “You’re not stupid. I should’ve realized you weren’t ready for solo patrol. Or kept you in the smaller areas, at the very least.”

Sidekick shook their head. “It’s not your fault. I kept on bugging you, and I made the choice to fight Villain alone.”

Hero pressed Sidekick’s forehead against their own. This was real. They were alive. Any doubts Hero had vanished the moment the colour in Sidekick’s cheeks returned. They would die before they saw the waxy, greyed skin again.

A slight smile appeared on Sidekick’s face, “Where did you look for me, anyway? A chimney? Your face is covered in soot.”

“Something like that.” Hero laughed halfheartedly, trying to hide their grimace.

Sidekick must have noticed, because they took Hero’s hands in their own. “I’m sorry.”

Hero rested their chin on Sidekick’s head, “Promise you’ll call for backup next time?”

“I promise. I love you.”

A trail of smoke left their lips. “I love you, too.”

#heroes and villains #death #demons #sidekick #death tw #choking tw #next time i'll try to write something happier #gotta balance out that angst

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duskwood-by-daylight · 3 years

Text

In The Static

Summary: During a routine exam, Mr. Stark and Dr. Banner discover not all of your war wounds left physical scars, but decide to offer you the option to use your trauma for good. Part of the Breathe Mercy series.

Warnings: cursing, flashbacks, violence, trauma, nearly electrocuting your boss, negative self talk, broken bones

Word count: 1600ish

A/N: As always, 18+, minors DNI. Don't steal or copy or whatever. Feedback always appreciated.

Your first few weeks at Stark Industries have gone better than you imagined. In addition to getting tons of old files organized, honestly you're not even sure where Tony keeps finding them all, Dr. Banner has been working closely with you. That's why you now find yourself in the lab with him and Tony while they test your reflexes and old shoulder injury. "When was the last time you slept, Y/N?" Bruce pokes at your left ankle with something metal, causing your foot to jerk.

You actually have to pause to think, "Four days ago, I believe."

"Are you tired?"

"Exhausted." You force a laugh. You guys have no idea. "Just can't sleep."

"We could give you something to help." Tony offers, eating a handful of jelly beans. He's taken to hanging out when you're in the lab, fascinated by some of your test results. "Knock you out."

"Thank you, but no. I've learned that it's better to let sleep come when it comes. I have flashbacks and nightmares and… just easier."

"Lean forward. I'm gonna check your shoulder and spine for any reaction to the last injection." Bruce steps behind you as you lift your shirt up to your shoulders. Gloved fingers lightly trace along the ridges of your spine, the motion almost soothing. The sleepless nights and work-filled days are catching up to you and your eyes fall closed until there's suddenly a cold metal prodding at your back.

Men and women in suits and lab coats surround you. The room is impossibly cold, the metal table beneath you nearly freezing you until you're almost numb. A man, a scientist with a distinct accent whose name you don't recall, holds a cattle prod too close to your chest. "You won't talk? Nothing to say yet? Again." He thrusts the prod forward, just below your right collar bone.

A shock runs through you, all the way down to your bone marrow. Your body reacts before your brain can stop it, a strong bolt of electricity shooting out of your hand and destroying a piece of equipment two feet away from Tony. Both men immediately hit the floor, covering their heads. Just as quickly as it happened, the moment is over, and you're staring at the smoking mess that was once a centrifuge. This wasn't supposed to happen. I have massively screwed up. I'm not there anymore. "Oh God! Oh no, Tony, I'm so sorry! Are you okay? Oh shit, I'm so sorry!"

"Woah. Hey, hey, hey." Bruce is crouching in front of you, keeping steady eye contact. He doesn't look afraid of me. Why isn't he afraid? "It's okay. You're okay. He's okay. We're all okay. Breathe with me." Your chest is heaving, you can see it, see yourself gasping for air, but you don't feel it. Instead, you force your chest to match Bruce's movements. The damned numbness is back.

"Has that ever happened before?" Tony steps closer to you, but doesn't reach out, watching for any sparks. He's seen some wild shit in his lifetime, but this is definitely a new one.

You hang your head. This was something you thought you had control of. Now the secret is out but instead of answering, you hold open your palm, snapping your thumb across the pads of your fingers. High voltage filaments dance between your fingers, almost like a plasma ball, before you clamp your fist, snuffing them out.

"Holy shit. You're a human Tesla coil."

The tears come without any prompting. "I didn't ask for this. They did this to me. I don't even know if they meant to. Sometimes I feel it in my nerves but most of the time, I'm just numb. I've had it under control until… I'm just tired. It's my fault. Did I hurt you, Mr. Stark?" You scan over him for any scorched spots.

"No. Scared me plenty, but I'm all right. Not even a scratch. You might have killed the centrifuge though."

You can't help but laugh at that, wiping your eyes, relieved that he isn't furious. "I'll buy you a new one."

"I'll forgive you under one condition. I insist all people who nearly kill me call me Tony."

"Okay, Tony. Thank you."

He smiles for a moment then an idea lights behind his eyes, "You know, I think we should all go out for dinner. It's been a hard day. Meet in the lobby in twenty minutes."

The restaurant is busy but Tony has no trouble getting a table for the three of you. "Cap is meeting us here. Hope that's okay." He says it in such an offhand way, it doesn't really matter if it's okay or not. You share a curious look with Bruce and he seems just as surprised. Something about this dinner is starting to feel too formal, too professional, but your nerves immediately calm when you see Steve approaching the table, grinning broadly. "They finally convince you to leave your paper fortress to mingle with the common folk, Y/N?" He takes the seat beside you, giving your arm a squeeze. "You look great."

"Thank you, Captain."

"Steve." He reminds, opening his mouth to respond just as a waiter approaches.

Throughout dinner, the earlier events of the day seem farther and farther away, almost as if you watched them happen to someone else. If you don't think too hard about it, this feels like a normal after work outing among coworkers, but underneath… something is going on. That looming feeling of something...

"I've spoken to Fury about you. He's interested." Tony finishes his drink, watching you across the table.

There it is. "Define interested."

Bruce and Steve listen closely, both trying to read Tony as he speaks. "How would you like to join the team?"

"Team? I already work for you."

"Not that team. The Avengers. You wouldn't be going on missions for a while since we're still working with you. I think you've got it in you, especially after today."

Steve raises his eyebrows but smiles warmly at you, "If Fury thinks you'd be a valuable asset to the team, then I'm okay with it."

What in the hell is happening? Avengers? Me? What? "Um… can I think about it? It's a big decision."

"Of course. Take your time. Just something to keep in mind."

And the conversation moves on to another topic, Tony making a joke about Rhodey hounding him to sign some paper for the past three days. You try to stay present but thoughts keep overlapping in your brain, why on earth would they even want me? I'm beyond broken. These are superheroes. I'm barely human anymore.

The evening ends on a high note, the four of you laughing at Tony for being berated by Pepper for ignoring Rhodey. "You come home and sign this paper now!"

"She's gonna put me in timeout." He mock pouts.

"I'm gonna do a lot worse than that. Home, now!"

Tony hangs up and offers everyone a ride home, but Bruce declines. "I'll walk back with Y/N. Her place is on the way and it isn't far."

"Same." Steve waves to Tony and leads you outside. Seeing Manhattan at night still surprises you. Growing up in a small town, you never realized there could be so many lights or people or noise in one tiny place and you definitely never imagined you'd call that place home. Bruce and Steve are engaged in a conversation about training, so you admire the city, gazing up at the tall buildings.

"Hey, baby. You look up for a good time."

Hearing those words from a strange man near your left jerks you out of your reverie and instinctively shifts you into defense mode. "Don't fucking touch me!" When his fingers light on your arm, you spin around, meaning to shove him away, but suddenly he's on the ground, holding his arm at a very unnatural angle. "You fucking bitch, you broke my arm. You whore!" The venom in his expression fades a little and is replaced by something… fear. He's terrified of you and when you look at Bruce, you realize why. His glasses reflect a blue light and somewhere on you, electricity crackles. "Bruce, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to do all that."

