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astrophileous · 8 months

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Love Bugs (Pt. 07)

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Female Reader

Synopsis: You and Derek Morgan have an arrangement. At work, your relationship is strictly business. Under the sheets, it's all about pleasure. Nothing more, nothing less. Until, of course, your feelings start to get involved. Your situation is complicated enough without the unexpexted predicament that suddenly befalls upon you. But with a maniac serial killer on the loose, will you ever get the chance to make everything right?

Warning(s): cursing, mentions and/or depictions of death, near death experience, usage of guns, mentions of injuries resulted from physical violence, mentions of strangulation, pregnancy, somewhat religious undertones (very minor), I think that's all?? Pls inform me if I missed any

Word Count: 3200-ish

Tag(s): @marvelousgoldroses @jay-2s-world @whore-of-the-pumpkin-patch @maxinehufflepuffprincess @cat-or-kitten @littleshadow17 @itzz-me-duh @geeksareunique @paisleebubbles @whateverrrrrrrrs @crazyunsexycool @bruher @spiderlillie00 @f1lov3r @louderfortheback @wifeyofeveryone

Author's Note: HI!! I can't believe we're finally at the end of Love Bugs OMG!!! Thank you so much for everyone who has stuck by this series through its ups and downs. I was initially planning to write an additional chapter to close off this story, but I realized that this is the right part to end it. With that said, I am open to taking requests of blurbs/headcannons for Love Bugs if any of you would like to see more from these two. Just send me an ask and I'll make sure to check it out! This story is my very first derek and criminal minds fic altogether, so it's pretty emotional to be saying goodbye to it. Again, thank you so much for reading Love Bugs and I hope you'll be around for any derek/other criminal minds fics I might have in the future ❤️ Don't forget to LIKE+REBLOG+COMMENT 🌹

Love Bugs Masterlist / Criminal Minds Masterlist

Derek knew that letting Hotch take the wheel was a mistake.

He was already marching towards the driver's side back at the HQ's parking lot when the older man had stopped Derek before he could get in.

"Your head is not in the right place right now. The last thing we need is to get into a car accident when (Y/N) desperately needs our help," Hotch had reasoned.

Derek obviously couldn't argue with that.

But Lord, did he wish that he had actually argued with that. He kept internally cursing his boss for not going fast enough. Never mind if the speedometer was teetering towards 60 miles per hour, it still just wasn't fast enough.

A phone call from Spencer and JJ came in around 5 minutes before Derek and Hotch were supposed to reach their destination.

"His new office is empty," Spencer had said. "She's not here."

That new piece of information meant that you were being held either at the UnSub's home--where Emily and Rossi were heading to right at that moment--or the old office building that, according to Garcia, had once belonged to the UnSub's father.

Derek wished that the office was exactly where the UnSub had been holding you all this time. Not because Derek wished to be the one to find you first--of course not, he couldn't care less about that--but just because Derek would prefer it more if he was the one to face the UnSub and point the barrel of his gun at your abductor's head, watching as the fired bullet penetrated his skull before the scumbag dropped dead onto the ground.

As soon as the SVU pulled up to the driveway of the office building, followed by two police cars, Derek wasted no time climbing off his seat and out of the car. His steps were tenacious as he stomped towards the entrance, purposefully ignoring Hotch's frantic calls of his name.

"Hey, wait a minute, Morgan. Slow down."

Derek pushed past a frowning Hotch, fully intent on closing the twenty feet distance between him and the front doors. But Hotch's hand on his shoulder faltered his steps once more, and Derek couldn't rein his anger when he finally decided to face Hotch.

"What the fuck do you want, man?!"

"You can't just barge in there. We need a plan."

"A plan?" Derek scoffed. "She could be dead by the time we draw up your stupid plan."

"Morgan," Hotch's voice came with a warning. "You're not thinking straight--"

"Hell yeah I'm not! (Y/N) could be inside right now, fighting for her life, and you wanna talk plans?" Derek took a step forward, leveling his burning gaze with Hotch's eyes. "You're the one who caused us this mess, Hotch. Do you really want her blood on your hands, too?"

In the many years of him knowing Derek Morgan, Hotch never witnessed such fury in the man's eyes. These were the eyes of a man who had nothing to lose. A man who was ready to sacrifice everything because his whole world was at stake.

"You're staying behind me," Hotch said at last. "Don't do anything rash, or I'll be forced to have you sit this one out."

As much as Derek wasn't satisfied by those conditions, he knew that it was the best option he could have, so he relented.

Under Hotch's command, the group of six split into three pairs as soon as they stepped inside the treshold. They checked every room in the two story building, but they all came up empty. Once they were back outside, Hotch received a phone call from Emily and Rossi.

"There's no sign of them in the house as well," Hotch said, repeating the exact words that Emily had informed him over the phone.

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Maybe he's taken her some place else. I'll call Garcia and see if she can pull up any other potential location."

As Hotch waited for the tech-analyst to answer, Derek began darting his eyes over the entire building once more. None of it made any sense. He knew that it was impossible, but something told him that you were close. You were nearby. Just a sliver away from his reach.

It felt like he had been staring at the building for an eternity when it finally dawned on him.

"Hotch," Derek called out, feet already moving again towards the front door, "this building has a basement."

Derek didn't wait for a response as he barged inside.

Behind him, the other five people scrambled to catch up with his pace. Derek went to recheck all of the rooms in that building, banging on suspicious looking panels on the wall and testing the integrity of the floor beneath him.

A clanking sound in the distance eventually tore his attention away. The mysterious noise was soon followed by a shout from one of the uniformed officers.

"We found this," the officer reported as soon as Hotch and Derek stepped into the furthest room in the building.

On the ground, a rusty metal bookcase lied haphazardly. Right behind it, a wooden panel on the wall was gaping. Derek locked eyes with Hotch, a silent confirmation, before Hotch nudged the panel wider with his shoulder.

The hidden room led to a flight of stairs leading them down towards a dingy basement. Hotch motioned for everyone to follow him as he stealthily moved towards a metal door on the far side of one of the walls. As Hotch grabbed its handle, Derek tightened the hold he had on his gun.

Everything else had transpired in a blur.

Derek only recalled seeing that horrific scene playing out in front of him for less than a split second--the image of that bastard putting his filthy hands on you--before his instinct kicked in. Two bullets from his gun; one to the shoulder and one more to the neck.

Derek barely even registered the gurgling sounds the UnSub was making as he rushed towards you.

Derek's heart was glass as he knelt by the chair, each piece shattering against his insides with every mark, cut, and bruise that he could see littering your skin. He still remembered the feeling of your naked skin under his fingertips. Soft and tender, like frosting on a cake. But now?

Now, it looked dull and lifeless.

With heart in his throat, Derek moved to touch your limp form. "Bug?"

No answer.

"Hey, (Y/N)? It's me. I'm here, Bug, please open your eyes," he pleaded. "Wake up, sweetheart."

The pressure in Derek's chest inflated. His palm felt ice on your face. His fingers around your wrist scrambled for any sign of life he could find, but there was none.

"Hotch! Hotch, she's not breathing!" Derek called out, a sentence made out of nightmares. "Help me get this off!"

It felt like an eternity until Hotch was able to hand Derek the metal cutter, which they then used to free you of your restrains. Your body slumped instantly into Derek's arms the moment they cut off the last metal cuff, and Derek tried not to dwell over the fact that you felt stiff and cold against him.

"You're okay, sweetheart," he murmured as he laid you down on the ground. "Come on, you're okay."

Those words kept repeating themselves over and over again as he started doing compressions on your chest. Prayers towards a God he hadn't spoken to for a while also slipped past his lips. Prayers for a miracle. Prayers for the heavens to allow Derek to take your place instead. Prayers for the universe to please, let him have more time with you, please, please, please.

"Morgan." Hotch's hand fell on his shoulder, but Derek never faltered. He kept on pumping your chest, willing for your heart--his heart--to start beating once more. "Morgan, the paramedics are here."

Reluctantly, Derek let himself be dragged away from you, giving room for the first responders to do their job. As he looked down upon his hands, Derek noticed that they had been shaking. Violently.

"Please be careful," Hotch spoke up. "She's pregnant."

"Clear," one of the paramedics announced before another one pressed the shock button on the defibrillator.

Derek stared helplessly at the flat line shown on the heart monitor.

"Again. Clear."

Every second that passed by was an inch of blade through his chest. Every second you teetered closer towards death was also his life undoing right in front of his eyes.

Derek thought it was over. His world was crumbling to ash all around him, stripping down the colors until all he could see was gray. He was standing on the brink of its wreckage when suddenly, he heard one of the paramedics yell, "We got a pulse!"

And just like that, Derek's knees gave out underneath him.

"Morgan!" Hotch caught Derek's shoulders, keeping him up before the younger man could collapse completely on the floor. "Hey, she's okay. She's gonna be okay."

Derek could only nod his head in response. Words tasted like lead on his tongue as he struggled to catch his breath. Tears streamed down his face like a burst dam after a rainstorm.

For a second there, Derek thought his world was ending.

But as he stared feebly at the paramedics wheeling your body away, Derek couldn't stop thanking the universe for giving him another chance. One more chance to be with you. One more chance to make things right.

This time, Derek was not going to let it go to waste.

Darkness was peaceful.

In the darkness, you were nothing.

But you had always wanted to be something.

With a heavy heart, you made the decision to say goodbye, to come back to the life that had been your constant for the past decades. To a world that, beneath all of the bad things you had witnessed in it, still had some good worth mentioning, too.

Like Derek Morgan, for example.

Despite everything that happened, you could never deny that Derek was a rare example of good in the world. And he was exactly the person who occupied your mind when you gradually regained your consciousness, letting yourself amble further from the promises you had rejected from the darkness.

When you finally opened your eyes, it felt like your body had been dragged through much more than mere mud.

Fluorescent lights blinded you almost instantly. You turned your head in order to escape the onslaught, but the pain radiating through your entire body made you whimper instead.

"(Y/N)." A gentle hand landed on your shoulder. "Hey, you're awake."

You blinked away the fog that had gathered in your vision, trying to make out the silhouette in front of you until it morphed into a recognizable face.

"JJ?"

"Yeah, it's me." She smiled. "How're you feeling?"

"Not particularly great."

JJ breathed out a laugh. "I figured."

You groaned quietly as you shifted yourself to a new position, JJ jumping in to help even before you asked her to.

"What happened, J?" you questioned once you had settled comfortably.

"I think that's a talk for later, (Y/N). For now, you need to rest."

"Please--" you grabbed onto JJ's wrist, "--I want to know. The last thing I remember was... was..."

Being strangled.

That was the last thing you remembered before everything went dark.

JJ's eyes flashed with understanding. "You were barely alive when help arrived. It was a miracle that Hotch and Derek got there when they did."

"Derek?"

The smile JJ gave you was full of hidden meanings. She gestured with her head towards the other end of the room, towards the direction you hadn't even once inspected since you woke up. A worn down couch stood against the wall, and on top of it, cramping himself into a position that was surely not comfortable, was the person you had been hoping to see since you opened your eyes in that dingy basement.

Derek.

He was sleeping with his arm draped over his eyes. He must have been tired, you thought. Or otherwise, he wouldn't have been sleeping so soundly in such an awkward position.

"How long was I out?"

"About two days." You couldn't hide your shock when you looked at JJ. "He never left, (Y/N). He refused to leave your side."

JJ's revelation compelled your eyes to stray towards Derek once more. You missed him. You were still missing him even when he was there, in the same room as you were, safe and sound.

As if she could dissect the content of your head, JJ spoke up again, "Do you want me to wake him up?"

"No, please. He needs the rest."

"Pretty sure he needs to see you more than he needs his sleep, (Y/N)."

Ignoring your protests, JJ circled the bed and approached the run-down couch in the corner. You watched with a drum in your chest as JJ gently shook Derek awake, smiling to yourself when you see him open his eyes blearily.

"Someone wants to see you," JJ informed, nodding her head in your direction.

It was as though a switch had been flipped somewhere inside of him. The moment Derek saw your eyes looking at him, any trace of exhaustion he was previously feeling automatically dissolved in a heartbeat.

"I'll better step outside," JJ announced, already retreating towards the exit. "The others would want to know you're awake."

With JJ's departure, the atmosphere in the room instantly shifted.

Before you could process what was happening, Derek had seemingly transported to your side. Now up close, you finally saw the lines of fatigue etching on his face. His muscular shoulders drooped slightly as if the weight of the universe was forcing him to forfeit his energy little by little.

Sitting by the bed, Derek looked hesitant as his hand hovered over your own. You eventually took matters into your own hand, tangling your fingers around his until there was no room for escape.

"I've missed you," you confessed.

A watery laugh rumbled past his chest. In his eyes, a cloud of tears had begun to build. He stared at you with such fervent. The person who owned his heart, the one he thought would take it away from him to the grave.

"You scared me," Derek confessed as well. "I thought you were gone for good."

"It takes a lot more than that to get rid of me," you tried to joke, which, judging by the expression on Derek's face, was not something he appreciated very much. "Wait. Derek, the baby--"

"Is fine," he cut you off, preventing you from spiraling any further. "The doctor said they need to monitor both of your conditions for a few days. But for now, the baby is fine. So are you."

You released an appeased breath before dropping your head back on the pillow.

"How long have you known?" Derek suddenly asked.

The question was inevitable. You knew sooner or later it would come up, but that didn't mean you were not still taken back when it did.

"A couple of weeks," you replied. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

"I understand why you didn't." Derek smiled ruefully. "After everything I said to you--"

"We both said or did something we regret."

"Yeah. Me more than anyone."

"Derek--"

"No, Bug. You gotta hear me out." Derek took a deep breath, the frown between his eyebrows deepening as he stared straight into your soul. "I want you to know. I want to make sure that you understand how sorry I am for everything. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you when you needed me. I'm sorry I said all of those horrible things back in Iowa. But most importantly, I'm sorry I was too much of a coward to tell you the truth.

"The truth?"

"I love you, Bug."

Your heart skipped a beat.

"I love you," he emphasized. "I don't know when it started, if it was before or after our arrangement began. I just know that I do. These past few days have been hell for me, Bug. I've watched all kinds of nightmares imaginable in the years I spent on this job, but none of them compare to what I felt when you were gone."

A stray tear escaped from Derek's eye, constricting your chest even further than ever.

It was the first time you had ever seen him cry.

"I understand if you want nothing to do with me after this. But whatever you want, I promise that I'll be there. For both of you." Derek's palm landed on your belly, right on top of the small bump that had just started to grow. "In any capacity you allow me."

Your whole body erupted in goosebumps following Derek's admission. His sincerity rendered you speechless. It seemed like hours later when you could finally find your voice again.

"Did you mean all of that?"

"Every word."

"Good. Because I love you, too."

Derek's expression faltered ever so slightly.

"I want every capacity you have, Derek. I want every part of you, every part you're willing to give because I need you. We both do."

Derek's smile, despite the tear streaks on his face, was the definition of relief and joy. He kissed your knuckles a million little times before leaning forward to claim your lips. It was a breath of fresh air to have his lips on yours after such a long time apart. Even then, Derek was still familiar. He tasted of home.

Hours later, the rest of the team stopped by to check on your condition and to congratulate the two of you over the little life that was soon to become the newest member of the BAU family. Once the crowd had dispersed, your hospital room fell quiet once again.

In the midst of that comfortable silence, you persistently tried to convince Derek to go to sleep in his own bed for the night.

"I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart."

"Derek--"

"Do you really think after what happened, I'm just gonna let you out of my sight? Hell no. I'm sleeping here. End of discussion."

"It's just one night, Derek. I'll be fine," you assured him. "You can't possibly be comfortable on that tiny couch. You should go home and get some decent sleep."

"The only way I can get a decent sleep is by making sure you're safe, Bug. So, please--" he tugged the blanket higher around your body, "--stop your yapping and get some rest."

You eventually yielded into Derek's incessant commands and allowed yourself to relax, not before giving him a very defiant pout that earned you one sweet kiss from the man.

It didn't take long for sleep to take over your body. But even once you had fallen into a very deserved slumber, Derek couldn't find it in himself to close his eyes. After the tornado that these past few days had been, a love confession from you was the best reprieve that someone like him could ever dream of. It still seemed so surreal that a part of him feared going to sleep just for the tiniest bit of chance that everything had, in fact, been a dream.

So, for one night, Derek figured that sleep could definitely wait.

For one night, Derek would spend his time thanking whatever higher power had listened to his prayers and sent you safely back into his arms.

The love of his life. The center of his universe.

His Pretty Bug.

Along with the Little Bug that was still growing life inside of your belly.

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avatarloverfrfr · 2 months

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Dreamwalker Siblings

Chapter II: Uniltirantokx Tsmuktu.

Previous Chapter Masterlist

Summary: Y/n and Jake Sully. Siblings, shipped off into the depths of space to explore the mysterious world of Pandora.

Warnings: Constant mentions of headaches. Mention of needles.

Word count: 2,01k

Tag list: @pinkvrydag @neytirismissingtoe @youskawng @tsuteyssyulang @lylalaminated

Note: This is a short chapter sorry🤘😞 Its so humbling, cause I really spent a long time curating ts.💀

Opening my eyes, expecting to find myself in the windowless compound I had confined my body the day before, I'm met with the sight of sunlight beaming through multiple windows. Frantically glancing down, I discover my hands still tinged with the same blue hue as my Avatar from the previous day, moving my hands around in disbelief.

Suddenly hit with the same pain I had the previous day, but this time the feeling tenfold worse. My hands instinctively reach to cradle my head, as if my hands were protecting my head from whatever pain was causing my head to ache.

This can't be happening! I was suppose to disconnect from this body. Thoughts started to race through my mind, while my brain simply couldn't catch up before being hit with another wave of pain.

As I stagger out of bed, a wave of agony crashes over me, each pulse feeling like a bullet piercing my skull. Struggling to maintain balance, I attempt to walk, but with each step, the pressure in my head intensifies. Collapsing onto the bed I had just vacated, I cling to it for support.

Looking around the other Avatar beds, I note that Norm, Grace and Jake had all left to go do something requiring the use of their Avatar bodies, leaving me alone in the compound. Using all my remaining strength, I decided to go to the one person who I know could possibly help, Max.

Approaching Max, he seems to already be expecting me, turning around with a smile on his face. "You seemed to have a early start of your day, already in your Avatar body so early. Grace, Norm and Jake went out to the forest, they'll be back in a few hours." he says, smiling up at me, but faltering as he realises the look on my face.

"Max, I didn't delink." I say weakly, looking down at him.

"What? No, that's impossible." he says smile now fully replaced with a serious look and calls over the other scientists and doctors in the bio-lab.

Multiple doctors and scientists walk up to me and help me get on a gurney set up. "Don't worry Y/n. We just need to run a couple of tests." Max says, trying to reassure me.

Hours pass, and seemingly everything that the doctors do makes the pain worsen. With every needle etched into my skin, with every question asked bouncing around in my brain causing pain. The strength that I once felt in this body now deteriorating as the hours go by. Deciding to go against the many warning and wishes of doctors and closing my eyes in the hope that I would delink in the process.

Ties passes with me being asleep but still stirring discomfort. Grace and Norm both walk up to me in their human forms, having delinked prior. "What's happening?" I hear her say through closed eyes.

Immediately opening them, I utter, "Where's Jake?" looking at her then behind her in hopes of my brother to wheel in from behind.

"Where's Jake? Where's my brother, Grace? Norm?" I repeat louder, frantically looking at them waiting for a response, as I hiss because the sudden movement causes the pain to resurface.

"Jake got lost, he'll be fine, he's a marine after all. You should be worried about yourself right now." she says trying to calm me down.

Deciding to lay my head back down on the gurney, a single tear rolling down my blue-stained cheek. "You lost my brother," I say defeated as I close my eyes, not wanting to stare into the cold lights on the lab.

"Grace, Y/n didn't delink last night." Max interjects, breaking the silence in the lab. At his words, both Norm and Grace instinctively turn their gazes toward Y/n, noticing the thin layer of sweat formed on her forehead.

"Why can't we just press the emergency release button on her link bed?" Norm asks, directing his question as Grace.

"That'll kill her and her Avatar. She is too weak in both states." Grace responds eyes not leaving Y/n, who lies there, examining her false body whilst her real one remains trapped in her link bed.

"This cannot be treated with the medicine we have. This is an Avatar body. Only Tsahik can heal her now."

Opening the door to his link bed, Jake is greeted with the sight of Grace flashing light into his eyes. "Come on back kid." she says slapping his face lightly.

You're not gonna believe where I am." he says with a chuckle, earning a smile from Grace who immediately knew what the Marine had just said, while exiting the link bed. Reminded of the harsh reality as he adjusts himself on his wheelchair.

"Where's Y/n? I gotta tell her all about the shit I went through today," he says, wheeling around to go find his sister.

"That's what we wanted to tell you Jake, Y/n is still in her Avatar form." Grace informs Jake, as he looks to where her link bed is situated and confirms that the bed is indeed still running.

"But, she's been that way since yesterday. She's sick Jake. A sickness we are not capable of treating. Only Tsahik can, and you're the only one they accepted in, so we need you to–" Grace adds but is cut of by Jake.

"Take her to Mo'at. I got it." he adds while still being in disbelief at the information that Y/n was still in her Avatar form.

"Where is her Avatar?" is all he says as he looks away from Grace, guilt eating at him. While he was snagging a date with the Olo'eytkan's daughter, his very own sister was fighting for her life in a body she didn't wish to even have.

"On the gurney." Norm says, pointing at a still Y/n in the center of the room, wires attached to her temple and onto a monitoring machine.

Wheeling over to his sister, Jake stops and looks at her face. Eyebrows scrunched, as if she could still feel while she slept. "Don't worry Y/n, I'll bring you to Mo'at, she'll know what to do."

"Come on, Y/n. I'm gonna need you to work with me here." Jake grunts, his effort evident as he hoists one of my arms over his shoulders, helping me off the gurney.

"I'm trying," I sigh, leaning heavily onto his Avatar body. The pulsating agony in my temple dulled a bit, but still remains excruciating, especially at the slightest of sounds- ironic, given the heightened senses of an Avatar.

"We just need to get you onto the Samson. Trudy will take us halfway there, we'll have to walk the rest." he says, leading me into the loading dock where a lady, who I assume to be Trudy, waits. Both Grace and Norm by her side in their Avatar forms.

The flight didn't take long, but the machines noise makes it unbearable to sit without contorting my face. "We're here Y/n." This is where we split." Grace says, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder as the Samson lands amidst Pandoras dense flora.

Exiting the ship with Jakes help, I watch as Norm, Grace and Trudy fly off. Norm and Grace are yet to be accepted by the Omatikaya, while Trudy's situation is more obvious.

The trek to the home tree isn't far, but I struggle to appreciate Pandoras beauty as my head seems to only want to be focused on pain. "This wouldn't happen with Tommy–" I begin through gritted teeth.

"Would you just–Y/n. Stop thinking of the past, he's gone." Jake interrupts, his voice laced with irritation as he adjusts my arm, supporting me as we continue.

"How could you just forget–" I start before silencing myself, fixated on the towering tree ahead, it's entrance clearly marked. Voices fill the air with a foreign language.

"Kewong." is the only word I hear as Jake and I navigate through the gathering crowd. Inspecting us as if we were uninvited animals. The murmurs fade but linger as a commanding voice resonates through the gathering.

"Jakesully. We accept you, yet you think it's acceptable to bring back another tawtute!" a woman declares, descending the home trees stairs with confidence, her demeanour unmistakably authoritative.

"Mo'at. Tsahik of the Omatikaya Clan. I ask that you please help my sister. She is ill and cannot be helped by our healers. You're her only hope." Jake pleads occasionally averting his gaze from Mo'at's stern glare.

Mo'at turns her attention to me, and I stiffen under her sharp gaze. "What's your name?" she asks bluntly, her eyes boring into mine.

"Y/n. Y/n Sully." I reply, swallowing hard.

"Tsmuktu. Uniltirantokx Tsmuktu." she declares, circling me like prey, mirroring the crowds earlier inspection.

"You are weak, Weaker than your brother Jakesully. You will not survive." she declares, her words final. She refuses aid, and Jake seems to sense the seriousness of her words.

Stumbling forward, out of Jakes grasp, I follow Mo'at pleading silently as my knees buckle beneath the weight of my throbbing head.

"I only aid The People. You, Y/nsully, are not one of us." Mo'at declares, dismissing me without a glance.

In the midst of Mo'at's discourse, a dandelion-like creature lands briefly on my forehead before fluttering away.

A woman steps forward, "Atokirina, Ma Tsahik." she says in a rushed voice, offering a tentative smile.

"A sign from Eywa." she explains, lifting me gently. "Ma Tsahik." she turns to Mo'at with a knowing look.

"Come," Mo'at says not bothering to look back, leading the way with the woman and Jake by my side.

"Who's eywa?" I whisper to Jake, to which he shrugs. "No idea, asked Norm and he gave me a lecture, but I tuned out." he whispers back, a shared chuckle lightening our steps as we struggle to keep pace with the Tsahik.

Entering a tent-like structure, I can only assume belongs to Mo'at and her mate, the Olo'eytkan. "Lay down." she instructs me.

As I comply, Mo'at resumes speaking. "Neytiri, fetch her appropriate clothing. We do not tolerate tawtute attire." she commands, turning to Neytiri, who promptly departs. Mo'at kneels beside me.

As Neytiri leaves, another Na'vi man enters, his anger radiating as he confronts Mo'at and I. "How could you allow this demon entry?" he accuses, pointing a finger at me.

"Tsu'tey she is unwell. She poses no threat." Jake intervenes, stepping forward with his hands in the air.

"You! Do not adrress me as one of your own." Tsu'tey rebukes Jake, pushing him aside to confront me.

"You suffer because you inhabit a false body. Return to your tawtute life." he insists glaring down at me.

"I would if I could," I retort, meeting his gaze from my position on the floor, catching Mo'at's attention.

"If you could?" she probes skeptically before returning her focus to crushing the herbs, while Neytiri re-enters with a loincloth and accessories.

"Yes, I am unable to revert back to my human form." I admit, sighing as Mo'at and Neytiri exchange meaningful looks.

"Child, you are chosen by Eywa. Both you and your tsmukan." Mo'at declares, placing a cool cloth on my forehead and motioning me to remain still.

"It is settled. You will be instructed by Tsu'tey, once you are well." she concludes leaving, with a furious Tsu'tey follwing behind.

"I will teach you both the ways of our tongue." Neytiri announces before departing, leaving Jake and I alone in the home of the Tsahik and Olo'eytkan.

"Rest Y/n. I wanna go back and tell Norm about how you and I are both getting trained by the future clan leaders, I wanna see the jealousy on his face." Jake says, a grin on his face as he exits, likely to delink.

With that, my eyes drift closed involuntarily, the pain slowly receding as I slip further and further into slumber.

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#avatar x reader #jake sully #neytiri #avatar 2009 #avatar #omatikaya #angst #tsu’tey te rangloa ateyitan #tsu’tey avatar #tsutey x reader #mo’at #reblog #jake sully x reader #neytiri x reader #na’vi avatar #avatarloverfrfr #ikran #grace augustine

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dreadsuitsamus · 10 months

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Ichigo Kurosaki x Reader Blurb 1

author's note: not entirely in line with the canon as far as timelines go, ichigo is around 22, reader is a soul reaper, angst, not entirely orihime friendly

"So what will it be, Ichigo?" Like ice frosting over grass, your voice is calm. Too calm, too quiet, too unlike what he's used to.

And he doesn't need this right now.

"What do you mean?" Ichigo feigns ignorance as bad as ever now, not even meeting your gaze, missing the way your infuriated eyes stare him down but he surely feels the hatred you're spewing.

"It's very simple." Jaw tightened so much it might just crack, your words only barely slip past your lips. "Orihime? Or me?"

His heart is doused in flames by the question. It's not a fair one, to start off, and his mind says one thing while his selfish heart yearns for your own selfishness. But his integrity as a man with morals, integrity as a friend is stronger, beating against his skull like a caged animal and roaring at the troublesome road ahead. Orihime is in immediate danger.

You, not so immediate.

"Why would I choose?" Anger begins flaring in Ichigo himself; are you really so crass? Is life not sacred to you?

He knows it is.

Your fist curls at your side, fingers itching to reach for your zanpakutō and force some sense into him, should it come to blows. Time is of the essence, Soul Society has required everyone to come back and prepare for battle! The Arrancar threat, Aizen is looming and the girl that's never defended herself once isn't at the top of your list of priorities. And on a bad day, you'd feel she's not on that list at all.

"Your life may turn out quite differently depending on this choice."

"Will it?" Ichigo's brown eyes cut sharply to finally look at you, staring you down with the heat of a thousand suns behind it.

"It will certainly depend on if I remain in it." Your heart leaps at the look in his eye. Would he really choose her? "Do you trust me?"

"I want to." Ichigo shoots back.

"We will save her when we can. You can lead the charge, if you want. But she's not-"

"If you say she's not important, then you can just go." The blood in his veins burn at how nonchalant you are, at how uncaring Soul Society is for Orihime. She's been on this journey too, right by everyone's side!

"Your choice."

"I won't let you make me choose, like this is about what I want for dinner! Orihime is our friend! She needs us! What don't you understand about that?! You'd let her suffer? Over what? For what?!"

Ichigo steps toward you, leering over you and taking your shoulder in a strong grip. "You are the one I love. But Orihime is my friend, and she needs me. And if you won't choose me, then tell me how to get to Hueco Mundo before you go."

The answer dances on your tongue, an internal ticking racing in your mind. Go against your direct orders and personal beliefs, or follow Ichigo's heart and save a girl in need of it? Keep your status in Seireitei but lose Ichigo? You don't even know if the girl is alive!

Ichigo's chocolate eyes silently plead with you, his grip like an iron vise. This wouldn't be the first time you've stuck your neck out for him, no. He's fully aware what it could cost you— but it isn't like he wouldn't come for you too. If there's anyone in this world or any other he'd protect, it's you.

"Come on." He whispers, ignoring the way his vision starts to blur. You won't look at him, and his heart sinks. "Do what's right!"

Do what's right in whose point of view, Ichigo?!

The light of a Senkaimon gate lights up behind you and panic floods Ichigo down to his very bones as the door slides open. Just as you were starting to waver! Byakuya, stern and cold as ever, though he speaks quietly, his voice cuts through the room like a bullet.

"Leave him."

The hand on your shoulder means nothing, as Ichigo feels like he's free falling now. You turn away from him, breaking free of the grip easily and walking towards your captain's order without even a second glance behind you. So easily, you'll follow this command?! He means nothing to you?

He's not so sure anymore.

The room goes dark as the door closes and vanishes, leaving Ichigo to fall to his knees. How could you do this to him?

As you walk alongside your captain, your face is stony and unbreaking even against the torment of your breaking heart.

How could he do this to me?

#ichigo kurosaki x reader #ichigo kurosaki x you #ichigo x reader #ichigo x you #just a little something that was rattling in my brain #i swear i don't try to only write angst #x reader #reader insert #bleach imagine #ichigo imagine

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dimepdf · 2 years

Note

can we get some eddie x black! reader, soft, domestic ass smut/fluff🙏🙏 (p.s love your writing!!)

ARE YOU MINE. + EDDIE MUNSON

masterlist. / taglist. / any request? [ ❥ ] synopsis. hi i love your writing sm!! pls could i request an eddie munson fic where the reader loses her virginity to eddie but she struggles a bit bc she was raised super religious so doesn’t really know what she’s doing and feels kinda guilty (kinda angsty/fluffy). pls only write if ur comfortable with this ofc and no worries at all if you don’t! thank you sm 💗 author's note. i felt like i needed to combine these two requests together :) don't forget to join the discord! join here

[ ❥ ] pairing. eddie munson x reader

[ ❥ ] word count. 5k

[ ❥ ] genre and warnings. 18+, black afab reader, established relationship, mentions of religion, first time, corruption kink, tooth rotting fluff, something cute to mend my broken heart, pet names, grinding, vocal Eddie, body worship, cowgirl, age gap (both legal idk how old Eddie is bruh), cuddling, aftercare, domestic vibes

You were used to spending most of your free time watching your boyfriend, Eddie, strumming mindlessly at his guitar.

Eddie sat across his bedroom from you, leaning back against the wall like he was trying to morph himself into the rock posters that were taped to the walls.

His gaze and attention were fully in his own world as his fingers echoed a tune from the plucked strings.

His legs spread as he sat, taking his bottom lip in between his teeth. Even with a gun to your head, the male hummed a tune from a song you couldn't name.

You could call your relationship pretty simple compared to most teenagers your age, both of you being in your senior year of high school (Eddie being a super senior, but you don't bring it up much). You two had been dating since you had heard whispers of the "Hellfire Club" around the school.

Going through your rebellious streak, you had decided to bite the bullet and drop out of bible study for activities that broaden your horizons of newer hobbies. Wanting to do things outside of your parent's constant stern and strict approval

You could still recall your friend’s faces watching you plop down at an open seat at the boy's lunch table. Something about your perfect old prompt self butting into their conversations about the next D&D campaign made Eddie instantly choke on his milk.

It took a lot of harassing Eddie during passing periods and sharp-tongued comebacks to gain the trust of all the members of the Hellfire Club.

You even did some personal study with a list of older campaigns Eddie had scribbled in a notebook during the hours your parents had settled for your bedtime, unaware that you were under the sheets with a flashlight learning how the game worked.

It was fair to say that you were welcomed into the club with open arms after the amount of dedication you had put into wanting to enjoy the game the same way that they did.

Not long after even gaining Eddie’s respect along the way, it only took your entire junior year to make it as obvious as possible that you had a thing for the long-haired asshole who seemed to always enjoy picking an argument with you.

Your parents, on the other hand, were not too fond of his appearance. The moment they found out that you were even dating in the first place, they had to forbid you from ever hanging out, let alone playing the so-called devil-worshiping game.

Your mom lectures you every time she sees traces of him on you. The way you come home flustered, clutching onto your schoolbooks; the cautious glances you would give when she passed by when you were on the phone, whispering how you’d talk to him at school; your flushed, dazed look from just thinking about kissing him.

Your mother snaps at you every time she catches you in that hopelessly romantic trance, her stern voice trying to beat sense into your thick skull.