Bruce kneels by the man, urging him up and reassuring that he's a doctor. He's using his free hand to make a call when you see Tony's contact on the screen. "Steve, take her home."

"What just happened?" Steve is staring between you and the man with a clearly broken arm until his eyes settle on Bruce again. "Bruce?"

"Just… please. I'll meet you back at the tower. Get her home safe."

He agrees, linking arms with you, "Come on, Y/N, I'll walk you home."

You're unable to argue, still trying to run the events through your mind. How did I snap his arm? I didn't mean to, I just wanted him to stop touching me. Forget losing my job, they're gonna put me under the jail. This is going to make the news. They're gonna come for me. Oh no, I've fucked up. Something heavy and warm falls over you, bringing you back to reality.

Steve secures his jacket around your shoulders before grabbing your hand. "You're shaking. Are you okay?"

"I don't know." Your voice sounds small in all the noise and you hate yourself a little for it. Absolutely pathetic. You can't be an Avenger. You can't even deal with a stranger hitting on you.

He nods, "Did he hurt you?" You shake your head, watching the sidewalk disappear beneath your feet. It's easier to watch your shoes than his piercing gaze. He thinks I'm weak. He knows I'm too weak to be any good to anyone. I can't help anybody else. Can't even help myself. "Good."

The rest of the walk is quiet with Steve keeping a solid grip on your hand. He doesn't ask any of the questions burning in his mind, sensing how shaken you still are. You're grateful for his patient friendship and his coat, wishing you could tell him the truth about everything but not knowing where to start.

#avengers fic #Steve Rogers #Tony Stark #bruce banner #breathe mercy verse #marvel fic

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darkeninganon · 3 years

Text

(I told you all I was going to write more Dream torment. Again the design of Dream is based off @winifreyd and their White Enderman Dream design! Warnings for: general angst, violence, blood, gore, torture, bodily fluids, descriptions of injuries, death mentioned, cursing, and dismemberment (a tail). You have been warned.)

Dream jolted awake as the redstone clicked. To anyone from the outside, it would be impossible to hear, but he had been here so long... The popping of the lava was more like static or wind than an actual noise. He was pressed against the back of his cell, muscles sore and stiff; knees swollen and in more pain than they were yesterday, at least Dream thought they were much worse. They were still broken, rendering him immobile. The left side of his face burned even worse too, and each slight movement brought with it the weirdly loud crackling of dried blood. It pulled at his fur and made him feel gross. Then he looked to his hand.

Bones exposed, fingers cut of and a massive amount of blood clotting the wound as best as it could, but it wasn't enough to keep it from bleeding, small rivulets of much brighter blood popping up and he flexed his wrist. He was concerned, but surely Quackity would get bored and stop sooner rather than later. Hopefully before Dream got an infection and succumbed to it.

Dream glared at Quackity as he entered the cell, removing a pair of shears from his picket and swinging them casually. "So, Dream, are you we going to behave today and share what we know with the class?"

Dream growled, showing his undamaged hand just enough to flip off Quackity. The man just chuckled, shaking his head.

"Come on Dream, you'll have to give in some time." He smiled, tapping the shears against his hand as he approached the prisoner. "Don't make me do this, I was nice last time."

"Nice....?" Dream's voice had grown coarse, a growl bubbling up from his chest. "Nice would have been not breaking my knees." Dream wanted to stand, his good hand digging into the wall as he was forced to stay on the ground. "Nice would have been letting me keep my fingers.... You could never be nice, Quackity."

Dream screeched in agony as Quackity's foot connected with his broken knee, causing the prisoner to practically throw himself back and try to crawl away. Quackity planted his foot on Dream's knee again, putting as much pressure on it as he could. "Really Dream? I'm not nice? You aren't nice. You tortured Tommy. You fucking killed him and then brought him back. I know full well Tommy only wants you alive so you can bring back Wilbur." Quackity sighed, ignoring Dream's screaming and attempts to claw his way out from under Quackity. Letting out a disgruntled groan, Quackity sat down on Dream's back, tangling his fist in the literal mane of hair and fur Dream had, retching his head back as far as it would go, waving the shears in front of Dream's face. "Come on Dream~. I'm getting impatient here, and considering that you're never getting out of here, your nails are looking just a little too sharp."

Dream hissed, curling his good hand into a fist. He had to save one hand, after all, he would very much have to repay Quackity after he got out.

Quackity just hummed, taking the shears out of Dream's face as he ran his hand through the mane of white fur. No one but George and maybe Sapnap had ever gotten close enough to actually touch Dream without it breaking into a fight. Now that Quackity was able to though, he realized how soft it was. It felt so nice, even after at least a month of not having been washed or brushed or taken care of... Quackity lost himself a little, just sitting there feeling the soft fur.

Dream lay there, eyes wide as Quackity kept petting him. As nice as it could have been, Dream knew there wasn't any way this could end other than Dream suffering. There was a definitive reason he only let a couple of trusted people touch his fur.

"Damn... This would be a nice coat." Quackity mused, twirling a clump between his fingers before looking back towards Dream's legs. Quackity stopped his petting, reaching out and playing with his tail, which had been thrashing about just moments before. It had the same, soft fur all over it, just much shorter, until it got to the tip where it exploded into a huge, fluffy cloud of hair-like fur. "Hmm... You aren't ever going to walk again... Why do you have this?" Dream tried to look at the man sitting on his back, forgetting that he was missing one eye; "What?! Quackity, don't you dare-" Quackity planted his feet on both of Dream's thighs, pulling his tail taut as he aligned the scissors with the base of Dream's tail. "Quackity, no! Stop!" Dream screamed, his voice ringing off the obsidian walls as he once again tried to crawl out from under the other man. "You can't do this to me! I'll kill you! You WILL regret this you washed-up has-been!" Quackity ignored Dream's rambling. It didn't sound like English or any human language at this point, but that was fine. Maybe this and taking those claws would make Dream want to talk about the book. Quackity couldn't help the smile that spread across his face as he finally cut through the tough muscles and skin that protected the bones. Now that he was to them though, he knew the shears wouldn't be strong enough to cut through them, he'd have to cut between them. Quackity let out a disappointed hum, pulling harder on Dream's tail in an effort to see where the vertebrae separated and he could get at the softer cartilage. The blood only made things much more complicated, and Quackity growled as he was forced to continually wipe away the red liquid.

Tears were once again burning Dream's cheeks, the nails on his good hand shattering and breaking uselessly against the obsidian; while the irritated scars on his other hand opened once again, leaving smears of blood across the floor. It was only made worse by Quackity repeatedly rubbing his fingers against the bones, swiping away the blood and literally adding salt to the wound.

Quackity smiled once more as he finally found what he was looking for, driving the tip of the shears in between the bones. Dream's scream took a turn, sounding more monster than human; and outside the cell, Sam curled in on himself, crying behind his mask. Quackity ignored the continued crying of a monster in pain, ignored the stain that was once again growing down the legs of the prison garb; Quackity's sole focus was on separating this tail from its owner. He continued to cut and tear at the spot, prying the bones apart to get and the bundle of nerves at the very center, once that was cut, taking the tail would be so much easier. He finally caught sight of the little bundle, oblivious to the silence that now weighed heavy in the cell; until he nicked the nerves with the shears.

To say Dream screamed would be an understatement. His whole body convulsed in such a way that he nearly threw Quackity off, a slew of strange, non-words flying from his mouth as he continued to convulse, attempting to spin around in pseudo-death-roll. Quackity hung on, still hacking at the spot with the shears until he heard more cracking than cutting, and the tail finally tore free, blood spattering all over as the new wound became fully exposed.

Dream finally stopped rolling around, gasping as he tried to stand. Where? Run. get out. need to leave need to leave need to leave cannot leave?? Saliva filled Dream's mouth, spilling out as he gasped and tried to speak. He watched in horror as he suddenly vomited, spouting nonsense to calm himself down. A hand tangled in his mane, yanking him away from the puddle of vomit and throwing him on his back, eliciting more cries from the prisoner.

Quackity slammed his foot down on Dream's chest, grabbing his good hand as he brought the shears back up. Dream was forced to watch as Quackity pried his nails from their bedding, taking the time to pry them off each finger with the utmost care so as to not cut them or damage Dream's fingers in any other way.