"So you think that you're all grown up, huh? That you could just go around and do whatever you want and act like a little floozy like you don’t live under my roof?" Your mother's words snap like a stretched rubber band against your skin.

Your mother has a way with words that makes everything she says stick worse than what the bullies would say to you.

Your father never says anything, just sits back and watches with a disappointed frown. You had gotten used to the face, the way that your parents would always look down on you for falling in love.

The lecture would always end with you begging to retreat back into your room, wanting to use your blankets as a shield away from your family as your mother kissed her teeth and berated you when she noticed the fat tears rolling down your cheek, sparing herself from humiliating you any more than she had already done in front of your siblings.

But alas, the more you’ve hung around Eddie, the more rebellious you’ve gotten, sneaking out and telling your parents excuses for why you were coming home later than you should.

They disapproved of you using your old friend group as a cover-up while you were really in the passenger seat of Eddie’s car, swapping spit with the one boy in town that they disapproved of.

You weren't really bothered by the fact that Eddie wasn't really much of a romantic type. You quickly learn that he expressed his affection through his interests and hobbies. Frequently, he would share his favorite music or even perform personal covers of songs that you liked with his band.

His love language was also pushing all of your buttons, seeing how far he could stretch you out before you would just tell him off. He thought something about you losing your cool and getting angry with him to the point where you would just snap at him as very attractive.

You two bickered back and forth more than you kissed or held hands. The arguments were never over anything serious; usually, it was just Eddie wanting to pick a fight with you just for him to give you that sly smirk with his hands grasped at your hips, yanking you into his chest.

Other than him randomly biting into your arm or smacking your thighs as hard as he possibly could, Eddie wasn't much of a touchy guy. You didn't push him too much, not expecting him to be much of a charming prince.

You just loved him for who he was, especially since he was your first actual boyfriend as well as you being his first actual girlfriend.

For Eddie, being in a relationship with you was just like being more flirty with a best friend who he had thought was attractive.

But he looks at you like he was in love like it was his first time opening his eyes. You had gotten used to the smitten look of the riddler all over his face. You'd often catch him staring at you as if staring at you was his favorite pastime.

He loved watching how the sunlight would filter through your dark curls, making them look like they were some sort of halo that framed your face. He loved watching the millions of emotions your face would form.

He loved how your big black eyes and thick eyelashes fluttered when you caught him staring at you.

Eddie had fallen in love with how your cocoa butter-coated skin almost seemed to sparkle with a warm brown glow under the sun, how your full two-toned colored lips would form every word like you had meant everything you had spoken.

Eddie had it so bad for you. It all just happened so fast for him that he couldn't even remember a time that he didn't want to be stuck to you like glue.

Which was why it wasn't really intended for you both to be virgins for this long.

Sure, you two had your fair share of sneaky back seat handjobs and the time you had him bite into your shoulder during his first blowjob because his uncle was in the other room and God knew Eddie couldn't help himself but to sound like a modern-day whore getting his dick stroked by you.

It was also because you had grown up in a household where having sex was pretty taboo.

The more you realized it, the more it sort of settled that you and your parents had a different view of the religion that you believed in.

You didn't understand the whole "wait until marriage" argument considering that your father was twice divorced before he had met your mother.

You just knew that abstinence wasn't just something you wanted to practice, not much of a big deal, but you knew that your parents would lose their heads if they found out that their little girl was planning on being plowed by the town "Satanist" Eddie Munson.

You couldn't talk to anyone about the weird feelings you had or how to handle them. It took you a while to realize that you were just sexually frustrated.

Both of you were kind of emotionally unavailable and too scared to come off as too soft or clingy, even to each other. It was like a battle for dominance. Eddie being as competitive as you were, it was like a game seeing who would be the first to crack.

It was like a battle you had sadly lost due to your extreme teenage hormones.

Watching the strum of Eddie’s fingers against the guitar, a growing hunger festered in the lower part of your body. Something about watching his hands had switched something in you.

“Hey Eds”

“Hm?”

"Do you think we can…have sex?" Your tone was flat as your words sort of mumbled together with the fingernail you were trying to bite off, Eddie’s mind instantly going into restart mode as he paused.

His hands were still hovering over the guitar before blinking. You were watching as his head snapped to peer across the room at you, his brows twitching in anticipation of what you asked as if he had heard it by mistake.

You felt ready, having been dating for almost three years. Your hormones were raging as you wanted nothing more than to go all the way with your boyfriend, and you felt like he was ready too, or so you thought as you flinched, hearing the sharp snap of one of the guitar strings, your eyes widening as you watched Eddie in silent panic.

"Shit, uh, I mean–" As he shot up from his seat, he felt like he had made things awkward. It's not like you had suddenly blurted it out unprompted.

As Eddie hung the guitar upon its mound, he turned towards you, hesitating to speak as he just sighed, taking a seat next to you on his twin-sized bed.

Because you were afraid that the way he was acting would lead to a breakup, you weren't sure what to do with yourself. Your thoughts were going in the worst possible direction.

"Like, right now?" With his eyes squinting, Eddie asked in a more gentle manner while wiping his sweaty hands along the front of his denim jeans.

"Uh, yeah, sure," you nod.

"Oh... okay." was his final reply, as you couldn't help but laugh at how awkward the situation was being played out.

"Okay?" you dragged out, teasing him, reaching to playfully lean into his shoulder, earning one of his many usual eye rolls in response.

"I do want to, you just kind of blurted it out and caught me off guard." Chuckling as your boyfriend's face turned a faint shade of pink and his hands began tensely rubbing his bangs.

"I mean, if you’re, like, ready to, then I'm ready." You nodded at his rambling. Both of you were too embarrassed to notice what was happening, so there was a nervous pause in the air.

You tried not to look completely out of it, your heel tapping repeatedly against the carpeted floors, still biting around the skin of your nails.

"Yeah, okay, cool." you hummed, suddenly Eddie raising his brows at your sudden change of mood from nervous to frantic. A hand gliding over your thigh ripped you from the cloud of worry that stormed over your head.

“What's wrong angel, talk to me.”

"I don’t know, I just don’t want it to be like a huge thing, you know?" You didn’t want it to seem like a big deal, knowing that inside your mind was racing with thoughts about what your parents would think of you if they had found out.

They had already disapproved of Eddie. You could already see the faces of horror on your parent's faces if they ever found out about the sexual thoughts you hadn't even had with him.

"Hey, hey, we don’t have to do it."

"No, no, I do want to. I want you, Eddie." Your hand rested on the curve of his shoulder.

"Really?" As he tangled his fingers between yours, a toothy grin crept across his lips. Your lips curled into a perplexed grin.

"Yeah, I really want to do this with you." You softly chuckled, the tone in the room shifting to much more comfort. You were both suddenly aware of the sound of your breathing and the gulp Eddie took in a nervous state.

The smile he gave you was one that you rarely saw on his face. The one that he would only show when he thought no one was looking; the one that he would only show to the people he was most comfortable with beaming at you.

"Okay, well, uh…thanks?" he murmured, inciting another soft laugh from your lips. Both of you were looking in the direction of the TV that sat in front of the TV. A kissing scene played out in front of the unattended movie.

"So...how about we just take it a bit slow?" His tone shifted to something more seductive, his stare suggestive as you allowed him to take the lead, his face leaning in closer to you.

"How about we, uh, touch first, or do you just tell me what you want? Does that sound good to you?" You glanced down at your lap, watching his fingertips dip into the plush of your thigh, his hand lingering just inches away from where you needed it the most.

"I don't—" your voice trailed off. "I’ve never touched myself before." Eddie’s face lifted in surprise, his eyes lighting up.

"Should I feel weird for finding that really hot?" You giggled at his honest reaction, the low voice in the back of your head spewing out doubts and unnecessary worries in the back of your mind being strung out one by one the more Eddie made an effort to comfort you.

The ones that hurt the most were the thoughts that Eddie was just too good for you, and that your relationship was too perfect to be true.

He would ultimately choose a flawless pale white skinned girl with a better figure or a prettier girl who wasn't compelled by her parents to attend church every weekend, missing out on every band performance he would have.

You knew it wasn't fair to be insecure about yourself, your melanin color, your black ringlets of hair, it wouldn't be fair to pick at all the things about yourself that you just couldn't change.

You never thought of yourself as ugly; it was just how you appeared to others while living in a town with a majority of white people where being a minority was uncommon. You were aware that you couldn't blame the outside world for how alone you felt in Hawkins.

You were just…different. You didn't blame most boys in your grade for picking on you for the shape of your nose or the size of your lips.

You couldn't blame them. There were children not aware of the hateful comments that they would painlessly speak that would carry on until their teenage years.

You felt unseen most of your life, hiding behind that row of girls that just fit the beauty standard for perfection.

You had thought that you would spend your entire life in Hawkins, always hanging out on the sidelines and living curiously through all of your best friend’s romantic relationships.

Having to hype them up every time they bring up going on dates or being asked out by boys that you knew wouldn't bother to give you the time of day without any ulterior motives until Eddie welcomed you into his life.

He treated you as though you were meant to be his destiny and that the only reason you two had come into contact was that fate had sent you to earth as an angel.

Eddie hoped for miracles his entire life. He hoped that he would finally finish high school after being held back, that he would save up enough money to finally move out of his rusted cheap trailer and into an actual house, and that his band would finally get the recognition that they deserved, but all of that came in the form of you.

He swore that his miracle was you. If he could, he would have given whatever god was listening to a firm handshake for blessing him with you. He thought about it once, like Eddie actually thought about going to church with you by his side.

Driving past the street in his van, he spots you and your family all hurrying out of your father's car, all dressed up with frails and skin-colored stockings.

He wanted to stop and park his car across the street, trying to scramble up words to form the perfect greeting he would speak to your parents.

And then he realizes how drastically different your life was compared to his. You had a big loving family, siblings that were always in your business, and parents that would crack the whip on you just for putting a toe out of line. You were formed and built up into this perfect black woman.

Eddie was astounded that someone so perfect in his eyes could be in love with him like you were.

But there you were, sitting with your thighs straddled at his sides. Your arms hung over his shoulders, with your lips against his mouth.

Your life depends on it. Eddie had to convince himself many times in your relationship that he wasn't dreaming, that you weren’t actually some angel gifted to him by a higher power.

Eddie didn't believe in God as you did, but if he was up there, boy, were him and Eddie bound to be homies. His breath hitched at the feeling of your trailing fingers lingering down his chest, inching towards his lap, between your legs. "My god, you just…do something to me..." Eddie moans against your lips.

"You just make it so hard…to not absolutely want to…ruin you." His words alone sent a shiver up your spine. The shameless feeling of your back arching into the warmth of his broad chest, your big doe eyes peering into his didn't help his case at all.

"You're just so beautiful." Grinding your hips onto his lap. Feeling just how hard his erection felt as it pushed against the rough material of his jeans his hips coaxed into rutting against the plush of your thigh.

"You think I'm pretty?" Your concern about being unable to recognize your own true beauty is painfully innocent. Your gentle voice nearly caused Eddie's heart to break.

"Y/N, you're the most gorgeous girl I've ever laid my eyes on." Eddie watched in a deep trance as you took your bottom lip between your teeth and glanced down away from his gaze shyly.

Your hips roll forward against his tented jeans. His fingers dug into your hips, a sound of bliss leaving his mouth as his head tilted up to chase after your lips once more.

You shifted against his lap once more, just the whimpering sounds he was making just because of you were intoxicating to hear.

As you both carved the feeling of each other Eddie couldn't yet map out all the things he had wanted to do to you but he just knew that he needed you against him as nakes as he possibly could.

You felt his fingers slowly hooking under the hem of your collared shirt, the brush of his cold fingers colliding with the hot skin of your lower belly.

"Can I?" You could only nod as the words felt stuck in your throat, unbutton the top of your shirt before you could guide his hands to grab the material of your shirt.

He helped you yank the shirt over your head and toss it aside against the floor, his eyes instantly glued to the plain pink cotton bra that you wore.

You just looked too good, almost good enough to eat. Not that Eddie didn't want to eat you, he just wanted to go as slowly as possible to take everything in.

When his hands hover over the curves of your breast, you reach out to guide his hands and place them on your chest like a breath of relief.

The foggy look in his stare almost made you laugh, like he was starving to finally get his hands on every part of your body, wanting to worship every curve and mark, squeezing and fondling your breasts to his heart's content.

“Is this okay?” He asked with his fingers under the shoulder strap of your bra, his fingers twisting the elastic and fiddling with the plastic clasp that held it all together.

You nodded, shredding off your shoulder, and twisted the bra to the front of your chest, unclasping it with one hand, and just like your shirt, you let Eddie take it off and toss it aside with your shirt.

“Can you—can you touch them?” You murmured. Eddie wasn’t one to always be obedient, but the way you spoke to him was doing wonders for the growing problem in his groin. He dove his face into your chest, his mouth trailing wet kisses in the crevice of your chest, as per your request.

His finger held you down from squirming in his lip as this tongue reached the bud of your nipple. Sucking and swirling his warm, wet tongue over the perky bud, you whimpered from the contact, ducking your head away as your hand covered your mouth to prevent making any more embarrassingly lewd noises.

“Can you touch me too, please?” His words were bold and straight to the point, despite the slight slur from his lips being wrapped around your boob. When you saw the spit string connecting his lips to your nipple, your mind went into overdrive.

Your fingers were trembling as they unzipped the front of his jeans. Eddie drew his jeans past his knees, his hand bringing yours beneath the elastic cuff of his briefs to the pulsing girth of his crotch.

His hips buckled from just the simple contact of your hand, finally giving him the attention that he begged for.

“God, angel, do you feel what you do to me?” His tone was so eager that you had found it adorable how needy you both were for each other.

From the material of his underwear, he unleashes his cock. Your fingers were wrapped around his length, listening to the low whimper from Eddie like it was music to your ears, curling into your touch, stroking your hand as your fingers were already sticky with his precum dripping from the tip of his cock.

"Um, do you have a condom?" There was a pause after your question, Eddie panting as he squinted his eyes at you like so much blood had rushed to his dick that his brain was delaying everything else.

“The—in my nightstand.” He finally answered as you hopped off of his lap and crawled to the side of the mattress, your hand fishing for the big rectangle box of rubbers.

Your eyes widened at the XL label, slowly glancing back at Eddie as he shrugged his shoulders. His breath was still heavy from just wanting to touch you again.

You definitely weren't allowed to touch another condom again. Your first attempt of trying to open the plastic wrapping with your teeth ended with you ripping the condom inside in half.

Your second attempt wasn't much better. Your hands were slippery from the lube that had gotten on your fingers. Just as you twisted your fingers around the plastic to tear it, your fingers slipped away from the wrapper and collided with Eddie’s nose.

Your boyfriend huffs in laughter before snatching the wrapper from your hands and putting on the condom himself.

You were comfortable enough to laugh about it, Eddie trying to soothe you as much as possible with the warm feeling of his hands rubbing against the top of your thigh as you shed your underwear and positioned yourself over the tip of his cock.

"Oh, s—shit," Eddie grunted when you lowered yourself onto his shaft, your arms trembling as you used your thighs to hold yourself up with your head tucked into his shoulder.

Eddie let you set your own pace, his hands fisting by his side into the bed sheets as his face scutched in bliss from the feeling of you struggling to take just his tip inside of you.

The feeling of your heart beating so hard that he could feel it against his chest, his arm snaking around the curve of your waist to help you balance yourself out, listening to every small nose that parted from your lips.

As you shifted your hips to slowly take all of him, coaxing the same moan from each other, Eddie rested his head against your chest, pulling you in closer, practically hugging you as if his entire cock hadn't been buried inside of you.

The feeling of him stretching the warmth of your walls makes you feel light-headed. You wanted your body to get used to the size of him as quickly as possible, taking much more than what you had expected.

Your face twisting in pain as you squirm in his lap, trying to get rid of the sting of pain from slamming down on him with little preparation. “Take it at your own pace angel, you can take it.” Eddie encouraged you from below, leaning up to kiss you, using his mouth to relieve some of the pain, dividing your attention between your tongue invading his mouth.

Your hips stuttered, raising them slowly before starting a more stable pace. The creak in his cheap box spring was almost as long as Eddie’s moans as you rode him.

He tightens his grip around your waist, restarting himself to not snap his hips to match your pace, wanting you to have full control for your first time.

"Hmm—so big Eds," you mumbled, the fan of your breath against his ear, slamming your hips and grinding against him. He felt like he was going to pass out as he had died, and the pearly white gates were the spread of your thighs, and his heaven was the feeling of your cunt squeezing around his cock.

"You feel so good, Y/N," Eddie rasped. "So fucking perfect." His words of encouragement make you feel drunk just from his words.

Your hips rocking at your own pace, it was starting to become unbearable on Eddie’s side of things. His hips were trembling to the sound of your wet folds struggling to take him all the way down to the base.

The cool metal from his fingers brushed against the warm skin of your thighs, his hips shifting up almost like he was struggling to restrain himself.

You looked down and instantly recognized the pleading look, the look that told you that he needed every inch of you. Your lips met in approval as his hips bucked up into yours at his own pace.

Your head drops in pleasure, resting your forehead against his shoulder, your moans echoing like a sweet tone in his ears.

He could feel the trembling in your legs, struggling to hold himself up as he had his way with you. Eddie decides to give you a bit of mercy, wanting you to be as comfortable as possible.