Sam began rocking back and forth, breathing heavily. He needed to calm down before he let Quackity out, he couldn't let Dream see that his yelling was getting to the warden. His mask hung in his hands, torn from his face in an effort to make sure the lenses did not become clouded by tears. "Hey Sam! We're done here!" Sam jumped, realizing it was silent now. He fainted again, thanks to you. He ignored that part of his mind, pulling his mask on and lowering the lava. Sure enough, Dream was on the floor, convulsing; Quackity held a long white thing in his hands, and there were a number of more puddles all over the cell now. Sam suppressed a shiver, letting Quackity out. That's Dream's tail he's holding. Sam couldn't remove his eyes from it. Aside from the blood at the cut point, the tails was still a pristine white fur. Sam knew Dream cared about his fur, to a point that it could be considered narcissistic. Only Sapnap and George had ever felt if though, at least in detail, and now, seeing his tail removed from his body, a war broke out in Sam's brain. You let this happen, he needs that. He's never leaving, and it looks so nice. You are just as bad as Quackity, you should be in a cell right now. Even after all that you did, his fur still looks beautiful; touch it, touch it now! You are going to get Dream killed, and Tommy will hate you more. You never went this far, it's not your fault Quackity is doing this. Sam let Quackity out without a word, leaving the prison after him. Sam could only wonder what Quackity planned to do with the souvenirs he took.

#Dream SMP #DSMP #Dreamwastaken #Quackity #awesamdude #my writing #Trigger Warning #blood #gore #torture #White Enderman! Dream #Ender Family AU

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fucking-zawa-sensei · 4 years

Note

A hurt/comfort blurb after the USJ incident? 😭

It has been 100 years, but I return with some good old hurt/comfort, my favorite kind of story.

I hope you enjoy!

Unravel

It was such a simple motion, unfastening the little metal clasp that held the edge of the long bandage secure. That part was easy.

Unwinding them all should have been just as straightforward, gone just as smoothly.

Yet, his fingers tremble around the fabric, his hands shake as he repeats the motion, gathering the layers and layers of gauze in one hand as he circles Shouta’s arm with the other. He wishes he could go faster, can only think about the way Shouta’s sore shoulders must be getting tired from holding his hand out for Hizashi to change his bandages.

Here, in the small space of their humble master bath, Shouta sitting on the toilet seat lid, Hizashi towering over him but feeling like he was shrinking with each and every rotation, he could feel the weight of every breath they exhaled.

Here, in the same bathroom where Shouta had stitched up Hizashi’s shoulder blade when he’d taken a blade to his back...

Here, in the same bathroom where he’d cradled Shouta’s head again his chest in the tub, where he’d pushed those dark locks away from Shouta’s temple to press his lips against the soft skin there...

Here, in the same bathroom where he’d massaged his hands into Shouta’s lower back just a few days ago, as the other man complained about how it was time for a new mattress...

Here...where he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off the massive, ragged-edged dark bruise, matching the color of the creature that had given it to Shouta, traversing up and down the majority of his husband’s back...

Here...the bandages weren’t the only thing unraveling.

Finally, Hizashi reaches the last layer, the strip of fabric fluttering away from Shouta’s skin with a soft, delicate noise that has no right to be made in this room, in this place, in this moment.

This breathe is the hardest one he’s ever held.

He’d known this day would come since Shouta was sent home with him from the hospital, had asked more questions than was necessary, had taken notes, had prepared himself. He knew it would smell bad, he knew it would look bad, he knew it would be discolored and clotting and yellow and bruised and weeping. He knew. He knew.

He’d been prepared to vomit, to hide his gut reaction to grimace like he does when Shouta tries to convince him to eat rice porridge when Hizashi is feeling sick.

He had been prepared for all of that.

He hadn’t been prepared to look at his husband’s broken skin, at his bruising and scabs and stitches and all the little, tiny fibers of fabric left behind from the gauze still sticking to the wet edges of his wound and see none of it.

He hadn’t been prepared to see only the limp, dying body draped across a young hero-in-training’s back, to see the slowly growing pool of blood on the ground, leading back to each drip, drip, drip, running down his husband’s fingers and the back of his hand.

So when he exhales and the rush of wind is a little too powerful in the way it always is when he can’t quite keep his quirk at bay, when the tissue box on the small wall shelves above Shouta’s head rustles side to side with the force of it, he knows that Shouta is aware.

He has to be.

Hizashi has done such a terrible job of being strong.

His hands shake as he crumbles up the soiled bandages, and when he turns abruptly to throw them in the trash, to look at anything but all the broken parts of the man he loves, of the arms that almost never got to hold him again, he stubs his toe against the bottom of the sink counter and can’t quite stop the shaking curse that trickles through his lips.

Hizashi clamps a hand over his mouth, the other gripping the edge of the sink. He knows it must look like he’s about to be sick and that’s the last thing he wants. This isn’t Shouta’s fault. He’s not disturbed by the sight of his injuries, this is the exact thing he wanted to avoid, the exact situation he’d been trying to prevent.

He wanted Shouta to feel loved, to feel secure, to feel like any scars that form are just another layer of beauty.

He needed to Shouta to know that the shake in his shoulders has nothing to do with that, has nothing to do with what he’s seeing, and everything to do with what he saw.

“Hizashi.”

Whatever sob that had been forming in his throat turns into a gag instead, cutting off his breath.

“Turn around.”

He does, slowly, dropping the hand away from his face. He feels the tears start the moment he turns, feels the first tracks dripping down his cheeks.

Shouta stares up at him from his seat, having apparently pulled the bandages off of his own face once his hands were freed. They’re tired and bloodshot, the bags underneath them more prominent than ever, highlighted by dark, purple bruises that litter his entire face. There’s an extra patch of gauze beneath his right eye, still in place, but there are a few spots of dried blood on it and he knows this too will need replaced.

He opens his mouth, about to apologize, but Shouta’s hand reaches out instead. It’s trembling just as much as Hizashi’s did and he doesn’t know if it’s from the pain or the stifling way the air seems to be growing heavier with each second that passes.

It finds its way to his shirt, gives a weak tug, and Hizashi follows the silent command, crouching down onto his knees to be at Shouta’s level. The other man spreads his legs to make more room.

Then, Shouta’s hand is on his face, still shaking, the movements rough as he caresses the short, fine hairs that have started growing along Hizashi’s cheek and jaw a week ago, after the first night he’d spent sleeping beside Shouta’s hospital bed.

“Time for a shave,” Shouta says, a small smile pushing at one corner of his lips.

Hizashi wants to say, no, this is about what you need, but Shouta juts his chin toward the corner of the sink where Hizashi’s razor and oils and lotions are all set neatly on a little bamboo wood tray. He doesn’t know what to do so he does what he’s told, grabbing the razor and shaving cream.

Shouta nods back at the floor and Hizashi settles on his knees once more.

His hair grows slowly, always had, it had taken him many months to perfect his current mustache, so while he’s sporting a nice little layer of something slightly more than peach fuzz, it’s not very much to shave. Still, Shouta uses whatever strength the painkillers he’d taken a half hour ago have provided him to clumsily lather Hizashi’s face with the shaving cream.

He’s a little nervous when Shouta’s quivering fingers bring the blade to his face, so he finds himself instinctively helping, using his own hand to help support Shouta’s. Together, they give him the longest, most harrowing shave Hizashi’s probably ever had.

They do it all in silence.

When he turns to the sink to wipe off his face with some water and a towel, when he runs his hands over his somewhat smooth cheeks, a few patches uneven, he’s surprised to see himself smiling in the mirror. He’s shocked to see his hands are steady, his heart not racing anymore.

Hizashi turns around and Shouta is leaning back on the toilet, his arms hanging loose in his lap, legs still spread lazily. His head is lilting to one side, and his eyes look like they’re struggling to stay open, but he’s smiling too.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” Hizashi says. “I need to wash your wounds, we need to re-bandage them...we-”

“It’s okay,” Shouta cuts him off. “I needed that.”