The moment he pulls out of you, your insides feel weird, like a ghost of him still lingering inside of you pulling away as he picks you up by your thighs with a grunt, shifting your position so that you lie with your back against the mattress.

There was a cute moment when the tip of his cock pressed against your opening, a dopey grin on his face being replaced with a moan that fell in rhythm with yours. You both feel reconnected, he slides his entire length back inside of you where you thought he belonged all along.

"You feel so fucking good," Eddie whimpered, his voice low. "You gotta let yourself go, Angel. Come on, I know you want to." leaning down as you chased after his lips, kissing him deeply.

His tongue slid into your mouth, parting your lips as the rough skin of his thumb rubbed rough circles against your clit. You had to reach your hand and place him in the right position, but it was the thought that mattered the most to you.

The new sensation is enough to drive you over the edge, and Eddie is watching your body tense and tighten from under him. The feeling of you squeezing around his cock, drawing out his own orgasm, his thrusts stuttering as he continued to ride out yours.

His fist clenched around the blanket just beside your head as he ducked into the crook of your neck.

Grunting against your neck with every thrust, his orgasm untumbled the feeling from his eyelashes fluttering from squeezing his eyes closed as he fell limp against your chest, a breath being thrown from your lungs.

You couldn't help but laugh to the best of your ability.

The feeling of Eddie laying his entire weight against you wasn’t something that you were a stranger to, it was just the first time you’d done it while being naked and him not threatening to throw you into a headlock.

Watched him struggle to stand on his own two feet, his thighs clenching as he stumbled to throw the condom away before you could peel back the blankets and slip between the bed sheets holding the blanket up as Eddie crawled to lay in front of you.

Lying on your side, your arms encircling his torso as you put your head on his shoulder and savor the warmth of his body.

Your thumb felt at ease touching his arm. "I feel like I could totally last longer than that, by the way." You chuckled, reaching your leg over his and hooking the bend of your knee into his thigh to cuddle closer to him.

"Well, my parents think I’m at band practice, so we have the rest of the afternoon."

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#[ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ ★ — t.wrks. ]#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #joseph quinn #eddie munson smut #stranger things 4 #netflix #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson stranger things #st4 #eddie munson concept #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #stranger things imagine #stranger things x reader #black reader

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rosepinks-world · 1 year

Text

ＨＥＡＲＴＴＯＨＥＡＲＴSimon ‘Ghost’ Riley X Reader

You and Simon had something going on. God knows what it was but there was definitely something there. You understood he had a hard time with affection due to his past trauma and had to learn how to respect that. For example:

He hated PDA. I mean you weren’t big on it either but he didn’t even like to hold hands.

You understood why but it would be a lie to say it didn’t hurt your feelings slightly.

He hated taking his clothes off in front of you as they revealed the scars that littered his back. He wasn’t overtly insecure but he hadn’t had anyone see him in such a vulnerable, intimate situation for a long time.

And most of all he disliked hugs, that he didn’t initiate.

You found that the hardest to restrict.

Anytime he’d come back from a mission you’d just want to jump on him as soon as he walked through the door but to respect his boundaries you’d wait for him to make the move.

It had been five whole months since Simon had been on a mission and you weren’t even sure if he was still alive. You’d made your way to HQ ignoring the odd stares you got from the workers there and made your way outside preparing for 141s plane.

Men began to get off the plane but he was still out of sight.

Fuck fuck fuck

‘He’s gone, he’s fucking gone’ You thought

Until.

You saw a ridiculously tall figure in a skull mask climb down the stairs of the plane dragging behind three men that were all conversing. It looked like he was too until he saw you.

You’d normally think about how he might be angry with you because you were here but fucking hell you didn’t care.

You were just happy that he was alive!

You waited for him to get to the bottom of the stairs and then ran up to him wrapping your arms around his waist and leaning your head against his chest.

‘I thought you were fucking dead.’

He went stiff. He didn’t say anything in response and just stood there not even hugging you back and that’s when you remembered. You immediately pulled back beginning to apologise.

‘Oh fuck Simon I’m sorry I forgot-‘

But before you could fully apologise he’d pulled you back in holding your waist and bent over slightly to rest his head on yours.

He’d never done this before.

He hated feeling vulnerable or showing affection in front of people, but fuck he’d missed you so much.

Whenever he threw a knife through a guys fucking skull he’d think, What would y/n think of what I’m doing?

When bullets were flying past his head you were the person he thought of. How would y/n react if I got hurt? Or if I died?

And as he saw the innocent people dead and tortured on the floor he’d think, What if someone hurt y/n?

He’d chuckle slightly at that, God the things he’d do if someone dared look at you in the wrong way.

He was hugging you so tightly you honestly thought you might suffocate, you laughed into his chest ‘Jesus what’s gotten into you.’

‘Y/n I’m sorry.’

‘For what?’

‘Im fucked up, doesn’t take a genius to notice that but you’re always here. I think you deserve better than me, Im fucking difficult to love’

‘I deserve what I want. And I want you.’ You reasoned simply.

‘Fucking hell.’ He said tilting his head up. He wasn’t angry he was slightly giddy.

‘And You’re not difficult to love.’ You replied looking into his eyes holding his mask. ‘Because I love you.’

He almost shit himself when he heard that.

He was in shock to be honest.

No one had ever told him that before.

I don’t think he’d ever even felt love or know what it was like but he knew, he just knew that he felt the same way.

He held your head and kissed the top of it, then reached his hand to the lower part of your neck just above your chest. It sounded odd and probably looked odd to anyone but you two, but it was an unspoken touch that you’d both do to each other and it said three (in this case four) certain words.

Except this time he actually was able to say those words.

‘I love you too.’

(Jake and Amy | This was the only pic I found that matched my vision.)

#mw2 x reader #ghost cod #call of duty #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #cod modern warfare #ghost mw2 #spotify #ghost fanfiction #task force 141 #simon riley x you #heart to heart

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saintsugu · 2 years

Text

Fatal Attraction.

contents: explicit sexual content, unestablished relationship, power imbalance (boss -> subordinate), bonten!timeline, gunplay, master kink, degredation, name caling (bitch, slut, and pet), ran’s just really mean, manipulation, sir kink, penetration with no prep

word count: 1.8k

author’s note: this was originally meant for kinktober >:)

Everybody in Bonten—at least those who are willingly there, are ready and expecting to lay their lives down for their superiors at one point or another, but you’re different. You want it— crave it, even. Some call you crazy, obsessed, or any other synonym, but you’re just devoted to your master; mind, body, and soul…

—

“Are you scared?”

There’s a gun to your head. You should be scared—begging for mercy, as all of those who came before you have done. but it excites you. It’s not because you think he wouldn’t hurt you, on the contrary, he already has, but it would be an honor to die by his wonderful hand.

There's a sick and drunk smile plastered on your face and you have so much admiration in your eyes when you answer, “No, master.”

“Good girl.”

You breathe softly as he drags the gun down your face, applying minimal pressure as he does so. What kind of master would he be if he broke his toy so soon?

Surprisingly, the only reason your breathing isn’t uneven, nor your heart rate abnormal is due to arousal, not fear.

Beneath him, you kneel on a soft, dark crimson carpet. Stripped down naked, with your hands in your lap and leather handcuffs binding them together.

You and Ran started this little game a few months ago. He was always aware of your idolization for him. The way you’d follow him like a lost little puppy. One night, after getting quite drunk in his office, you stopped by to deliver the last of your paperwork for the night.

He beckoned you over, after asking you to close and lock the door, and once you were close enough, everything followed suit. And it was easy—you were easy. He didn’t even have to threaten your job or your life as he did with others. With a wave of his hand, you were on your knees with his cock jammed down your throat, moaning like a whore.

Things continued like this. He’d drunkenly call you in, trap you against his desk and fuck you like his life depended on it. But one day things changed. One day he realized that you were a depraved, sick, and twisted little girl, so he started fucking you as such.

But he’s never done this before.

“Suck.”

One word.

Who knew one word could have so much power over you?

You look like a slut as your mouth gapes and your tongue lulls out. It tastes cold as he pushes the barrel of the gun onto your tongue. Your eyes widen a bit when he starts to push it down.

“Want you to suck it like it’s my cock, m’kay? Be a good little slut and do as I say,” he demands, voice coated in a honey-sweet tone.

You nod fervently as he stops pushing and lets it rest inside your mouth. Immediately, you get to work. You bob your head up and down and try your best to put on a show.

He’s dressed fully in his lavender pinstripe suit, the only thing even somewhat out of order is his undone tie. He doesn’t feel bad when he forces it further down the tight walls of your throat. How can he when you’re obviously enjoying this just as much as him.

“Feelin’ needy?” He drawls, a lazy grin on his face as he moves his foot into position.

Your eyes roll back when his leather loafer bumps against your clit. He nudges your thighs apart and rubs the bud raw. He also knows that you’re smarter than others, you know not to start grinding without permission, less you’d receive a bullet through the skull.

“Go ahead.”

Two simple words and you’re in a frenzy. Your hips move as you push down and roll against his shoe, moaning around the metal weapon as you do so.

“You always do so well,” he coos, retracting his foot after you get your moment of pleasure.

You know better than to whine or voice your disappointment at the lack of stimulation. When he pulls the gun away, you instinctively try to follow it. Your head lifts and you have your tongue out, desperate to get one last lick as if it really were his cock.

Sadly, this needy behavior earns a sharp strike against your cheek.

“Good dogs don’t chase,” he chastises.

Your cheek stings and you want to cry, but you don’t want to upset him. Who cares that it hurts if he’s happy?

“Up,” he orders after discarding his weapon. “I’m tired now. You made me stand for that long,” he sighs dramatically as he sits down at his desk chair, pulling his tie off in one slick movement.

You stand obediently in front of him, posture spick and span as always. Before, you’d apologize, but now, through trial and error and a lot of punishment, you know that apologies are meaningless to Ran Haitani.

“Sit,” he demands calmly, tapping his right thigh as he beckons you over. When you do as such, he’s got another demand lined up. “Take my belt off.”

“Yes, Master,” you say, tone mostly even despite the arousal sliding down your thighs and dripping onto his slacks.

At this point, you want him inside of you more than he does, so you’re quick to comply. With it off, he wraps the leather around your neck and pulls it taut.

“That’s better,” he chuckles darkly. “Pets are always better when they can’t speak.”

You whine at the degrading words but quickly stop when he gives you a cold glare, instead settling for chewing on your quivering lip.

“Now my cock.”

The process is the same, but you almost start to drool when you hold his cock in your hand. It’s by far the biggest you’ve taken or even seen, but then again, there’s not much to compare it to.

When he first met you, you were naive and starry-eyed. You were looking for someone to serve—even if you didn’t realize it at the time, and he was looking for another worshiper.

“Sit on it,” he says coldly. “You’re already on strike 1, so you don’t get any prep.” Your lip trembles more at his words as you look up at him. ”M’kay,” he hums along, leaning back in the chair. “Get to it.”

Lifting yourself up, you slowly sink onto his cock. Your lips widen and tiny whines escape as he stretches you out thoroughly. But when he hears them, Ran doesn’t take lightly to your whimpers.

He’s heavy handed as he slaps your ass. ”Strike two. You know the rules. No noise untilI I say so.. One more mess up and I don’t let you cum tonight, got it?” When you nod quickly, he gives you a fake smile and a kiss on the forehead. “Good pet.”

His feigned attitude only lasts for a moment before he’s grabbing your hips and forcing you down. Tears well in your eyes and you have to bite down on your hand in order to stop the moans from flooding out. Your jaw is still shaking as you try to stay silent.

Once you’ve settled and your plenty stretched, you look at him with shocked, doe eyes and your lips parted, as if you’re soon to cry.

“Don’t fucking look at me like that,” he snarls, grabbing your jaw harshly. “It looks fucking pathetic. And not a good look on you, bitch.”

“I’m sorry, Master,” you whisper sheepishly.

It’s absolutely baffling to him how he can do this to you. On the field, you’re strong. You don’t need orders to do the proper thing. You’re intelligent and have your own beliefs. Well, that’s until it comes to him.

He orchestrates your life both inside and outside of the bedroom. You’re his most valued subordinate, outside of his brother of course, so despite you wanting to help protect him, he makes sure you stay behind the ‘frontlines’.

Who else would warm his cock?

“Oh I’m sure you are,” he coos. “Why don’t you show me just how sorry you are by fucking yourself on my cock, okay?”

You start to nod, anxious about the idea but desperately needing to please him.

“Your master has had a long day. You’ll make him feel better, right?” You nod but he pulls on the make-shift leash. “Answer me.”

“O-of course, Sir,” you squeak out before weakly lifting yourself and dropping back down onto his cock.

You bounce slowly on top of him, trying to pace yourself so that you don’t end up cock drunk like usual, but that just won’t do for Ran.

“I said to make me feel better,” his tone changes, now replaced with a flat sound. “Not to fucking bore me.”

You look up at him in panic, but it’s far too late.

Two things happen in a blink of an eye and it renders you unable to think properly.

1: using his leverage on your neck, he pulls you all the way forward onto his chest.

2: he plants his feet and starts to fuck into you at a pace you forgot was possible.

“This is how you fuck someone, not whatever you were trying to do,” he rolls his eyes, ignoring the apologies and broken moans that roll off your tongue.

He makes a mental note to punish you for that later in the way of formal spanking, considering you still haven’t bothered to even ask for permission to let out any noise.

“Do you realize how easy you’d be to replace?” His words make your heart stop, pulling you out of your drunken haze of sex. “Bitches like you are dime a dozen. You think you’re the only one falling to their knees and begging for my cock? Fucking delusional.”

“I’m sorry,” you start to sob and he realizes you’re actually upset. “I didn’t mean to make you mad. I’m sorry, I’ll be better! Please don’t replace me, Master, p-please,” you whimper.

Gently, he strokes your back and shushes you but when you stop crying as much, he whispers these cruel words that give you a twisted sense of hope.

“Be a better fucking pet and I won’t have to.”

“I’m sorry,” you whimper the words quietly as you start bouncing again, repeating them over and over.

Your hand finds its place on his shoulders as your pace picks up. It hurts, a lot more than the run of the mill stretch. You were wet for him, of course, but taking someone of his size without prep will take its toll.

You feel so mindfucked as you bounce, but it doesn’t matter if it’s for him. The man who gave you everything.

He gave you money and status. He supplied your physical needs more than you thought was even possible. But more than anything, he gave you love; at least you thought he did.

But Ran Haitani is a cruel man. One who’s unable to love without exchange. Unfortunately, he won’t let you in on this little secret.

Because in the end, to you, Ran is your master. But to him, you’re just a pet.

#ran smut #ran haitani #ran x reader #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers #.tokyo rev #.ran h #.file } ran #.ezra’s writing

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theboxscreams · 1 year

Text

Make up my wasted time (TF2 Sniper x Scout)

Wow, I haven't posted on here since 2020. Back then, I was cringe, and did a lot of weird shit on my old account that I am not proud of. But I'm here again, and a very new fan to TF2.

This fanfiction is originally posted to AO3 on my account.

Scout thought coming here, he could forget his father. But it didn't because he was here too. But.. At least he had Sniper to keep him company when things got tough with Spy.

Scout hated it here.

Well, not most of the time. But right now he did.

He hated his father, hated him, hated him, hated him.

He was barely there when he needed him the most. He was barely ever there for anything. Sure, maybe it’s because of his job. Which Scout understands now. But any father would have the gut to at least visit his family, give him a little support. A little something.

He grew up with too many siblings. Too many fights and battles and rivalries, too many times left on the dirty sidewalk with dirt and grime from the street getting on his new cuts, gashes and scratches. Too much was spent wasting time, never fully living the childhood he wanted.

But when he ended up here, far from Boston Massachusetts he wondered if maybe he’d be able to make himself worthy. He wondered if cutting his ties with the family he had yet never known would make him a new person. He could forget about his dad here, and do cool stuff, blow everyone away and make his mark.

But he heard a familiar voice, he felt his hope to be a new person crash all away, when he learned his father was on his team.

He didn’t know before he got here, and he sure as hell didn’t tell anyone about it. But when he met everyone either him or his dad said a word to anyone, or made it obvious that they knew each other at all. But when they were alone, he caught a brutal earful.

“What the hell are you doing in a place like this?!”

“Why didn’t you go to college? I told you mother I’d pay for it all!”

“I can’t believe you right now, you know how dangerous this job is?!”

Just like that, Spy was trying to be a father, when Scout didn’t see him as such since the day he turned thirteen and realized the cold, hard truth.

Spy never cared about him, so Scout didn’t care for him either.

Scouts hands were shaky as he wrapped the white bandage on his scarred hands from constant fighting and battle as a kid and from current situations. Spy argued with him again, Scout didn’t understand why he had to keep bothering him.

Spy wanted to be a father again, but Scout didn’t want him to. He didn’t need him to, he didn’t see him as such anymore. And he was never going to call him dad, ever.

“Jeremy, you need a second to listen to me.” Spy said, his eyes narrowed as he looked at the son he had failed for years. But Scout had a thick skull like a goat and it was hard to get through to him.