Hizashi looks down at the tiles.

“I needed that,” Hizashi admits quietly.

“You did.”

“Shouta, I’m sorry...you’re the one who was hurt...I..”

Shouta’s hand appears in his vision, finds his own, and pulls weakly again. Hizashi redirects his gaze towards his husband’s face, allows his fingers to be intertwined.

“I’m not the only one who was hurt.”

Hizashi bites his lip and Shouta shakes his head.

“It’s okay, let it out,” Shouta encourages.

Hizashi swallows hard, his grip tightening around Shouta’s hand.

“I was scared to lose you too,” Shouta says, his voice tripping over the words, obviously difficult for him to say.

He wants to throw himself at Shouta, pull him into his arms, hold him tight, but he knows he can’t do these things, knows he has to be gentle. So he gets back on his knees and wraps his arms around Shouta’s waist and lets his head fall in his husband’s lap. The sobs rip through him like nothing he’s ever experienced before, quickly filling the small room with all the noise it was previously missing. Shouta’s hands card through his hair, rub up and down his arms.

He doesn’t know how many times he says “I love you,” but Shouta matches each and every one.

It takes hours to finally finish cleaning and re-wrapping Shouta’s injuries, but only minutes for them to fall asleep, Shouta’s arms wrapped around Hizashi’s middle, his face tucked into Hizashi’s chest.

The past few nights had been difficult, he’d been unsure where to place his hands, what was safe to touch without hurting Shouta.

Tonight, he lets his palms gently trace up and down his husband’s back, careful, soft, but confident.

He’s here.

He’s safe.

Like a mantra, Hizashi repeats it until his eyelids falls shut, his lips pressed onto the top of Shouta’s head.

He’s here.

He’s safe.

#erasermic #erasermic fanfiction #aizawa shouta #eraserhead #present mic #yamada hizashi

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world-of-horrors-au · 3 years

Text

Horrors AU - Overconfidence

AKA Liu VS Laughing Jack

Government Agent Liu makes a pretty big mistake on a mission... [Set before the formation of his current day team.]

Warnings: torture, injuries, mention of animal death, fire

The agent, a stranger, flashed Liu a look between suspicious and concerned.

"You shouldn't go in there alone," she said as she adjusted her gloves. "The Jack is in there."

Liu looked back at her, frowning, and for a moment, said nothing. Another agent looked at him, judged him, as he loaded his pistol.

They were clearing out an old theater. So far, it'd been empty. A few doll parts in the bathrooms, bloodstains on stage, a half rotted, unidentifiable animal in the back rooms. Now all they had left was the prop room. If there was a Horror still in this building, it - he - was in there.

"I'll be fine," Liu said. "I've dealt with him before. I'm not afraid of him."

"Of course not," the agent said, and her eyes looked away to the man across from her. He didn't meet her eyes, preparing his rifle for the fight ahead. The fight he wouldn't have to do, with Liu here.

He considered the group. Seven humans, men and women ranging from their late thirties to early forties. All in armor, all with guns and wary eyes. Out of this group, he was the youngest, the thinnest, dressed in civilian clothes with no obvious weapon. But he was the most dangerous person in this group, and everyone in it knew that.

"I'll go in ahead." Liu had no true authority to make this call, but it wouldn't be questioned. No one ever did. "I've dealt with Eyeless Jack before. If he is in here, the fewer people that fight him, the better."

"He's fast," one of the agents said.

"He is," Liu agreed. "But he can't outrun bullets, and this space is too small to fly in. If he is here, we stand a good chance to catch him."

If. That was always the thing. Always the chance they'd come too late. The remaining Horrors were the smartest of the species, and they knew better than to mindlessly challenge government agents. Eyeless Jack could've left long before today, leaving whatever gruesome message he wanted behind. But Liu's gut said Liu wasn't the only Horror in the building, and his gut was rarely wrong.

The stairs creaked under his boots as Liu entered the basement, where all the props were stored. Once upon a time, this theater had been the biggest, most popular in the region. Now only dust performed, dancing through the air in the light strapped to his chest. Standing at the bottom of the steps, Liu breathed and scanned the room. Everything was still. Everything was quiet.

"I'm here, Jack," he mumbled under his breath. "Guess we're playing hide and seek now."

A smile curved over his scarred face. He'd always been good at hide and seek.

With his hands in the pockets of his jacket, Liu walked through the room. Once there'd been a system organizing the many items, he could see it through the current chaos. He could see where the racks of clothes once stood, even though they were long gone, the clothes torn and scattered underfoot. The plastic boxes were thrown around, spilling out old theater makeup and yellowed paper. He kicked a wad of trash out of his way, navigating through the fake corridors that made up the massive room. It was so, so quiet. He couldn't even hear any mice.

"The animals are afraid of us. We're the most dangerous things in the entire town, you and I," Liu mumbled. "If you're here at all."

He stopped, listened for breathing. All he heard was his own. No scraping, no scratches, no racing hearts, no claws on concrete. He waited, waited. Waited longer than Eyeless Jack could've handled.

Liu huffed and reached for his communicator.

"Place is empty," he said. "Pack up, I'm heading back up to help."

"Roger that," the squad leader said, but Liu ignored him, turning his focus back to getting to the stairs. He couldn't even see it from where he stood, too many boxes piled up. Liu shook his head, grimacing as he walked through the mess. What a waste of his time-

He heard the whip of air before it landed. The cord wrapped around his throat. His hands snapped up to the cord but it was too late. It yanked him back, off his feet. Liu hit the wall, heard something crack, and pain shot up his spine. Blood oozed from the back of his head. His vision blurred.

"What do you think of that?" A man said. "I learned that from the Puppeteer."

Liu focused, there was someone in front of him. Black and white like cheap newspaper, teeth sharp enough to cut through metal. Liu's blood chilled. Their information was wrong. This was the wrong Jack-

Laughing Jack, not Eyeless Jack, stared down, and even through the blur, Liu felt the hate in it.

"I bet you don't even remember him," the Horror said. "We all just blend together after a while, don't we, Agent Woods?"

The cord tightened. Liu gasped a breath through the pain. His fingers clawed at the cord, nails scraping rope and flesh.

"But I remember you. I don't think I'd ever, ever forget you." Laughing Jack jerked the cord, knocking Liu onto his front, into the dirt coated concrete. "You traitor."

He couldn't feel his fingers but he knew his arm was moving towards his pistol. Laughing Jack's creations were a material he couldn't snap with his own strength, he had to use his guns.

"Not… traitor," he choked out. "I was never on your-"

"Shut up!" Laughing Jack shouted. As his hand grazed the cold surface of the gun, something wrapped around his wrist and yanked it back, hard. Liu gritted his teeth, pain surging through, and glared up at the other Horror.

“I learned so much from him, the Puppeteer,” Laughing Jack said, pain in his voice. “How to master my strings, how to manipulate them to control and subdue. So much knowledge and cleverness, torn into pieces by your masters.” The clown narrowed his eyes. “Are you happy with what you’ve done? You’ve killed us all!”

Liu opened his mouth to speak, but the rope tightened, and he gagged on his words. Another cord wrapped around his free arm, yanking backwards. Any harder, and his arm would end up dislocated. A chill shot up Liu’s back. That was probably what Laughing Jack wanted.

“Everyone is gone,” Laughing Jack said, and maybe it was his eyes not focusing, but Liu could’ve sworn he saw tears in the other’s eyes. “My name brother, Jane, the Puppeteer, Nina, Doctor Locklear and Ann, sweet little Toby…” He clenched his fist. “Even Jeff - even he’s gone! And it’s all your fault!”

Liu's heart stopped. Jeff was dead? No, that was impossible. Jeff hadn’t been captured, no reports said he’d been found dead or was shot in the head. Jeff couldn’t be dead - he was the one supposed to kill Jeff. Justice for his family, for his childhood self. That was the deal he’d made with the humans. Only he was allowed to kill Jeff, even with his brother’s sick reputation.

“No,” Liu gasped out. “Not Jeff. Jeff is-” “Shut up!” Laughing Jack shouted, his voice sending dust falling from the ceiling. “I’ve dealt with your bloody bullshit for too many years!” The clown panted, reaching up to touch his chest, his heart, if he had one at all. “Everything is your fault… my family, my people…”

Monochrome eyes burned with hatred.

"You want revenge?" Laughing Jack said. "Well, let me give you mine!"

It crystalized in his mind, an image so clear, the reality of what was about to happen undeniable.

Liu whispered, "No-"

The ropes pulled him up. Liu kicked, his body leaving the dirty floor. He couldn't move his head but he tried to scream, scream out to the humans above his head. No sound came out. The rope tightened around his neck, and the world spun.

"Hurts, doesn't it?" Laughing Jack said over the blood pounding in his ears. "You haven't even gotten half of what you deserve yet."

Someone help me, Liu thought.

Against the skin of his ankles he felt the ropes tighten. They yanked, tensing, pulling harder and harder until Liu could no longer even twitch his legs. Liu's mouth didn't close, he couldn't close it, he couldn't even feel the muscles of his face anymore. It hurt. It hurt.

Laughing Jack began to chuckle.

The ropes yanked. One hard, sharp tug on all four limbs. Liu screamed despite his own silence, and his throat burned like his vocal cords tore. His vision swum, every part of his body shaking with the pain.

The ropes yanked. Something in his right arm surrendered. This time he did let out a noise, a strangled, bloody gasp. Something hot poured from the sides of his mouth and dripped down his cheeks and neck. He'd bitten his tongue so hard, it was almost in two pieces.

Laughing Jack began to laugh.

"Hurts doesn't it?" He said, like Liu could answer him. "Can you imagine what they went through? What Jane went through? What it was like to be pulled apart by machines in front of all those screaming, happy humans?"

Somewhere in his laughter, the clown Horror sobbed.

"It won't bring any of them back," Laughing Jack said. "It probably won't even make me feel better. But at least there will be one less piece of shit left lying around on this godforsaken planet."

Laughing Jack laughed louder, louder. This wasn't the last thing Liu wanted to hear before he died.

"So come on, Liu," Laughing Jack said. "Give me a good show. Give me a show like they all gave."

The ropes pulled. Not tugged, not yanked. Pulled, so slow. Pulled, so deliberate. Pulled even as the pain shot through Liu's limbs, from his joints down to his arms and legs, wrists and ankles. They pulled. They pulled.

Laughing Jack laughed.

He'd never felt a pain like this before.

Laughing Jack's voice echoed through the basement.

It hurt so bad.

He could hear the cheers of the crowds echoing through the other Horror's voice.

It hurt.

It hurt-

"Fire!"

Gunshots. The ropes sagged. Liu breathed.

"Where the hell did you come from?!" Laughing Jack shouted.

Liu's head spun. He dangled in the air from his limbs, and every breath was a victory. The training screamed at him but he could not protect the humans this time. He might not even survive long enough to try.

"Idiots!" Laughing Jack snapped. "Get the hell over-"

"Incendiaries!"

Gunshots, smoke, bright light. Laughing Jack screamed.

Through the tears running from his eyes Liu could see it. Laughing Jack was on fire, burning, his cloth body burning in the rotten darkness. He screamed, the pain must’ve been unbearable. The Horror fled.

"Stop him!"

It was too late. Laughing Jack ran not for the stairs, but the box that no one would've ever paid attention to in all the mess. He jumped inside. The box lid slammed shut. Bullets blasted into it, but the box didn't break. It shook once, twice, and vanished in a puff of black smoke.

The cords unraveled around his body. Liu hit the ground, unconscious immediately. It would be another two days before he woke up again.

#creepypasta #creepypasta au #homicidal liu #laughing jack #creepypasta laughing jack #creepypasta homicidal liu #horrors au

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blu-joons · 5 years

Text

BTS Reaction: You Hide Your Surgical Scars

Jin:

When you showed him your scars, the tears freely fell down your face. “Jagi, there’s no need to cry,” he smiled, pulling you down beside him.

His hand came down resting over your abdomen where your large scar was. “It’s just something I hate, it’s so big and gross, I wish I could get rid of it.”

“No, you don’t,” he smiled, kissing the nape of your neck. “That scar is nothing, it’s what has fixed you up when you’re down, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I just hate how it looks. Do you not think it looks terrible?” You asked, to which he shook his head. “You’re crazy, it’s awful.”

He sighed, continuing to rest his hands along the scar. “I look past this, because it doesn’t define you. It’s a little thing that is irrelevant to how perfect you are.”

“Stop being cute,” you blushed, turning yourself into his body. “I’m sorry for getting upset, it’s just I’ve never been confident in it at all.”

“I understand, but I promise that it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I know, and from now on I’m going to try and be more confident with it all,” you smiled, pressing a kiss to his cheek, “I’m going to learn to embrace it.”

“That’s more like it. It’s only a sign of your strength.”

Yoongi:

Your hand came up revealing the scar across your chest, you were frozen. He looked back at you, completely unfazed, “what am I looking at?”

He was fixated on the scar yet remained emotionless. “Can you seriously not see the massive scar across my chest? Are you blind?”

“I see it,” he admitted, shrugging his shoulders. “But I don’t understand what the big deal is, it’s just a scar? That’s all.”

“It’s horrible Yoongi, look at it.” He walked over, kneeling so he could press his lips to the top of your scar, ignoring your squirms. “What is wrong with you?”

His eyes looked up, meeting yours. “I don’t care about this scar, it’s just a part of you, and a story you have to share. It doesn’t bother me.”

“You’re incredible,” you chuckled, bringing his face up to meet yours. “Thank you for being so amazing about all of this.”

“I get that you struggle with it, but I promise you, I don’t.”

“I know, and I’m really thankful. I don’t know why I built myself to make this more of a big deal,” you sighed, feeling his lips press to yours.

“We all have those insecurities, but I’ll bring them out of you.”

Hoseok:

As soon as you stepped out of the shower you were quick to wrap your towel around your frame when you spotted Hobi staring at you. “Don’t look at me.”

He sighed, looking at you in confusion, placing his hands on your waist. “Why? You’re beautiful, I want to look at you always.”

“You can’t,” you frowned, trying to hurry into the bedroom, but he stopped you. “Please don’t make a thing of this, I just want to get dressed.”

“Then show me what the problem is,” he pleaded, looking down into your eyes. “You know whatever it is, I won’t judge you, just let me see.”

You nodded, slowly showing him the large scar on your underarm from an old surgery. “I just hate having it, it’s so ugly and big.”

“It’s a scar from a battle that you won, it’s a statement of your strength, it’s not ugly, it’s beautiful,” he assured you, pressing a delicate kiss to the top of your head.

“I don’t understand how you manage to be so cute all the damn time.”

“I can’t help it,” he joked, winking down at you, “but seriously, you need to be more confident in yourself, all of you is beautiful, every bit.”

“Thank you, that’s honestly made me feel better.”

Namjoon:

He took your hand as soon as he saw you staring down at your scar, knowing exactly what was going through your head. “Come with me,” he beckoned.

You sighed as he stopped you in front of the mirror, leaving you exposed with nowhere to look. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because I want you to realise how beautiful you are, now look at that scar for me and tell me exactly what you see,” he commanded.

“I see something horrible looking, that makes me embarrassed. It reflects a bad time in my life and what I had to go through to overcome it.”

He nodded lightly. “Here’s what I see. A beautiful mark from a time in your past that is a memory, not necessarily good, but a learning curve nonetheless.”

“It’s certainly a memory,” you giggled, smiling softly as your eyes got used to what was before you. “I guess it’s just something I have to live with.”

“You need to celebrate it as it’s a part of you.”

“It might not be what I want, but you’re right. Surgery fixed me up, and this reflects it,” you reminded yourself, feeling his lips on your cheek.

“See, it’s beautiful, just like the rest of you.”

Jimin:

Your scar was something Jimin knew you were self-conscious of, but he’d never sat you down to talk about it before. “Tell me what happened,” he asked.

You sighed, looking to the floor. “I was in an accident, and surgery was the only way to heal the injuries, it wasn’t my fault, but it still sucks.”