“Don’t call me that, don’t- don’t call me that stupid name, pally! I’m not- I’m not Jeremy here. I’m Scout.” Scout spat, his name burning on his tongue like sulfuric acid. “Why do I gotta listen to you?! You’re my father anymore! You never were!”

Scout's words hit like a bullet in Spys chest, piercing his heart and ripping out the back and taking his feelings of happiness with it. “Jere- Scout.” he said, “I am your father and I always will be! You can’t take away blood unless you kill a man.” He took a step towards Scout. “I know I was a bad father, and I’m trying to make up for it!”

“Blah blah blah! Didja finally realize you were a whack job of a damn father the day you saw me walk into that damn room to meet everyone?! Or was the guilt always there?!” Scout yelled, pushing Spy away from him and moving away from him.

“I just want to fix things.”

“You had years to fix everything! YEARS!!!” Scout yelled, “But you never showed up, Spy. You never were there for me or anyone else! Ohhh but you called mom, didn’t ya? Your precious girl?!” He had tears in his eyes threatening to fall, but he held them back with all his might. “You never wanted to talk to any of us! You didn’t even show up to my damn graduation!”

Spy stood silently, eyes locked on Scout. And Scout could tell that his face was distressed despite the mask that was covering most of it.

“I know, I know I was never there but I’m just asking for a second chance with you, Scout. You know this job is dangerous and demanding, I’ve had this job way longer than you!” Spy argued, hoping that maybe this would break through that dense skull Scout had under his skin.

But Scouts had a protective layer of trauma that didn’t want to let anyone in, especially Spy. Never Spy.

“You wasted all your time.” Scout said, “Hey listen, if I had a son, and I had this job?” He put his hands up, “I- I would still be there for him, y’know? I’d- I’d make a phone call home every damn second I had! And I’d- I’d be there! I’d see him, I’d do anything to see him!”

He went to the door, sniffling and rubbing the tears out of his eyes before they had a chance to waterfall down. He paused for a moment, a brutal silence filling the room and the atmosphere ever so slightly darkened. And Scout turned around, looking at the man one last time.

“You’re just too much of a deadbeat loser to realize you failed as a parent.”

And with that, he left the room, slamming the door behind him.

Scout felt tears threaten to fall, and he clenched his teeth and rubbed his blurring eyes again. But he couldn’t focus anymore, it was hard to in conditions like this, knowing that Spy was anywhere in the building messed him up.

“Easy there, mate. If you wanna cry you should just do it.”

The sharp New Zealand accent voiced behind him, Sniper.

Scout looked over, frowning before looking away. “Awh go away, Snipes. I don’t need ya to see me like this.” He said, wrapping the bandage around his hand quicker.

Sniper instead, walked into the room and shut the door behind him. “I’ve seen you bloody and with a knife sticking out your chest, I think seeing you in tears is the last thing that you should be worrying about, kid.” He walked into the room, hearing Scout scoff. “I heard you and Spy.”

Scout choked a little, looking over at Sniper with wide eyes. No one knew Spy was his dad, they hadn’t told anyone. But people were bound to see the familiarity, and wonder why they hated each other so much. “Don’t tell anyone he’s my dad.” He said.

“Wasn’t gonna.” Sniper shrugged, sitting down next to Scout. “That was a rough one to listen to, though. But welp, I’m not surprised Spy is a terrible father, he seems like the type.”

Scout couldn’t help but chuckle a little, moving onto his second hand. “Glad you noticed.” He said. He then sighed, “He was never there for me or any of my siblings as a kid, and I had a big family in a bad part of Boston.”

Scout knew he could tell Sniper anything. Sniper was.. Good to him. Nice, and kind, and he gave good advice and good hugs. And he cuddled him too, a couple times. Many times. And snuck kisses when no ones looking. But the two of them weren’t dating, but they knew it’d happen. Just didn’t know when in the timeline of living it would happen.

But Sniper was a safe place, a home. His go to pal, someone he wouldn’t be too upset about spending the rest of time together. And he’s sure Sniper thought the same about him, too.

“I guess he's just been here for all this time, if I knew I’d be on his team I’d wish to be BLU, but..” Scout sighed, “God.”

“You wanna be able to kill him? I get that.” Sniper said, wrapping an arm around Scout.

Scout nodded and finished with the bandage, and looked at his hands. “Got into a lot of fights as a kid, I learned to run away..” He sighed, “I never learned how to avoid a fight, something Spy should’ve been there to teach. But now he wants to be a dad again.”

Sniper hummed, “You should try keeping communicating to Spy strictly to just.. When you gotta, mate.” He said, “That way maybe you’d feel more comfortable, I’m sure Spy’ll give up soon enough.”

“I guess but.. What if he never does?” Scout said, “And I have to deal with him for the rest of my damn life till the day he or I die.”

“Well, you’re in your twenties, so you’ll probably be around longer than him. But listen, I’m confident after a while he’ll realize you don’t want anything to do with him, and he’ll just.. Leave you alone from then on.” Sniper said, “You just gotta be patient with it.”

Scout sighed, leaning against Sniper and closing his eyes. “I hope he does.” He said, sounding sort of aggravated. He crossed his arms, cuddling up next to Sniper and closing his eyes. “Thanks for not leaving, and actually deciding to sit here and talk to me..”

Sniper shrugged, “It’s what I’m here for, mate. If you ever need anything, I’ll be right here.” He said. He held himself back from saying something cheesy, knowing Scout was gonna switch up and start making fun of him for it. Which he did find charming, and kind of cute. But he didn’t want to ruin this sweet moment with his almost boyfriend.

And Scout didn’t want to either.

Because a minute spent with Sniper made up for the years spent without his father.

Let me know if you'd like more. Sorry for any inaccuracies, I'm very new to the TF2 fandom.

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riftwalker-limbro · 1 year

Text

resurfacing - intermission

masterpost

---

thoughts. brain full of thoughts. whirlwind of emotions and memories and questions and-

another body pops up in front of them. then, it's on the floor, in multiple pieces, bleeding out. another thought eliminated.

they activate the ability that allows the other part of their mind, which is always there but doesn't really feel like part of them, to take over. they mentally sit back and watch as their steel-grey, speckled with red hands wield a sword and fell grineer, after grineer, after grineer, after grineer-

a voice sounds in their head. another grineer falls. a bullet pings off of the back of their skull, and they whirl around, lato in hand, dropping that soldier too, before they're standing still on both feet again, no targets left here.

"-perator?" the voice repeats.

they bullet-jump through the dust that their death-dance had kicked up. on top of the metal ramp, they find another squad. they ready the blade.

don't think about it. the brief moment of peace as they jumped up the ramp had been enough. what were they? why did they have the right to mow down these targets? why were they different than these bodies on the floor? who-

"Operator, answer me!" Ordis all but shouted.

They froze, blinking out of their trance. The Grineer on this platform turned around, saw them, and started shouting. Whoops.

One radial javelin later, they holstered their skana and raised their hands up to their field of vision, so Ordis could see.

"Ordis? I'm fine, what is-"

"Operator, you reached your extermination target half an hour ago," he said, a hint of despair in his voice. "The Lotus isn't even here anymore either. You just- you weren't listening- is everything alright?"

Oh, whoa. Shit, okay. "It's... fine, I just have a lot on my mind right now," they signed, distracted, hands on autopilot while their mind struggled to recall how they’d even got here. "Heading to extraction."

"The Liset- has been there for ages- is waiting for you. Please hurry."

"Thanks. Sorry."

They suddenly felt exhausted, so they opted to just jog, instead of bullet-jumping. It's not like there was much danger left in this base, really. Something about the sight of so many bodies and blood everywhere left them with a sour taste. It was eerily quiet, and the whirlwind of thoughts threatened to start up again, summoning a residual feeling of fear.

"Half an hour, you said?" they signed with one hand, suddenly desperate for distraction. They were beginning to understand how they'd ended up here in the first place, but something was preventing them from thinking about it fully.

"Yes, Ordis thought- it was a glorious bloodbath- that you were just letting off some steam," he began, biting away the glitch with an annoyed tone before turning back to concern. "But then, you didn't seem to hear me, and you just kept going. You’ve pretty much exterminated the whole base."

That explained the eeriness of the place. They were close enough to hear the cycling of the Liset's engines now. They picked up their pace a little bit, eager for the white noise - anything above this deathly blanket of silence. "I'm- I'm sorry, again. I don't know what came over me." They arrived at the landing craft, jumped, and let the magnets take hold of their limbs.

"Operator,” Ordis said, warm but still concerned, “Ordis understands that yesterday was quite an eventful day. I- I have been thinking about it a lot, too."

In the artificial gravity-field of the Liset, the Operator let their body drop down to the floor, clunking their head back against the metal walls, really letting themselves feel the shock. It barely registered.

They let their arms rest for a short second before raising them just enough so Ordis could see. They weren’t paying attention to their own visual feed anymore. "Eventful is one word for it."

For a minute, they just breathed, luxuriated in being surrounded by the familiar noises. They couldn't hold off the thoughts forever like that, though. "What's the part that gets your attention the most?"

Ordis sighed. "Simaris, to be honest. Now that I've had some time to think, I really don't think he meant any harm."

They jerk their arms a little in a scoff and raise their hands to start arguing, but Ordis quickly continues.

"I mean it! He's just... really into gathering data for his Sanctuary, Ordis thinks. And he clearly knows a lot, and has a lot of confidence, so it makes sense that- the arrogant bastard- he would think he knows what's best in any situation. He's just… blinded by his knowledge."

"Ordis," they begin, carefully.

"Ordis won't trust him with your life ever again, though, Operator," he said, a touch of anger to his tone. At Simaris, or at himself? "He is not worthy of that."

"Wow," they signed, taken aback, "thanks?"

Ordis simulated a sharp exhale. A laugh?

"Anyway, for what they're worth, those are Ordis' thoughts."

And then he's silent again.

"I," they begin. And halt. They don't even know where to start.

"What were you thinking about just now, when you were- slaughtering- fighting those Grineer?" Ordis asked, after a moment.

That directed them enough to begin untangling the mess in their head. "The only thing I can recall now is just how much I didn't want to be thinking at all," they signed, tiredly dropping their hands after, as they calculated what to say next.

Ordis remained silent.

"Simaris called me Hunter," they signed, slowly, thinking. "Lotus calls me Tenno. You call me Operator. The Grineer call me Warframe. None of these... fit."

"Why not?" Ordis asked, and they could hear where he carefully didn't use their title.

"They're not my name," they stated, carefully. And then immediately started to doubt it. "Are they? Is my name-"

"No," Ordis agreed, "they're not. I- I remember, I think. You did have a name, once. It is... Ordis cannot remember it," he said, sadly. “Ordis can’t remember a lot of things, these days.”

"That's okay, neither can I," they signed, a pang of warmth going through them, before dropping their hands listlessly into their lap again.

They sat back and just stared blankly out of the glass ceiling of the Liset, pieces of space debris flashing past, stars twinkling in the far, far distance, except where they’re blocked out by a slowly growing dark spot in front of them - the Orbiter.

Their mind was shying away from it, but in the companionable silence, they forced it back to the previous day.

Simaris and his sentinels and secrecy. The messages that still didn't make sense. The Chroma, controlled by an unknown entity and having vanished into the night. It had clearly been like them, though. Simaris had called the way they spoke with their hands "Orokin-era Tenno sign language". Chroma had used it. Were they both Orokin-era Tenno? Why had they not recognized the other?

“What did you think about that Chroma?” they asked.

“Ordis thinks it is likely happy to be free from whatever was controlling it,” he said, after a moment’s contemplation.

“Yeah,” they agreed. “It signed at me. Thanks, it said.”

“It- signed at you?” Ordis asks, baffled.

“Yeah, did you not see?”

“Ordis was preoccupied with- giving the golden asshole a piece of- getting the O- getting you out of there safely,” he said, finishing primly, despite the self-inflicted interruptions of varying origins. He was trying, and they felt oddly touched, that he would do his best to no longer call them by a name they did not recognize.

“Well, it did,” they signed, feeling more alert the more they thought about it, and irritated, as the puzzle piece didn’t seem to fit, no matter which way they turned it. “What am I not seeing?”

“What do you mean?” Ordis asked.

“I understood the sign. We speak the same language. Why is that?”

“Well, you are in a warframe, right now, and Chroma is also a warframe,” Ordis said, very matter-of-factly.

“... huh. Wait, no, hold up.” That didn’t feel entirely right. They were in a warframe? Chroma was the warframe? “What’s the difference?”

Ordis was silent for a stretch too long. “Ordis isn’t sure, actually. There used to be a memory there, in that spot, but it’s gone, now.”

Well. “What a giant headache,” they complained, getting up as the Liset docked back into the Orbiter.

Staticky crackles - Ordis’ equivalent of a chuckle.

#warframe #kelth #:)

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rudenwrites · 1 year

Text

A Riftwalker Of My Own

Yoru x Yoru

Word Count: 1,895 words.

Warnings: Blood. He gets shot lol

The cool air pricked at my exposed fingertips, snow crunching beneath my slightly shifting sneakers, and cool metal pressed against my jacket, cursing my skin with a stubborn icy feel. I had bigger things to worry about than weather. I could hear gun shots firing excessively behind me. Pitiful. I stash my pistol under my arm as I push my now open hand forward, feeling the universe slowly rip and tear at the force of my grab. The shift between my universe and something much bigger is off putting for the first few tries of this trick, but after so many times of doing it, it becomes almost unnoticeable. Sure, the pressure change around my wrist feels like a tight bracelet and the gravity feels lesser on the other side, but that's the most intense difference. I try not to keep my hand in these for too long anyways. Don't know what could happen with too much exposure. I reach and grasp quickly at a solid piece of mass. Pulling it out of the slot, I glance at my hand and the orb pulsing in my clutched fingers. A bright light rests in the middle of it, surrounded by a blue and black void. Around the outside, slight tentacles peaked up, reaching outwards only to be pulled back to their origin. Even through my gloves, I could feel the power in my hands. My veins lit up with the same light blue coursing through them as was in the center of the substance I was grasping. Of course, this light only led up halfway of my forearm until it chipped away into nothing.

I pulled my back away from the metal and turned to face the opening into the site. I stayed close enough to the wall that my shoulder still scraped against it in the movement. I sat to listen for another minute, making sure the soft crunching of footsteps was real and not part of my imagination. They stilled soon after I started listening, but there wasn't enough time to ponder it. Without even taking another second to think about it, I tossed the orb into the gap between walls. I saw it ricochet against the container opposite side of me and I turned my head fully away from the opening, just in case. Once I heard the small burst of energy, I swung around the corner, dropping to my knee as I pulled my pistol back out and aimed it straight ahead of me. It had worked. Someone stood in front of me, covering their eyes with arms forced in front of their faces and trying to scamper back to avoid getting shot. Except I didn't shoot. Something was. wrong.

The flash faded from their eyes and they lowered their arms, quickly going to point their gun. I should have rushed to send bullets into their skull, but I found myself frozen, stunned. Everything about him was.. perfect. Everything from his black shoes and orange laces, sloppily wrapped around his ankles and knotted in the backs, to his... hair. His legs were perfectly sculpted, his thighs filling out his dark leggings so amazingly and his quads just LOOKED strong as all hell. His waist was just the right size, not small, but not huge. It was something to grab hold of and it was shown so nicely through his tight blue jacket. The jacket had orange highlights that ran up his chest and around his torso, drawing my eyes around his figure. When my eyes dragged up to meet his own, I realized it was my first time. My friends had always told me about this first sight bullshit, but I didn't expect it to be true. But here I stood, looking at him, and I knew in my heart it was right.

I was looking at myself.

My wonder and stare were broken with a loud bang. It took me longer than a second to realize what had just happened and by that time, a quick tightness formed in my arm. Looking in his eyes, I saw the panic set in as the seconds passed. I couldn't spend too much time on it, I knew that tightness all too well and the fast approaching footsteps told me that if I stayed, I wouldn't feel anything much soon.

Ignoring the sting in the movement, I shove both my hands forward abruptly, pushing through the universe's fabric once again, channeling my physical form into the area of the marker I had placed mere minutes before throwing the corrupted orb into the site. I clutch my hands in the new area and and quickly thrust them back towards me, pulling the rest of my body to the site of my teleporter. Glancing around, my warp had made it into the opposite site as I had just been rushing into.

I glanced around the area quick to make sure there were no enemies were around, pressing myself into a corner with my back against the direction that the attackers would arrive from as I finally took a glance to my forearm. A tear in my jacket with blood dripping from it. Fuck. I stashed my pistol back in its holster before pulling a walkie talkie from my belt, pressing into the transmission button.

"Can I get Sage down to A site? Got a few bullet holes that need healing." I muttered into it, hooking the device back into my belt and waiting, pulling a knife and gripping it tightly as I waited.

I sat and thought about what had happened. I saw my carbon copy and he shot me. It was so easy for him to pull the trigger, so quick and he didn't even give a thought about it. It was so... impersonal. But his eyes. Why did his expression seem so worried when he was the one who just shot me? It didn't seem to make sense. It was still a crazy experience though. Seeing him stand in front of me... I had never looked at another physical person in front of me with that much astonishment. He was so... beautiful. His eyes were so captivating, even if they didn't hold the same amount of admiration as I'm sure mine did. A sigh left my lips. I don't know what hurt more, him shooting me or that I got shot. Why didn't he see me the same way I saw him? He should see me as just as beautiful. I know I take care of myself, I know I look... similar. He's supposed to be my copy. He should have the same thought process. How did he shoot me so easily?