“I’m sorry,” he smiled, resting his hand over yours. “It can’t be easy having to live with that, but I’m proud of you. It’s a tiny part of you.”

“But it feels massive,” you admitted, “anytime I see it, it just makes me cringe a little. It must look unattractive to you, surely?”

His head shook, instantly. “It’s a scar, that tells a story about your life. The accident was unfortunate, but I’d rather see you with a scar than not at all.”

“That’s true,” you whispered, “things could have been a lot worse. Most days I end up covering it with makeup to hide it from people.”

“That needs to stop, you shouldn’t be ashamed of it at all.”

“I know,” you sighed, “I promise over time things will get easier, it’s just still something day to day that I’m getting used to.”

“Together, we’ll get there. I promise you jagi.”

Taehyung:

The moment your top lifted Taehyung quickly caught sight of your scar across your tummy, nodding slowly. “Is this the big secret you had to tell me?”

You nodded, trying to hold back your tears. “Why are you acting as if it’s nothing? It’s a giant scar Taehyung, do you really have no opinion on it?”

“Not really,” he admitted, grabbing your hand. “It’s just a scar, I appreciate that you might not feel comfortable with it, but that doesn’t change anything.”

“Really? Because if I looked at this, I’d feel a little grossed out. It’s so big and it’s right where people look,” you sighed, wiping away your tears.”

He nodded, positioning you on his lap. “I’m going to make it my mission to make you love every single part of your body, because you should.”

“I wish I could, but it’s just so hard when every time I look in the mirror, I see the scar.” You frowned, glancing at yourself in the reflection of the mirror.”

“That’s my first job, make you realise this scar is a part of you, and no one is looking, or judging you,” he assured you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“It’s going to take a lot of work to make that happen, I promise you.”

“I’ve got all the time in the world; I’m not going anywhere.”

Jungkook:

When you showed him your scar, his muscular arms quickly wrapped around you, pulling you down onto the bed. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered to your ear.

Your frame was pressed against his, shielding your scar from your vision. “Jungkook, stop, why are you reacting like this? I’m so confused.”

“That scar is beautiful, and it is a part of you, I will not have you doubt yourself, ever,” he smiled, smothering the top of your head with kisses.

“I’ve had it since I was little, but everyday it still upsets me to see it,” you grumbled, cuddling closely into his chest.

He nodded, completely understanding. “Trust me when I tell you that it doesn’t define you, it’s just a small battle mark on your body.”

“It’s huge,” you giggled, feeling him tighten his grip around you. “Plus, it’s only got bigger since I’ve grown, it’s unfair.”

“At least when you get old it will shrink again like it used to be.”

“Jungkook!” You squealed, “that is absolutely not helping. I don’t want to think of being old and having this thing still with me all wrinkly and old.”

“At least it’s got you smiling again jagi, that’s all that matters.”

---

Masterlist

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heartfeltheart · 4 years

Text

N3H: Chapter 2

Fandom: My Hero Academia Rating: T Relationships: A lot…. a lot. Main Characters: Izuku Midoriya, Katsuki Bakugo, Shoto Todoroki and Hitoshi Shinso. Tag: Good father Enji Todoroki, Shitty Father Hisashi Midoriya, Implied/Reference of drug use, implied/reference child abuse, deaf bakugou Katsuki, Implied/reference of PTSD Summary: Number3Hero!Au, in this Alternate Universe Izuku grew up with his father, Hisashi Midoriya, being Japan’s Number Three Hero. Izuku hates it. Growing resentment as the hero mistreated him as time goes by. Hisashi never liked his first son after he had divorced Inko. More so after finding out that Izuku is quirkless…. got accepted into U.A. and becoming the Number One Hero’s protégé. Izuku grew to become someone his shitty father never thought he’d be… a hero.

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22828801/chapters/54559486

I tried not to make it to angsty... but I failed.

“You know… you still have time to make it to Shoto’s birthday party.” Toya drawled out, shooting his father a pointed look through his reflection. His father is helping him dye his hair as it needed to be retouched. “I could survive another day here alone.”

“And leave you here on your own?” Enji hummed, he grabbed a shower cap and placed it over his son’s hair. Now to wait for the dye to set in. Looking at the mirror set in front of them to see his son’s reflection. It has been a year since his family came under attack. Everyone came out of that attack alive… just barely.

Enji came out of that fight with minor lacerations, a concussion and completely drained of energy. Compared to everyone else in his family, he came out of it relatively unscathed and he hates it. Rei had several lacerations all over her body and had used her quirk to ensure she didn’t bleed out. She didn’t even notice that the villains managed to slice up the tendons on her ankles as Rei had froze all her wounds over to continue fighting. Having to spend more of her time in a medically induced coma in a temperature-controlled room for her to slowly defrost and heal her as that occurs. Fuyumi… young Fuyumi escaped with a concussion, a skull fracture, two broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder bone after she was thrown through the front door. The doctor explained that she had managed to freeze her body over just enough to toughen her body to take on the impact. Enji doesn’t want to dwell on the what if’s there. Natsuo nearly suffered a heat stroke, a broken elbow, nearly biting his tongue off, and slipped into a coma as Natsuo’s body couldn’t regulate its temperature. That was a scary time for Enji as there was nothing, he could do to help his son.

Toya and Shoto’s injuries all stem from the former’s quirk. Something of which came to a massive surprise to everyone as everyone assumed that Toya was quirkless up to that point. Toya’s quirk came about when it became clear that Shoto was the target of villains, and something snapped. Searing blue flames erupted out of Toya towards the villain… and Shoto. Shoto ended up getting burned around his upper left arm, the left upper side of his face that pass his hairline to midway to his cheek. Then Toya… Enji placed his hands-on top of his son’s shoulders, he couldn’t help but let out a shuddering breath at the memory. It quickly became apparent that Toya has no control of his quirk and his body is weak against the flames. It caused so much damage all over the then ten-year old’s body, severe burns of varying degrees that Toya’s skin had literally melted off leaving behind little to no chance to recover. That wasn’t even the worst part of it all. During the treatment, Toya had to be placed in a medically induced coma due the pain and him accidently activating his quirk throughout the treatment. Only causing more damage to himself.

Toya’s recovery has been the longest and hardest among the family. More so after… Enji looked down at his son’s reflection to see Toya’s reflection to see all the scars that are a permanent reminder of that day and the struggle his son still goes through every day. Some were accidental… and the others were on purpose.

“I think it’s time to wash my hair.” Toya said, breaking his father out of his thoughts.

“Yeah. Let’s do that before we burn your hair off.” Enji tried to joke but it quietly fell flat.

“…Hey dad….”

“Yes, Toya?”

“Do… Do you… Do you think…” Toya’s voice faulted; his eyes downcast. He felt his dad squeeze his shoulders in reassurance. “Do… do you think I’ll able to become a hero? Like you? Like mom?”

“With the right training and care… You’ll become someone far greater than any of us.”

“…thanks dad…”

---

“I look like mom!” Toya couldn’t help but gush out as he ran his hands through his now silver hair. He had started to dye his hair as part of his treatment.

Enji patted Toya’s hair with a grin, satisfied with his work. “Hopefully this won’t dry out your hair.”

“That’s because you messed up the process.” Toya huffed out. “You turned my hair into a baby barf green that time.”

“Natsuo picked the color that time and we thought it was going to be candy apple green.” Enji waved his hands in front comically. He quickly packed up the supplies he used to dye his son’s hair. “Now, how about we go down to the game room? Play a couple of board games?”

Before Toya could respond, the door opened and the sound of several individuals shouting, surprise filled the room. Toya and Enji turned to see their family and close friends at the door, with a cake in Rei’s arms.

“Shoto wanted to celebrate his birthday with his hero.” Rei smiled softly at the sight of Shoto running over towards Toya and hugging him tightly. This was followed by Izuku and Katsuki running over to also hug Toya, this caused the three six-year-olds to ask the eleven-year-old if he wanted to play board games with them.

“Let’s play!” Shoto smiled as much as he could, if he smiled to much it will pull on his ever-healing skin. He has bandages covering over his left eye that only seemed to mock Toya. Just a reminder of what happened that day.