My thoughts were cut short when I heard footsteps approaching. Soft and unsure of themselves. Sage. I had to be sure not to spook her, even if she was going to heal me, it would help not to get even lower down on health. I stayed where I was, quiet, looking towards our entrance as she slowly came into my view from the doorway. She held a ghost pistol raised up in a ready to shoot position, she hadn't gotten word of my death, but that didn't mean someone wasn't lurking where I couldn't be seen. As soon as her eyes landed on me, she lowered her pistol and hurried over to my side.

"What happened?" She asked while stepping towards me.

"What do you think happened? I got shot." I rocked my head to the left, the side where my forearm stayed bleeding. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, a frown gracing her lips.

".. You didn't call in a death after. And only one shot?" She gently took hold of my arm, touching near the injury. Sure, it stung to touch it, but not enough to let her know it.

"... Special circumstances." She raised her eyes up to meet mine for a second and paused, but after my voice hadn't sounded for a bit, she gave a slight nod and lowered her gaze back to the injury. I didn't need her to know that I had been awe struck by a clone of myself and it seemed like she didn't want to pry any more. Maybe she thought I would be embarrassed. Hah.

Either way, she lifted her hand, facing her palm towards the opening. Suddenly, I felt something expanding in my skin.

"Shit! What are you doing?" I jolted back slightly, she gripped my arm harder, forcing it back into place with her free hand.

"Stay still. I have to get the bullet out." She kept her hand opened at the wound and soon enough, I felt the thing in my arm start shifting towards her like a magnetic attraction. I took the chance to look at her. Long, black hair tied in a tight ponytail that fell all the way down to her ass. I don't get how she dealt with hair that long. Her white shirt was much too big and long, but she closed it tight to her body with a belt that balls of jade were clipped to for fast usage. She had long bangs that fell over one of her eyes. Her leggings were a dark black leading down to equally black boots that almost rose up all the way to her knees.

"This... is disgusting." I grumbled, glancing around and lending my ears to the sounds around to make sure no one was approaching.

"Yeah, well it's what happens when you get shot." She didn't sound too pleased with me, but maybe she was just focused on her work. I couldn't tell. Within a few more seconds, a small red-ish green cylinder exited the hole in my skin. I could see the faint bullet through the cover of blood and jade. Gross. She wavered her hand slightly and it fell to the ground. She focused her energy on the area again and a green type mist formed around the blood and torn skin. Slowly, yet surely, the wound started to close. Even if my clothes were still torn, I started to feel better.

"Thanks." A sigh left my lips with the words. Half meaning it, it still hurt like a bitch and its not like it hurt her.

"Yeah, well make it count. You know how much that takes. Your teammates could very well need it for worse injuries." She let go of my arm and stepped back, earning a nod from me. She pulled her ghost back out and crossed her arms.

"So who shot you?" A small smile met her expression. They always made a fun game out of pointing out who of our fake friends got the others. It was a gruesome, but made things better for them, I assume. It's easier to deal with killing your friends if you can use it to brag to their still very alive face. Some form of 'I beat you', 'I killed you', or they even made a point to jokingly accuse each other of the harm their clones caused. Something like 'You shot me!'. Brutal. And dumb.

"Why does it matter?"

"Come onnn! I wont tell anyone! Was it Brimstone? He would feel SO bad if his copy shot you!"

"It was no one."

"So you shot yourself?"

"...No"

A pause lingered in the air.

"Yoru?"

"What?"

"Did you shoot yourself?"

Fuck.

#valorant #valorant yoru #val yoru #rudenwrites #valorant fanfiction

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bkwrm523 · 3 years

Text

Debriefing

Title: Debriefing Rating: Explicit Pairing: Bruce Wayne/reader Word Count: 2986 Warnings: Smut, batcave sex, table sex, oral, vibrators, daddy kink, feels confessions. Summary: Bruce and the reader have an argument after patrol Author’s Note: As usual, this is about no particular universe’s Batman. You get to see whichever one you want.

The car pulled to a stop inside Bruce Wayne’s garage, and you exhaled a sigh of relief as you turned the car off. You’d almost stopped to pick him up, but Alfred over the coms had assured you that he would drive the Batmobile home. Probably a better idea than you picking him up, anyway. It would have been hard to explain. With all the punishment you’d put Bruce’s car through, you were a bit surprised it had managed to limp all the way home.

“Alfred,” you said aloud, your voice picked up by the com unit in your ear. “Is-”

“Master Bruce is already here.” Alfred answered, not needing to wait for the rest of your question to know what you were asking. “He’s currently in the cave, if you wish to speak to him.”

“Thanks, Alfred.” You signed and shut your eyes for a minute.

Bruce had almost died tonight.

You could tell something was wrong with the supervillain he just charged into, and tried to warn Bruce to take it slow and careful. He hadn’t listened, and you’d had to rescue him. By stealing one of Bruce Wayne’s cars and trying to run the villain over.

You finally pushed the car door open, heaving yourself out of the car and walked into the house. It felt like it took an hour for you to reach the batcave, so massive was the house.

“So, that went well.” You spat sarcastically as you descended into the Batcave. You could see the top of Bruce’s head around the desk and monitors, and walked slowly towards him.

“It could have been worse.” He replied, not turning towards you. “Thank you for that.”

“You’re welcome.” You told him calmly. “It wouldn’t have been necessary if you’d just listened to me from the start.” Your voice was clipped, not afraid to make your annoyance audible. You finally walked around the computer, and his form came fully into view.

And damn was that a mistake. He was shirtless.

You’d been working for Bruce for months, and had been suppressing your feelings for him the whole time. He was miles out of your league. You could never quite tell if he’d figured it out or not. Bruce wasn’t the easiest person to lie to, but the way he behaved… it was either totally innocent, or he was enjoying toying with you. It made you frightened and excited all at once.

Bruce still wore the pants and boots of the Batsuit, but he’d discarded everything above the waist. Your mouth went dry, and you suddenly forgot how to form words. You swallowed, an effort of will keeping your jaw from dropping to the floor. It was quite difficult to remember why you’d been angry. There was a large bandage on his shoulder from where he’d been grazed by a bullet. The rest of his torso was a mass of bruises. It was hardly a secret how much Bruce worked out, and damn did it show with the view of him without a shirt. You couldn’t take your eyes off his chest.

“I’ve faced skilled opponents before.” Bruce said calmly, turning to face you. Somehow, you managed to force your eyes off his chest and back to his face. Was that a smirk? Shit, his face wasn’t any better. You took in a breath, looking away from him and down at the desk, searching your brain for the arguments that had been so clear before he’d taken his fucking shirt off.

“We… uh, we needed a plan.” You stuttered out, sounding anything but convincing.

“I’ve been doing this for years,” Bruce replied, sounding amused. He stepped closer to you, and you felt your breath catch. You didn’t think you could handle this. “I know what I’m doing, and I felt I could handle the situation.”

“You wanted me to be a part of this team because you wanted my advice.” A full sentence! Fantastic! And all that went out the window when your eyes flitted over his still bare chest again. Fuck. “If - if, uh, you don’t listen to me, then… then I’m not - not sure what I’m, uhm, doing here.” Look away from his face. Look away from his chest. Fuck, just look away from him in general. You quickly dropped your eyes back to the desk. Safer that way. Bruce moved again, stepping into your space until you could feel the warmth from his body.

“I won’t always agree with you, but don’t underestimate your contributions.” Bruce replied, smooth and comforting. He rested a hand on your arm, and you nearly moaned aloud at the touch of his skin on yours. He rubbed a thumb gently against the skin on your inner arm, and you swallowed again. His other hand gently grabbed your chin, lifting your head to force you to look at him. You had to fight the urge to let out a squeak, feeling trapped under his gaze. His eyes… the best you could describe it, was predatory amusement.

“I, uh…” you swallowed, your throat suddenly dry. A smirk curled his lips as he stared at you. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Bruce said, his voice filled with amusement as his smirk grew smug. He stepped forward again, forcing you to stumble backwards until your ass hit the desk. His steps were slow and measured and confident, where you were an undignified scramble, nearly falling before you hit the desk. You could feel his breath on your lips, making your own breath catch.

Finally, after months of teasing, your patience snapped.

You leaned into him, crossing the last of the distance between your lips and his. Bruce growled, and this time you couldn’t stop the squeak that emerged from you. A small smile curled his lips briefly. The hand that had been on your chin moved to cup the back of your skull and hold you in place as his tongue pushed into your mouth, ravaging your lips. You moaned, leaning into him, overwhelmed with sensation. His stubble was starting to grow back, making the kiss pleasantly rough. His hand on your head, his other arm on your back, the warmth of his bare chest pressing into you. He kissed you aggressively, leaning you back against the table. You lifted your arms to wrap around his shoulders, clinging to him as he dominated the kiss, trapping you against his form. A thigh pushed between your legs, pushing one leg out of the way. His pants were armored, so you couldn’t tell if he was erect under them, but you’d be willing to bet he was. You tried to mumble around his lips and tongue, but everything came out muffled, and all you could do was surrender and moan.

When Bruce finally released your lips, you dropped your head back and gasped for air. A moment later, the breath left your lungs when you felt Bruce’s lips on your neck. The stubble that had been pleasant during the kiss was so much more stimulating on your neck, and your knees simply gave out. The hand on your head dropped to your back, and his grip tightened around you, holding you aloft. He lifted you a little, setting you down on the desk. The elevated height brought your face about level with his, and he finally stood up straight. Your mouth went dry again, trying to take everything in at once, for about a second before he was on you again.

Your legs went around his waist, his chest pressed against you again. One arm went around your back, and the other lifted to tilt your head to the side, giving him access to your neck. You whined and squirmed in his arms as his lips stole your ability to think. He leaned into you, his hips making little thrusts into you. Your head rolled back on your shoulders, and your fingers scratched at his bare shoulderblades. You whined his name, panting and trying to find the breath to plead. He gave a groaning growl and leaned into you. You whined more and ground into him, wishing he’d just take off his pants already so you could feel him.

One of the arms on your back went lowered, until it was practically around your ass. He pulled your hips into his, holding you tightly to him and ground back into you. You cried his name as his teeth bit into your neck, biting and sucking just where you were most sensitive. He rubbed against your clit until your eyes rolled back in your head.

“Bruce,” you breathed, your hand unconsciously lifting to bury in his hair. Another growl came from your neck. His hips rhythmically rocked into yours, making you whine and moan and plead. You tried to squirm away, but his grip was a vise, and you weren’t escaping any time soon.

Bruce ripped away from you, stepping back and withdrawing his heat from you as suddenly as he’d attacked you, leaving you dazed, breathless, and confused. He held your gaze for a long moment, before dropping his eyes down to his pants as he undid the latches. You almost leaned forward to help him, but resisted the urge; his pants were armored, and bound to be complicated. However they were designed, he’d be much more efficient at removing them than you would.

A moment later, it occurred to you that his hands were busy. That they would be for a few moments, at least. You pulled your shirt off quickly, tossing it heedlessly to the side. Your bra was discarded an instant later. You leaned back a little, dropping your head back on your shoulders, sliding your eyelids partly shut and cupping your breasts with your hands. You tweaked your nipples, giving a soft sigh at the stimulation. You kept your eyes on him, and so you saw the exact moment he heard you sigh, and saw his eyes snapped up to you. They narrowed when he saw what you were doing. A small growl escaped his lips, and you bit your own lip to suppress the noise that tried to escape you. His movements on his pants were swift and clipped, and in no time he had removed the rest of his clothes. He took a swift step forwards, and you dropped your hands to the desk and smirked at him.

“You realize you’re going to pay for that, kitten?” Bruce asked, giving a crooked, confident smirk.

“Worth it,” you giggled. Bruce held your eyes for a moment, then produced a zip tie from a drawer. He didn’t give you time to speak, but pulled your hands behind your back, and secured them in place. He pulled the zip tie tight, but looser than you expected. You wiggled a little, testing it; it was tight enough to keep your hands there, but loose enough that you’d have no trouble pulling them free if you really wanted to. Bruce waited for you to finish testing it, until you looked back up at him. He kissed you again, gentle this time, cupping the back of your skull again with one hand and planting the other behind you. You squirmed a little, struggling fruitlessly against the bonds and his hands, but got nowhere. Bruce leaned forward, slowly pushing you back. You leaned into his arms, letting him support you as he carefully pushed you down onto the desk, lying somewhat awkwardly on top of your bound hands. He released your lips with a parting nip, letting you gasp for breath as you tried to guess his next move.

You half expected him to attack your breasts, but instead you felt his hands at your pants. He undid them, pulled them off, leaving you lying naked on the table. You could suppress the small ‘meep’ that emerged when you saw the way he ogled your naked pussy ravenously. Bruce turned his torso around, looking around the small space you were both in, until he spotted the chair. He grabbed it, pulling it over next to the space of counter you were lying on, and sat.

Oh.

He intended to take his time with you.

You swallowed reflexively, nervous and excited all at once. It must have shown on your face, as Bruce gave you a smirk with eyes full of mischief. From the angle you had, you couldn’t really see much more than his face. But you suddenly felt his fingers tease your opening ever so lightly. You gave a loud moan and dropped your head down on the table with a thunk. When you felt a vibrator teasing around your clit, you gave a yelp and your legs jerked. Where the ever living fuck had he gotten that from?!

Bruce didn’t show any mercy, continuing his teasing of your clit as he leaned in. You felt his breath on your pussy lips, and your eyes slid closed as your breath came in short, quick pants. His tongue pushed into you, and you felt as much as heard his pleased groan at your taste. A small whine left you at the noise, the vibrations from him and the vibrator teasing you more than stimulating you, leaving you desperate for more.

“Bruce,” you gasped. “Please.”

The vibrator grazed your clit then, and your legs shot straight up. Bruce leaned into you, burying his face in you and devouring you ravenously. He rested his free hand on your hip, holding you steady as he tortured you with tongue and vibrator until you screamed.

Two or three orgasms later, you’d lost count, Bruce sat back and removed his stimulation, finally letting you come down. Your legs (you hadn’t quite registered it, but apparently they’d been sticking out totally straight while he’d been working on you) fell back down to the counter. You panted hard, trying to catch your breath after the marathon he’d put you through.

Bruce stood, leaning over you and resting his arms on the table to support his weight. His expression was tender, gentle, in a contrast to the pleasurable torture he’d just put you through. One hand stroked a lock of hair out of your face.

“Can you do one more, kitten?” Bruce asked you softly. You didn’t even have to think, you just nodded.

Bruce dropped a short, soft kiss on your lips, then nuzzled his face into your neck. Your overstimulated nerves jumped at the feeling, and all you could do was give a weak moan and squirm a little. He leaned his hips into yours, until you felt his erection against your pussy, sliding against your clit. The orgasms he’d given you made you still wet enough that it felt amazing. You groaned, and Bruce stopped his teasing of your neck to sink his teeth into your skin and growl.

“‘M ready.” You gasped out. “Please.” That drew another growl from Bruce, and he let your neck out of his teeth, resting his forehead against you and panting into your wet skin. One hand left the table, going between his legs to position his dick as he pulled back.

When Bruce finally slid into you, it was so painfully slow that you couldn’t help but squirm and whine.

“Stop. Moving.” Bruce growled, his voice dropping into his Batman voice, only arousing you further.

“Please, daddy!” You cried, then froze. The words just came out without thinking, and you didn’t know if he was into that. Bruce stopped moving for a moment, as well, and for a horrible moment you were terrified that you’d killed the mood.

“Be patient, princess.” Bruce growled into your ear, nipping at you. Lust filled his voice, soothing your worry that your exclamation had been unwanted; far from it.

Bruce kept pushing his dick into you, continuing until he bottomed out. Then he just sat there, frustratingly patient, waiting and panting and nipping at your neck while he waited for you to adjust.

“Please, daddy, just fuck me!” You finally cried, unable to wait any longer.

And boy, did he.

Bruce’s hands on the table moved, grasping the far edge of it with both hands to hold it steady as his hips thrusted into yours. Your head rolled back, arching your back into him. You were utterly unable to speak, tiny unintelligible noises emitting from you. Bruce buried his face in your neck, alternately sucking and nipping hard at your neck as he made the table shudder from his thrusts.

You were still overstimulated from the earlier orgasms, and he was so aroused already, it didn’t take you both long to climb to the precipice. Your vision whited out and you screamed, feeling him orgasm inside you moments later.

When you came to, you were still in the batcave. Your hands were unbound, and your shirt and pants had been put back on you. Judging by the feel between your legs, he’d taken a damp towel or something and wiped you clean, and then apparently set you in the cot he had set up down in the batcave. You made a small inquisitive noise, stirring, and Bruce suddenly came into your line of vision. He walked over to you, and sat on the side of the bed next to you.

“Hey,” you greeted him, your voice rough and groggy. Bruce looked… uncertain. Nervous. You pulled a hand free of the blankets and held his, wanting to reassure him.

“Hey.” Bruce replied, a small smile emerging at your action. His thumb rubbed the part of your hand it could reach soothingly. “This… this wasn’t the way I wanted to tell you how I felt.” “Really?” You teased. “It seemed perfect to me.” That startled a laugh out of Bruce, and you warmed at the sound.