Toya did his best to grin, but it felt so off. Remembering what his therapist has told him. He took in a deep breath before he reigned in those emotions. He did promise to play with Shoto the last time his brother visited. “Sure, what game do you want to plan?”

“The new edition of monopoly! Hero Edition!” Izuku chirped, Toya could literally see how the kid’s eyes sparkle with joy at the thought of playing the game. Poor kid… he has no clue what he’s getting himself into.

One hour later…

Shoto, Katsuki, Izuku, Natsuo, and Toya all stared at the giant pile of monopoly cash in front of Fuyumi and all the property she owns on the board game. No one knows how it happened, it just happened. Fuyumi grinned at the boys before motioning for Natsuo to take his turn. He slowly reached across the table to take the dice and took his turn.

Natsuo’s eyes widen in horror as he slowly moved his piece to one of Fuyumi’s hotels…. One of which has a veeery high rent. “Oh no…”

“Hehehe.”

Tag list below:

Permanent Tag List: @runestarchild @princesskitomi @fanfictionpromptsblog @souleateralicestein @vixen-uchiha @okami-knight @legendaryneckjudgestudent @weird-homosapien @justafanwarrior @vivilakitty @ravennightingaleandavatempus @if-you-give-a-chat-a-cookie @moonwatcher04 @darkshadowguardian @two-faced-biatch @kris-pines04

N3H Tag List: @mewwitch @edwardhatori @kuroko26 @tall-and-angry @bloody-no-kissu

#N3H #Au #BNHA #Good Father Enji #Good father endeavor #MHA #My Hero Academia #Boku No Hero Academia #Number Three Hero #Mentions of self harm #toya todoroki #shoto todoroki #fuyumi todoroki #natsou todoroki #rei todoroki

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nobodyfamousposts · 5 years

Note

Nobody, I think I speak for a few people when I say that we're gonna NEED, a Gabriel, Emilie, Tikki and Plagg reaction to your latest edition of the Scars AU. What happens next????

Okay, I seem to have received a number of asks requesting a follow up on this for the Scars AU.

Well, Gabriel is ecstatic when the wish works and Emilie wakes up. He takes her out of her coffin and rejoices that she at least appears to be alive and well.

Which she is. Though she is confused. What happened? Why was she in that glass tube? How long was she out? How did he wake her up?

Gabriel assures her not to worry about it and then goes to look for Adrien. Surely once he sees his mother he’ll understand and be happy. And Ladybug—or rather Marinette Dupain-Cheng…he can deal with that when the time comes.

The time comes a lot sooner than he thinks when the two parents discover their son sitting back against a wall next to the girl behind Ladybug, both of them leaning onto each other and holding hands. Emilie thinks it’s sweet but wonders who the girl is. Gabriel is annoyed because surely he can’t be THAT taken with her, can he?

They try to wake the two up. Well, Emilie does. Gabriel already knows Ladybug won’t be waking up.

Emilie discovers Marinette is cold.

And to Gabriel’s horror, so is Adrien.

This is too convenient. She wakes up and her son doesn’t? Emilie turns to Gabriel and questions him.

He denies everything.

It’s a very VERY unhappy Plagg and Tikki who speak up at that point.

Plagg is bitter and sniping at every opportunity. Tikki is just sad but at least trying to be forthcoming so they understand what has happened.

Plagg reveals flat out that Gabriel has been terrorizing the city as the supervillian “Hawk Moth” in order to nab his and Tikki’s Miraculous, and has been abusing the hell out of the Butterfly Miraculous to do so.

Emilie is naturally horrified, but trying to keep a level head and continue to listen before turning on Gabriel because she wants answers about her son right now more than she wants to throttle Gabriel.

Tikki explains that the akumas had been causing massive damage to the city and it’s populous. While the Miraculous Cure can restore things, repeated uses have an accumulative effect on the user, causing Marinette more injuries over time.

Plagg: Humans aren’t made to keep taking that sort of damage. It started to impact her physically, which started a continuous chain reaction where her injuries would prevent her from ending a fight quickly enough, thus letting the akumas cause more damage, thus making more injuries for her to take on when she uses the Cure, and so on and on until eventually, her body would fail.

Gabriel couldn’t say he particularly cared. She was a nuisance.

Plagg: You may not have cared, but your kid sure as hell did. It wasn’t too long before he caught on to what was happening and interfered.

Tikki: The Black Cat is the partner and counterbalance to the Ladybug. Adrien used that to start taking on part of the damage from the Cure that Marinette would have received.

Gabriel: So his injuries were her fault.

Plagg: No, they were yours. YOU attacked the city. YOU put your kid in danger. All she did was clean up your mess and it’s no wonder the kid decided it was too much for her to handle alone.

Emilie: Then…why both of them? Why did this happen?

Plagg: Because your idiot of a husband made a wish to bring you back to life. But he tried to trade Ladybug’s life for yours—only the idiot never realized that due to the cumulative damage over time, Ladybug wasn’t a viable sacrifice. Even if the wish took her, it wouldn’t have been enough to restore you.

Tikki: And Adrien…he really cared about Marinette. Once he knew what was happening, he was insistent on helping. And ultimately he made an oath on his Miraculous that whatever happened to them—whatever they faced, they would share it together. So when his Miraculous was used to make the wish, his oath still stood. So they went…together.

Plagg: (Teary and trying not to show it) I know my kid. He wouldn’t have wanted any differently.

Emilie is…needless to say, furious. She immediately turns on Gabriel and just REAMS him out for everything. Abusing the Butterfly Miraculous, attacking the city, turning people into monsters, attacking CHILDREN, harming their son, and SACRIFICE? Oh, she is pissed.

Gabriel can’t even really speak in his own defense. He’s just downright horrified, probably in pure BSOD mode by this point. Everything he did was pointless. His own tactics ended up working against him and he still had a broken family regardless—even more broken now since there was little doubt that Emilie would never forgive him.

He couldn’t blame her.

#scars au

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whoisbxcky · 5 years

Text

Bad Day at Black Site 22 Pt. 2

summary: In the aftermath of your battle with the Winter Soldier, Bucky seeks forgiveness, while you make a confession with the help of your new friend- morphine.

pairing: bucky x reader

word count: 2k

warnings: angst, hospital?, major fluff towards the end

author’s note: Entry for @the–sad–hatter ‘s #hattersficparty .

So this is my final entry for this challenge, and because I’ve had way too much fun writing for these prompts I’ve made this last one a two-parter. This first chapter is all angst and nothing but the angst, part two is sickeningly fluffy at the end. Hope you all enjoy, thank you for reading and massive thank you to @the–sad–hatter for putting on such a stellar event. Peace.

Prompt used: “ I wasn’t hurt that badly. The doctor said all my bleeding was internal. That’s where the blood’s supposed to be.”

PART 1 | PART 2

One Week Later.

You groaned loudly as the steady beeping of an alarm dragged you from the comfortable slumber you had found yourself in. Blinking through the haze of your vision, you were momentarily blinded by stark white walls and a menagerie of machinery. Turning your head to the right, you managed to focus enough to make out the shape of a clear bag of liquid attached to your arm.

Ah yes, morphine, your new best friend.

It was at that moment that you recalled the fact you were in the ICU of the Avengers Tower medical bay.

After Steve had reportedly turned up and subdued the Winter Soldier, after what you were told was a grisly battle, you had been rushed here to receive medical treatment for your vast array of injuries.

Three days ago, you had woken up.

For three days you had been waiting for Bucky to walk through the door to your room.

Today looked to be another disappointment.

Your requests to Sam and Steve to bring Bucky to visit had been met by sympathetic smiles and gentle murmurs of ‘he needs more time’, and ‘focus on recovery’. But you had found it simply impossible to wait. You could focus on nothing other than the hurt Bucky must be feeling right now in the wake of his actions, and how much you wanted to make his hurt go away.

A soft knock on the door of your hospital room drew you out of your troubled musings. You called out a half hearted ‘come in’, already knowing who would be on the other side.