“Be that as it may, I’d… I’d really like to take you to dinner sometime.” “I’d like that.” You smiled back up at him.

#fanfiction #bruce wayne #batman #bruce wayne/reader #batman/reader #bruce wayne x reader #batman x reader #bruce waynexreader #batmanxreader #bruce wayne/reader smut #bruce wayne x reader smut #bruce waynexreader smut #batman/reader smut #bruce wayne smut #batman smut

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shurisneakers · 3 years

Note

if you're taking ideas for harmless drabbles, i'd love to see one of bucky on one of those dates he mentioned and reader's shenanigans. if you aren't, feel free to ignore this!

a/n: are we really going to let a word limit define what a drabble is? is the vibe and spirit not enough? i say this bc this is 5.7k words long im so sorry. also hey thank you to everyone who piped in with their knowledge of violent geese and how apartment security works in new york!! also thanks to my bby @spiderrpcrker for reading this and telling me to publish this bc i wasnt going to fkjghfkj

warning: swearing, bad luck, dates, frustrated bucky, anxiety, mentions of gore but like only a sentence

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Catch up with the rest of the series here: Harmless Masterlist

Bucky returns only two weeks later. His mission lasted longer than expected and all he wants is to lie down and sleep for forty eight hours straight.

“FRIDAY?” he mumbles, kicking off his shoes. His jacket had already been discarded by his bedroom door when he walked in.

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes?”

“How are ya?” He doesn’t miss a beat in asking, even though he’s exhausted.

“As good as ever. Did you have a successful mission?”

“If by successful you mean one sprained limb instead of two, then yeah.” He wasn’t really cribbing. His ankle was already starting to heal anyway and it was worth the roundhouse kick to a Nazi's face. “Do I have anything scheduled for this weekend?”

“You have a meeting on your calendar scheduled for this Saturday.”

“Could you send a text to Y/N and ask if we can push it to the next day?” His muscles feel sore and God, he could definitely use a hot shower but all of that becomes secondary the minute he feels the sheets under him.

“Would you like me to reschedule the other one as well?”

“What’s that?” He opens one eye in confusion. “There’s another one?”

“It’s on Sunday. You’ve labelled it ‘date’.”

Ah, fuck.

“Would you like me to change it?” FRIDAY never sounds like she’s judging him, which is nice. It also reminds him about how she, as an AI, can’t judge him, which is a rude wake-up call to how he doesn’t have friends.

“No,” his voice is muffled against the pillow, “no, let it be. Where is it again?”

“You’ve only specified diner, Sergeant Barnes.”

Public space, daytime, plenty of escape routes. Good on his less delirious self for selecting a diner.

“Thanks, FRIDAY.” Now that he’s a little more relaxed, he can feel himself slip in and out of consciousness.

“One last thing," her automated voice commands his attention again. "Y/N replied. She says sure and to take care.”

“Yay.” Not even a second later he’s out like a light.

____

“Did you bring me any souvenirs?” Is the first thing he hears as he marches into your lair.

“What could I possibly get you?”

“A postcard, a t-shirt.” You don’t look up from your tinkering.

“Decapitated finger, used bullets,” he continues, “cement blocks.”

“Ew.” You snap the lid shut on the thing you’re working on, spinning around on your chair. "That's not nearly romantic enough."

“That’s all you’re going to get from a Russian underground bunker.” He does a mini jog up the stairs of the platform to where you are.

“Does the finger have a ring at lea- oh hello?” You raise an eyebrow at the sight of him. “You look different.”

He peers down. The outfit was still all black. As always.

“Not your clothes, dummy,” you interrupt, making him look back at you. “Your face. What’d you do?”

He unconsciously raises a hand to his cheek.

“Did you wash your face? Is that it?” you squint at him. “Has it been a few months since the last time?”

“Wow, you’re so funny,” he drawls sarcastically. “Top tier comedian right there.”

“No wait, it’s the beard.” You snap your fingers in realisation, completely ignoring his comment. “You trimmed it.”

“So what if I did?” He leans on your table.

“You going somewhere?” you ask, elastic snapping against your hands as you remove your gloves.

“It’s none of your busi-”

“Hold on a second.” A sly smile begins to make its way onto your face. “Are you going on a date, Bucky Barnes?”

His comeback dies down in his throat. That didn’t take you very long for you to figure out.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” You look smug, to say the least.

“Shut up.” A ray of light glistening distracts him. He traces it to the thing you were working on earlier.

“Where are you guys going?” You cross your arm across your chest, a small smirk on your face.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” It’s a silver box, engraved intricately with swirls that, when he observes carefully, looks like a skull. Wow, terrifying.

“I’m literally asking you.”

“What are those?” He shifts the conversation towards a more productive angle instead.

“Evil in a box and some other stuff.” You shrug offhandedly. “Is it a lunch date or just coffee?”

“Like Pandora’s Box?”

“A discount version, sure,” you confirmed impatiently. “Stop changing the topic, listen to me.”

He tilts his head, waiting for you to continue.

“Do you need a chaperone?” The sincerity in your voice for such a bullshit question has him scoffing.

“Good God- no, I do not need a chaperone. I’m 106 years old, I can go out unsupervised.” He reaches over and plucks the box off your table.

“Sir, you’re a geriatric."

“What are those?” He points to a few ray odd ray guns.

“Minor stuff you don’t have to worry about right now.”

He shakes the box in his hand. “What’s gonna happen if I open this?”

“Very bad things,” you whispered ominously before your volume returns to normal. “How’d you meet this person? Online?”

“She’s Natasha’s friend.” He turns the box over, seeing a small latch at the side. “What bad things?”

“Bad luck and misery. Don’t play with it, it’s dangerous.” You pull the box away from him. “Aw, is it a blind date?”

“Why do you care so much?” he shoots back, tugging the box back towards him.

“Just lookin’ out for you, Bucko,” you huff, adjusting your grip on your device. “Need to keep my favourite senior citizen safe.”

“I have a vibranium arm.” Whose force he could use to grab the box once and for all, but wasn’t. “I think I’ll be fine.”

“What if she has one too, huh? Then what?”

“She doesn’t.” As far as he knows, he’s the only one alive with a metal appendage made out of the strongest metal in the world. That could very well change by tomorrow but he's keeping the title for now.

“But what if she does? I swear to- stop trying to take the box!” You pull a little more forcefully, but he doesn’t relent.

“I want this to get over before this evening.”

“What time’s your date?”

“Why do you care?” He’s sure anyone who saw the dumb tug-of-war you both were playing would just automatically assume he was an absolute manchild, not an Avenger.

“Because.” You don’t explain further. “Tell me what time your date is, you weirdo.”

“Five o’clock, now let go.”

“Fine,” you say, suddenly loosening your grip. Clearly, it doesn't make much of a difference since he isn't struggling to keep his balance from the sudden loss of force.

“Fine.” He clears his throat, straightening up.

You don’t say anything. He doesn’t either.

A putrid smell creeps into his nose, one all too similar to spoiled milk and decaying seaweed. He has to physically stop himself from gagging.

“Have a good day.” You smile and lean far back. Too far. It looks like you're almost going to fall out of the chair.

Through the tears that are threatening to line his eyelids, he looks down at the box whose latch you somehow managed to lift, leaving the box open.

“What the fuck is this?” He coughs, swatting at the air in front of him to clear it.

“I told you; bad luck in a box.”

“You can’t scientifically create bad luck, that’s bullshit.” He tosses the box back onto your table. You watch it slide past you, not making any effort to stop it. “What is it really?”

“I’m not lying.” You pull open a drawer, brandishing a small table fan that you set down beside you. “If you open it, you’re going to have terrible luck for the day.”

He glowers at you when you turn the fan on, forcing the fumes back towards him.

“Besides, that’s all I was doing today.” You kick your feet up. “So you can leave now.”

He doesn’t care if you’re lying about not having anything else to do today. You could burn down the world if you wanted to but he needs to take a stupid shower. Again.

“You’re the fuckin’ worst.” He tries airing out his shirt, hoping that the smell would dissipate as soon as possible.

“Have fun on your date, sarge!” you encourage him as he stalks out of the lair. “Remember to wrap it befo-”

He turns it into a sprint before you can finish.

____

Six hours later and he’s absolutely convinced he fucked up.

He isn’t used to having his weekends free.

He realises that this is the first time in months that he’s actually stepped out of the Tower for something that wasn’t directly mission-related. He should probably get some air. Touch some grass. See the sun.

His shirt thankfully manages to rid itself of the odour from the dumb box so he didn’t have to go take a shower. With nothing much planned and a few hours to spare, he heads to the coffee shop instead.

It’s a small place, bustling and alive with a crowd of people. They have a little bookshelf that usually is full of books donated by patrons, free for anyone to read.

The barista smiles at him. The coffee costs more than his high school education. He awkwardly smiles back.

He’s not a regular, but they’ve seen him enough times to know that he usually asks for black coffee in a to-go cup, later adding a sugar or two according to his own taste. They're nice to him, occasionally throwing in a cookie or something on the house. He can't tell if it's because of the Avenger status or the sizeable tip he leaves.

He picks up a random book from the shelf, fully intending not to read it but to just sit there and think. The book acted as a shield for his resting bitch face, resting murder face and his resting rage face. More often than not, a good combination of the three.

He sets the coffee down at the corner table he manages to nab in a quick second, along with the two sachets of sugar.

“Is this seat taken?” Someone asks from beside him. He earnestly shakes his head in a ‘no’, gesturing for them to take it.

They give him a quick thanks and drag the chair away from his table.

He does a quick overlook of the book he picked up.

The Princess Diaries by Meg Cabot.

Well, now he’s too anxious to put it back. YA fiction it is.

He reaches for the sugar while glossing over the summary. He reaches a little further when it doesn’t come to his hand immediately, blindly running his fingers across the table.

Bucky peeks over the book, eyebrows knitting together when he notices that they’re missing.

He was sure he picked it up.

He looks underneath the table. It wasn’t there, neither under his seat. Strange, but okay. He picks up the book and the cup, walking back to the station to grab two sugars.

This time he makes sure to tuck it into his pocket, double-checking before going back to his table.

Which was now occupied. He wanted to groan.

His mind automatically reverts back to the box from that morning.

“Come on,” he scoffs quietly to himself. It was a coincidence. “Get yourself together.”

“A seat at the counter just cleared up,” the barista from earlier offers when she sees him standing in the middle of the store.

See? Good luck.

He shoots her a grateful look, venturing over to the barstool to take his place. It’s not the most comfortable, but then again, he wasn’t planning to stay there for very long.

He empties the sugar into the coffee, stirring slowly before opening a random page in the book.

He takes a long sip, ignoring how hot the drink was.

He chokes immediately. Because either he was losing his mind or his order had somehow got switched from ‘no sugar’ to ‘diabetes in a cup’.

He takes another small sip and his face immediately twists in disgust. Definitely too sweet. The sweetener he added only made it worse.

He catches the eye of the barista. She looks on in concern.

“Is everything okay?”

Fuck.

He’s not one to make a scene. He just wants to live as imperceptibly as he could.

“Yep.” The sweetness sticks to the back of his throat. “All good.”

He just closes his eyes and downs the rest of it without thinking twice, trying to hide the grimace in his face. He gives her a weak thumbs up. She doesn't look convinced.

He leaves the shop soon after, hands shoved in his pocket. Maybe he could go sit by the lake at Central Park, watch the clouds. It reminded Bucky of the lake in front of his hut in Wakanda and the hours he'd sit in front of it, feet dipped into the water as his goats fed. He misses it.

He makes a sharp turn at a corner, still thinking about his options when his ankle abruptly twists under him.

He stumbles rather ungracefully, almost hitting the ground, but manages to save himself through the newly built up immunity he has towards falling thanks to all his encounters with you.

His gaze lands on his hardcore combat boots. Their laces had come undone.

Now he just knew that was horseshit. He always double knots them; they had never loosened in the past before.

The box.

He shoves the thought out of his head, crouching down to tie them again. He tugs on them to make sure they’re secure before standing up again.

Central Park is a few blocks away but he’s glad he didn’t bring his bike. The weather was rather nice and the wind in his hair felt good.

He wanders around the park for a while, looking for the lake. He pauses at a board with a map of the park on it, assessing how far it was.

Once he's ascertained which path to go towards, he turns on his heel to go.

He fucking trips again.

“Are you serious?” he says furiously under his breath. “Cut it out.”

He’s half-convinced that he should tie it around his ankle like a sexy lace-up set of heels. He ties a triple knot this time, glares at it until he’s sure it’s fine and checks to see if anyone saw him humiliate himself.

Only a person on a nearby bench who looked like they were passed out drunk, given that their hoodie and sunglasses clad self was slumped over.

No witnesses. No 'You won't BELIEVE what the Winter Soldier did! Critics say it's his biggest blunder yet!' articles the next day on social media.

He manages to make it to the lake in one piece and no more falls, partly because he keeps his eyes fixed on his shoes to ensure no fuckery occurs.

There are a few people rowing and plenty of others lining the bank at scattered locations. There’s a mom and her kid at the place he ends up. She sends him a small smile in greeting and he returns the favour.

There’s a secluded bench that he takes a place on, letting out a small sigh. If he ignores the traffic and the skateboarders and the people in general, it’s actually kind of peaceful.

There are geese and their little goslings swimming around the water close to the shore. Maybe he should have brought some birdseed. Or kale.

The kid beside him is busy fashioning something out of leaves, only occasionally erupting into giggles when it doesn't pan out. His mom watches him fondly, pointing at twigs he could use. Everything seems kind of picture-perfect and his body automatically relaxes, easing further into the seat and closing his eyes for a second.

Until there's a large splash and loud distressed honking. He whips his head around to find the same kid staring straight ahead at the goose with a wide grin. His mother curses quietly, picking herself up off the ground and grabbing his hand, half chastising him for throwing something at an animal and half urging him to walk faster.

The goose turns to Bucky. With no one else to blame for the sudden attack, it logically launches itself at him. His smile drops.

He gets up in a rush. The dumb bird nearly comes for his head, but he deflects with his metal arm.

“I didn’t even do anything.” He swats at it swiftly, trying not to cause any real damage. The goose, understandably, does not speak English.

He flinches when one of them bites at his knee. He can punt it to the sun but he doesn’t want to.

“Stop that.” He sticks his hand out to shove the stupid thing away, retreating back to the road. “Jesus, why are you so aggressive?”

Among the barrage of feathers showering on him, he prays his damn shoelace doesn’t unravel as he shields his head with one arm, the other fending himself while he moves hurriedly away.

The goose honks angrily at him. He scowls at it, not exactly pleased with the reminder that these fucking overgrown ducks were constantly bloodthirsty.

It doesn’t leave him alone till he’s significantly away from where he was sitting. He wants to call it profanity but that’d probably piss it off more.

The box and its effects were definitely starting to feel real.

Fuck it, no more day out for him. The best plan he can think of is to just go to the diner he’s supposed to meet his date at.

The waiter greets him with a courteous nod, which Bucky can only imagine was the best he could muster when a dishevelled 200-pound man walks in covered in goose feathers and irritation.

He won't admit that he’s too scared to eat lunch at this point because he can’t rule out food poisoning. He spends the next two hours on his phone playing Fruit Ninja and plucking feathers that accented his all-black outfit.

Several glasses of water later and a second before he’s about to beat his high score, someone taps on his shoulder, breaking him out of his concentration.

Motherfu-

He clenches his eye shut, inhaling deeply before turning around.

“James?”

“Hey, yeah, that’s me.” Bucky almost falls over the table with how fast he stands up, clearly underestimating his size. “Leah?”

“Hi.” She smiles and he finds himself smiling nervously along with her.

“Hi.” He steps out to pull out her chair for her and she laughs. "Nice to meet you."

“How long have you been waiting here?” she asks while setting down her bag.

“Around ten minutes.” He clears his throat to hopefully hide the fact that he was lying through his teeth.

“Just give me a second, I need to tell my friend I reached,” Leah pulls out her phone and he nods.

“Another glass of water for you?” The waiter seems less enthusiastic about Bucky’s 8th refill.

“Yes,” he answers, hoping he doesn’t call him out on it, “please.”

“You must be really dehydrated."

Bucky turns to look at him slowly. “I like the taste.”

He can’t really blame the guy. Bucky’s been there for hours without ordering anything solid, just leaching off their free water and complimentary bread basket.

“So, James.” She tosses her phone back into her bag, leaning forward on her palms easily. “Tell me about yourself.”

He had rehearsed this a million times. He could do this.

“I, uh,-”

“Menu?” Okay, so someone clearly had a vendetta against him.

“Thank you.” She takes it with a smile.

His morning debacle with the coffee flashes through his mind. Suddenly the idea of a diner didn’t seem so smart.

However, she’s already placed her order and George is standing beside him expectantly, daring him to ask for another glass of water, so he places his usual order and hopes that your stupid bad luck thing wore off.

He quickly learns that his date is laid back, and it isn’t hard to fall into a rhythm with her even though she’s the one asking most of the questions.

“How’d you meet Nat?” Is his attempt at one.

“She used to come in for lunch every week at the place I work.” Leah leans back in her chair. “She can really handle her alcohol.”

He’d be worried about Nat day drinking if he didn’t know about her complete inability to get drunk. She might as well have been downing glasses of lemonade.