Steve strode into the room, shutting the door hurriedly behind him. He moved to the side of your bed, his eyes flashing with concern, as they had every time he’d taken in the battered and bruised face staring back at him.

When he made no move to explain his appearance at your bed side, you cleared your throat awkwardly, giving him a gentle, albeit questioning smile.

“Come to tell me my facial reconstructive surgery has been postponed again?”

Steve chuckled, shaking his head at you as he propped himself on the side of your bed, and his expression turned sombre. Which in turn, according to the beeping of the heart monitor you were sporting, sent a wave of unease coursing through you.

“Steve, what is it? What’s wrong? Is it- “

Before you could finish your barrage of questioning, Steve cut you off, his voice strained.

“He’s here.”

You sat up straight in your bed, practically launching yourself out of it before Steve’s gentle hand on your shoulder pushed you back down.

“Y/N…”

“If he’s here, then send him in. Steve please, I need to see him.”

Steve sighed, his eyes studiously avoiding yours as he spoke in a low tone.

“He’s not in a good place, Y/N. I don’t know if he has it in him to face you right now. Not after… Well, you know.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, your brows knitted together in worry and frustration. You understood what Steve was saying, the guilt must have been tearing Bucky limb from limb already and seeing the damage he had caused to you would only amplify that.

But that’s why you needed to see him. To tell him that he didn’t need to feel guilty. That you didn’t blame him. That no matter what the Soldier had done, you were still there for him, you still loved-, cared for him, deeply.

With pleading eyes, you gripped Steve’s hand, wincing as myriad torn ligaments and tendons screamed back at you for your effort.

He let out a resigned sigh in response, standing up once more and giving you a reassuring pat to the shoulder.

“I’ll send him in.”

You breathed a sigh of relief, fingers numbly gripping the remote to your morphine supply as you pressed it thrice.

“Thank you, Steve.”

He nodded curtly, giving you a reassuring smile before striding back out of the room.

The morphine took only seconds to take effect, and as you waited for the door to reopen, you found yourself staring at two doors, either side of each other. God, you loved morphine.

A minute and a half later, the door crept open once again, and you fought to restrain yourself from leaping out of your bed and into the arms of the man who entered.

“Bucky.” You breathed out his name, eyes brimming with tears as you took in the sight of him.

His own eyes turned glassy and his face visibly paled as he took in the sight of you, stopping dead in his tracks. He struggled for breath for a minute, eyes scanning your body frantically as he assessed the extent of your injuries, before letting out a strangled breath.

When he spoke his voice was gravelly, dark-ringed eyes barely meeting your own, you could tell he hadn’t slept.

“God… Y/N… What have I… Look at you, you’re- “

He cut himself off, running his hands frantically through his unkempt hair as he faltered.

At this point, the pain medication combined with your joy at seeing the man unharmed left you in somewhat of an emotional stupor. You gave Bucky a lopsided grin, the rush from the morphine making you see two of him, as you spoke with an almost comically chipper tone.

“I wasn’t hurt that badly, Buck. The doctor said all my bleeding was internal. That’s where the blood’s supposed to be.”

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose as he groaned in despair. You could see the tears welling up in the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill over and take your heart down with them and your expression turned sombre.

You and Bucky faced each other mutely for a minute, neither one of you sure exactly how to start this conversation. He made to walk towards the hospital bed but seemed to think better of it after a pause and you bit your lip nervously as you watched him, forcing yourself to stay put and not run towards his embrace.

It was Bucky who finally broke the silence, swallowing thickly before he spoke.

“Y/N… I… This… I should just go, I- “

In a drug-addled haze, you moved to get out of the bed, aiming to follow after him as he stepped towards the door. However, while the morphine was doing an exemplary job of masking your pain, it unfortunately had not given you your strength back, and you found your face hurtling towards the white panelled floor at an alarming speed.

In the blink of an eye, strong arms were wrapped around your sagging form, and you hazily relished in the comforting familiarity of one warm and soft, the other cool and solid. You murmured something about being able to stand on your own as the world tilted around you, and Bucky scooped you up bridal style in his arms, shushing you as he deposited you back into the safety of the bed.

You gazed up at him lazily for a moment, waiting for the rush of morphine to pass before you whispered to him.

“Buck, are you alright?”

He stared incredulously at you for a beat, before taking a seat on the edge of the bed, shaking his head and running his hands through his hair, yet again, in exasperation.

“You’re lying in a hospital bed because I put you there, and you’re asking me if I’m alright?”

“I did stab you. Twice.” You shrugged lightly.

Bucky deadpanned, and you bit back a grin.

With trembling fingers, Bucky traced the scars, bruises and bandages littering your arms, his breathing heavy as he did. You lay in silence, watching him with a tender expression.

You were so relieved that he was here, alive and himself.

When Bucky spoke again, his voice was a barely-there whisper that you found yourself straining to hear.

“Y/N… I can’t even begin to express how sorry I am. This is all my fault. I… I can’t believe I did this to you. I- “

“You have nothing to apologise for.”

You brought one finger up and gently placed it over his lips, silencing him as his eyes widened a fraction, his gaze snapping up to meet your own. You offered him a soft smile, running your index finger up from where it rested on his lips to trace his cheekbone, allowing your hand to cup his face.

“But, if it eases your mind, I forgive you, James.”

Bucky practically melted into your touch, letting out a small sob of relief mixed with anguish before he threw his arms protectively around your wounded frame. He drew you into his chest, metal hand cradling your head while the other secured your waist, his thumb tracing soothing circles into the tender skin.

You could hear the sorrow in each ragged breath he took, feel the damp in your hair from where tears of both guilt and joy spilled from his storm blue eyes. You nuzzled into his chest, breathing in the reassuring familiarity of his scent, murmuring sweet nothings to him, reminding him that you were really there, alive and safe in his arms.

You weren’t sure how long you both sat, holding each other with complete abandon. But eventually your voice, raw and cracked with emotion, broke through the silence.

“Buck… Did they…” You paused, letting out a shaky breath. “Where is Alexander Chernakov?”

You felt Bucky’s entire form go rigid around you, his grip tightening a fraction as if afraid you might disappear like smoke from his grasp at any given moment. When he spoke, there was a strained undertone to his voice that made you wince.

“He’s in the wind, doll.”

You bit your lip. Hard.

Bucky pulled away from you a touch, his metal hand cupping your cheek and forcing your gaze to meet his as you furiously blinked away the tears threatening to betray your emotions.

Anger, fear, guilt.

Chernakov had hurt you and, more importantly, Bucky. And now thanks to your shortcomings, he was a free man.

Bucky, as if reading your exact thoughts shook his head firmly at you. He stroked across your cheekbone delicately as he spoke in a low, soothing tone.

“This isn’t on you, Y/N. We’re going to find him. I’m going to find him. And when I do, he’s-.”

“A dead man.” You mumbled.

You let out a resigned sigh, nodding your head before leaning it to rest on Bucky’s shoulder. You caught a faint grin on Bucky’s expression as he cradled you against him, shifting his weight so that he was laying next you on the hospital bed.

Wrapped in the comfort of Bucky’s arms, you felt the welcome darkness of sleep creeping up on you once more. In your morphine-addled haze, you found yourself murmuring absent-mindedly to the man at your side.

“I was really scared I’d lost you for a second there, Buck.”

You faintly registered a sharp intake of breath to your side, and Bucky pulled you further into his embrace, reassurance flooding through you, and you continued.

“I don’t know what I’d do if I did. I’d take a thousand more fights with the Soldier over losing the guy I love, though. I know that for sure.”

You were only vaguely aware of the tensed muscles around you, the shaky breath resonating in your ear. Somewhere, far away in the murky corners of your subconscious, you screamed internally at the confession you had just made, and you dimly noted you’d have to deny the hell out of that statement come dawn.

That was, of course, until the faintest whisper echoed out into the dimness of the hospital room. A breath of a promise made for your ears, and your ears alone.

“I love you, Y/N.”

Warmth spread throughout you, body and soul, as you allowed yourself to slip into unconsciousness, held safely in Bucky’s arms.

In the quiet calm of the dimly lit room, you knew the nightmare was over.

Part 1

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