“Yeah, she’s-” Intimidating, scary, cool “-really something.”

“She mentioned that you like movies.” He definitely spends a lot of time watching them. “You got any recommendations?”

It’s easier to figure out how different things are or how much he missed out over the years through them. He’s glad he sat out the early 2000s, judging by their fashion sense and hairstyles.

He's watched several movies over the past few months, a few of them critically acclaimed and others who were just there for the cult following.

But now everything goes blank and the only thing that he can remember are the biopics made about Steve that were somehow hilarious for gifting him the mental image of Freddie Prinze Jr. dressed in the stars and stripes, and highly distressing for the number of historical inaccuracies. Contrary to popular belief, Stevie did not, in fact, consider running for president after he took up the shield, nor did he start his own bar chain.

He can’t name Oh Captain, My Captain starring Channing Tatum as his favourite movie on his first date and hope to make a good first impression.

“Despicable Me was kinda fun.” He wants to kill himself. “I mean, it’s the last one I saw.”

Her face twists in mild disgust, but he can tell it isn't ill-intentioned. “It's a good movie, but God, that just gave me some intense flashbacks to my aunt’s Facebook page. Don’t think I can look at a minion ever again.”

He sniggers with her. He doesn’t know what the context is.

He’s a little awkward, and he can definitely tell he isn’t the most open book but she laughs at some of his attempts at jokes. There’s a distinct discomfort he has lingering at the back of his mind prodding at him, telling him over and over again that he isn’t ready for something like this. A warning bell, asking him to leave as soon as possible because he was in a dangerous situation.

He remembers what his therapist told him about breathing and remembering that the resources he had available were greater than his anxiety and he tries to get out of his head. It takes a few minutes of acting like he's fine but he manages to do it.

Other than the one time he scalds his tongue on the coffee but played it off with a pained smile, shoving down thoughts of your stupid invention, things actually went okay.

It was nice, even though they decided by the end that it was better if they both gelled together better as friends. It lifts the strange fear he feels and he can hear Dr. Mendoza say she's proud of him for taking this step before spending three hours psychoanalysing why they decided to stay platonic.

Bucky promises to visit her sushi shop with Nat soon and she says a bottle of sake awaits him for a drinking game. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her that Nat and he share the same tolerance for alcohol.

He makes sure to leave George a tip. A big one. It’s the first time he sees the guy smile the entire evening.

He’s waving goodbye to Leah outside and he thinks that maybe it was a good end to the day and that things actually turned out fine.

Until he turns around to leave, only to have someone walk straight into him with an iced tea.

The cold comes as a bit of a shock, making him jump slightly. He stares at his shirt, using his fingertips to pull it away from his body.

The person melts into a series of apologies immediately, offering to dry clean his shirt but Bucky just forces a shake of his head and says it’s okay even though he can feel the sugar making the shirt stick to his chest. Goose feathers and iced tea. Was there anything else that would like to attach itself to him?

His fists clench and his teeth grit and he has to physically control himself from sprinting to your lair because God knows what else is in store for him and he didn't want to add in any way.

The door to the lair is locked. Fuckin’ brilliant.

When no one answers after minutes worth of waiting, he fishes for his phone and realises that maybe two hours of Fruit Ninja was not the best idea, especially on a phone known for having shitty battery life.

There’s roughly 2 percent left. By the time he opens his app to give you a call, his phone screen goes black.

He groans. He’s desperate at this point and under any other normal circumstances, he would have never, ever considered doing this.

But ten minutes later he’s outside your apartment building. You’re aware that he has your address; no doubt that it was in the SHIELD file he had gotten, and he knows that you know but it was still weird.

The buzzer has your last name listed next to it. He’s sure that he’ll break it if he keeps pressing it at this rate but he really needs you to let him in.

“Who the fu-” your voice comes through the intercom.

“I’m sorry for showing up like this, my phone died and I couldn’t reach you,” He breathes out as soon as he hears you. “But I need you to fix this.”

When he doesn’t hear a reply, he wonders if the thing actually worked. He’s about to start pressing it again-

“Bucky?” You sound a little surprised to hear him. “You’re at my house. Why are you at my house?”

“I need you to fix whatever this is.”

“What are you- fine, I’m buzzing you in,” your voice, initially confused soon trails off into something more dismissive.

There’s a soft click from the door, allowing him to push it open. The elevator is already on the same floor as him so he just uses that.

The elevator goes up a floor or two. His feet tap restlessly against the carpeted floor.

The lights turn off and everything comes to a standstill. His foot stops tapping.

He should have known. He should have fucking known.

Thirty seconds pass. He’s still in pitch darkness with the elevator showing no signs of moving.

In fact, he’s resigned to his fate. He sits down on the ground, only one step away from completely laying down and hoping someone finds his body here someday.

It’s six minutes of plain silence. He might as well get comfortable if he’s going to get stuck here for the rest of his life. Did he change his will? Does he even have a will?

There’s finally a whir. He thinks that maybe he’s going to plummet to his doom as the perfect end to this day, but then the light switches on and it starts moving upward.

It stops at the floor with a ding. He doesn’t get off the ground, only eyes the door wearily. With his luck, it wouldn’t open.

But it does and within a second he’s on his feet, scrambling to get out before it changes its mind.

He remembers your door number, basically charging down the hall to get to it.

The door is white and the paint is starting to chip off it. The handle itself is dented in a few places and he wonders if it was your fault or someone else's.

His knocks are rapid, agitated even. He doesn’t stop until he hears your loud shouts telling him to cut it out.

“What the hell were you doing, trying to break down my door?” It swings open, revealing you in your pajamas. “Haven’t you done that already? And where were you, I’ve been waiting for like, ten minutes.”

He honestly feels bad for showing up uninvited and highly flustered. He can’t imagine it’s a pretty sight either. "This bad luck shit- fix it. My whole day’s been fucked up.”

“What are you-” Your eyebrows knit together in confusion, taking in his appearance.

It takes you a second to realise what he’s talking about but when you do, your face settles.

“How was your date?” You lean against the door frame, arms crossed over your chest.

“Really,” He glowered at you, “that’s what you care about?”

“Yes.” You nod. “Did you have fun?”

He hesitates. “I guess?”

“Was she nice?”

“Yeah.” Where was this going.

“Good, I’m happy for you.” The smile on your face is genuine. “Look at you go, Casanova.”

“We agreed to be just friends, but that’s not the point here. Y/N,” he whines. “I have a mission next week, I can’t afford to fuck up. My whole day was off and I don’t want it to carry over.”

“Your whole day?” you questioned, standing up instead of leaning against the wall. “Buck-”

“Just fix it.”

“Okay.” You lift your hand up, extending it towards his face.

He waits for you to do something.

You flick him on the forehead.

“There,” you declare, going back to your previous position. “you’re cured.”

What.

He says exactly what he’s thinking.

You laugh. “Dude. I was fucking with you.”

Huh?

“Well, actually maybe just like, three things and then I got bored.”

He’s confused.

“You know,” you begin when he doesn’t reply, “taking the sugar packets, switching your coffee order when you were looking under the table, took your place when you left, the shoelaces.”

“The shoelaces?”

“Yeah.” You nod. “That’s the other ray gun you saw this morning. Unties your shoelaces. I stopped after that because I thought you figured it out.”

His face scrunches in puzzlement.

“I mean, you looked right at me and told me to cut it out.”

He racks his brain about what you could possibly be talking about before it hits him. The hungover person on the goddamn bench in the park.

“You were the one in the hoodie and sunglasses.”

“I just followed the Avengers’ code of disguise.” You shrug. “Turns out it kinda works. Also teleportation. So helpful.”

He forgot about the teleportation. That's why you could do all of it so fast without him noticing you were even there.

“What about the fucking geese?”

You pause for a second. “The geese?”

“And the elevator.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” The confusion on your face is apparent. “What geese and elevator? I have no idea what you’re saying right now.”

“Everything’s been a mess today,” he grumbles. “I don’t know what’s real or not.”

“I swear I had nothing to do with it other than what I mentioned.” There’s indignation on your features that quickly gives way to delight. “Holy shit, did I just accidentally invent portable bad luck?”

“Okay-” his palm finds its way to his forehead in exasperation, “-then what the hell was the smell?”

“What smell- oh, the one from the box?”

He nods briskly.

“Secretions Magnifique.” You snorted. “It’s a perfume. The worst rated one I could find.”

“Perfume?”

“With notes of milk, seaweed and sandalwood.”

“It wasn’t an inator?”

“No, it wasn- did you get vibe checked by a goose at the park?” You stifle a laugh when you notice a stray feather on his thigh.

“What does that even mean?” he asks in despair.

“I can see why it attacked you. You got bad juju.” You raise an eyebrow. “Maybe if you stop staring so much-”

“So I just have shit luck.” Is that a fucking relief or even worse?

“Well,” you begin but decide not to continue.

Even with all the irritability masking it, you could see that he genuinely was just not having a good time.

“Wait here a second.”

You leave him at the door. He shifts his balance and sighs, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. He still had to walk back to the Tower. Maybe he could grab a slice of pizza along the way since he skipped lunch.

“Okay, here.” You return with a large glass of water. He only looks at it. “It’s just water, I promise. You look like you ran a marathon."

He takes it from you sceptically, pushing away the urge to sniff at it. It’s gone within a few gulps.

You wait until he’s finished to point at his arm. He draws his eyebrows together, but you only curl your index finger and beckon for him to give you his hand.

He reluctantly extends it towards you.

“Don’t laugh,” you warn him, taking his metal arm. “This usually helps me.”

You tie a small bracelet around his wrist. It has a few beads, which he realises represent the colours of the solar system.

“Keep that for good luck.” You pat it gently after securing it. “I think you just had a bad day; those don’t last very long. Do you want to charge your phone before you leave?”

“Uh-” The bracelet’s pretty, the colours shine against the dark vibranium. “-no, I’m good. I’ll just leave.”

“Okay. Anything else I can help you with or will you be fine?”

He narrows his eyes. “You’re being suspiciously nice.”

“I’m not evil all the time.” You huff. “My hours are in the morning.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he says again. “I’m gonna go then.”

“See you next week.” You give him a little wave. “I’d say break a leg on your mission but knowing your situation...”

He scoffs. “Thanks.”

You make a move to close the door when starts walking down the hallway towards the exit.

He adjusts the beads slightly so he can see them better. The Earth one has glitter in it. He thinks it’s cute.

“Bucky.”

He turns around.

There’s a hint of a smile on your face.

“Take the stairs.”

He doesn’t have to be told twice.

Next part

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mcu fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #harmless fic #winter soldier x reader #Winter Soldier #bucky barnes #bucky

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tawaifeddiediaz · 2 years

Text

when the world crumbles (bring me home)

That’s a longer title than I usually like but y’know what...it fit well here xD

[AO3 Link]

Word Count: 2905 words

He doesn’t even last a day.

His hands haven’t stopped trembling in the past twenty-four hours, flashes and sounds of gunshots and blood splatters and pain cracking through his skull flickering across his mind, and he can’t suck in a full breath.

He doesn’t last a single day.

Buck keeps seeing Eddie — keeps hearing the echo of Mitchell reading off Eddie’s address, keeps hearing the heartless nonchalance of his voice. Nausea surges through his chest every time he thinks of Mitchell and Dominic knowing where Eddie lives, what Christopher looks like, and even if one of the two is dead, and the other is in custody, the fear doesn’t dissipate.

He regrets not following Eddie quick enough, the other man already gone by the time Buck had put foot outside the hospital. He’d known that Eddie wasn’t thinking of anything beyond getting to Christopher as soon as he could, and for some reason, Buck had let the distance between them form a barrier that stopped him from making sure both of them were okay.

But he can’t do it anymore.

“Buck? Why didn’t you use your key?” Eddie asks as he swings the door open.

Buck’s mouth opens but no sound comes out. Eddie’s dressed in lounge clothes — a white graphic T-shirt and grey sweatpants that feel too fucking casual after the events of yesterday — but Buck categorizes every inch of him that he can see, needing to make sure that he’s okay.

His gaze lands right where there’s a bullet scar underneath the worn fabric, from where Eddie’s blood had splattered all over Buck to the point where he can still see it, all these months later, caked in every crevice.

No matter how hard he scrubs, it doesn’t come out.

“Hey,” he finally croaks out, wincing at the sound of his own voice.

Something passes over Eddie’s face and he leads Buck inside, sitting him down on the couch. He knows he needs to stop staring up at him, but he can’t — the ricochet of the bullet, the fear that nearly took his legs out from under him as he sprinted out of the hospital, nearly tripping over his own damn feet to make sure the asphalt stayed free of Eddie’s blood this time.

“Chris!” Eddie calls, plopping down next to him. “Can you come here for a minute, buddy?”

Buck’s head whips towards Chris’ room, fully expecting the kid to be at school today. It’s a weekday, one of those days where they’d be on shift too, if they hadn’t gotten stuck; in someone else’s plans.

Again.

“Buck!” Chris yells out, falling into his arms in a whirlwind of bright laughter. Buck knows he’s probably clutching him too tight but he can’t get Mitchell’s words out of his fucking head.

Cute kid. Yours? I'm guessing he lives with you at 4995 South Bedford Street.

“H-hey buddy,” he chokes out, feeling tears prick at his eyes at the unabashed adoration in the way Christopher swings his arms around his neck. “What’re you doing at home today?”

“Dad says we’re playing hooky today,” Chris laughs, living his dream of skipping school. “I’m playing video games with my friends, but I had to come see you first.”

“Thanks for doing that, Chris,” Buck laughs, too far gone with relief to care about how wet the sound is.

Just go, or I'll shoot you. Or better yet, I shoot him. And then, I find his kid and I shoot him, too.

This kid — his favourite kid in the entire universe tied only with his niece — looks at him closely then, where Buck’s sure his eyes are glassy with tears. He can’t exactly turn it off, because he can feel the world crumbling around him in ruins and relief, built together, held together with the sheer force of the Diaz household.

“You guys are so weird,” Christopher says softly, one little hand coming up to brush a stray tear away. The other probes curiously at the bandage Buck still hasn’t taken off — curling up at the edges from his shower and probably a single blow from falling off entirely.

He couldn’t be bothered to take it off, just to see the imprint of the gun on his forehead. He doesn’t want Chris to see the wound either.

Buck.

Worrying Christopher is one of the things Eddie hates doing, and Buck’s struck with the very likely possibility that Eddie hasn’t told Christopher about the hostage. Every part of him is so fucking glad that Eddie is such a good dad because he can’t see any of that going over well.

He plays it safe, anyway. “Yeah, yeah we are.”

Chris gets antsy after a few more minutes of Buck holding him tight, wiggling on his lap. Buck forces himself to let go of the kid, suddenly feeling cold down to his very toes.

“Come play games with me and my friends! No one will care if you lose.” He lowers his voice to a whisper-shout for the last part, mischief printed on his face.

The familiar teasing thaws some of the ice in his bones, but he’s too raw to keep up a front for that long.

“That sounds amazing, Chris,” he says, plastering a smile on his face, “but I’m going to take a raincheck today, okay?”

Thank God for the understanding kid that Chris is, because he doesn’t push.

“That’s okay, Buck. I hope you feel better, though.” Chris hugs him one more time before leaving the room.

Buck watches him go, and feels the wound on his forehead pang with the phantom memory of the gun striking it.

Something in Eddie had snapped the minute Dominic had taken Christopher’s name — something Buck could feel without even looking at him. There had been a dangerous stillness to him, protective in its own right. Buck had no doubt that it was an anger that only came out of hearing Christopher threatened in anyway, a side of Eddie that came from pushing him over the brink.

Buck.

But something had leapt in Buck’s torso, too, and his traitorous tongue had jumped ahead of him before Eddie could say or do anything. The same thing that had broken into miniscule fragments at his feet with Eddie’s soft, one-word imploring for him to go.

The same thing that breaks in his ribs every time he thinks about the moment he had to leave Eddie alone in that ambulance.

A warm hand settles on Buck’s shoulder and he startles, having completely forgotten that Eddie was sitting behind him. “You okay?”

He tries to answer the question, tries to find a string of words and phrases adequate enough to tell his best friend what he’s feeling right now.

“No,” he settles on, staring blankly at his own fingers. It’s more honest than they’ve been in weeks. “No, Eddie, I’m not. And I know you aren’t either.”

Eddie doesn’t deny it.

He’s quiet as Buck subtly tries to press back into the dizzying familiarity of his hand, even as Eddie shifts closer so they both can stare blankly at the TV with their shoulders pressed together — a fragment of the past that Buck clings to, trying to stay afloat.

“I haven’t been okay for a long time,” Eddie says finally. “But yesterday…that was some fucked up shit. We didn’t sign up for any of that.”

Flashes of all the things they didn’t sign up for flutter across his mind in quick succession — the shooting, for some reason, stays at the front of his mind in technicolor. The emotionless shock, the pain reverberating in his scream, the slackness of Eddie’s expression — all of them are burned into Buck’s ribcage, each beat of his heart pressing directly against the memory.

He sees Eddie shoving the police officer off his shoulder yesterday, and wonders if the scar in his chest had started to ache.

“No,” he whispers. “We didn’t. But it happened. And I can’t stop seeing all the ways it could’ve gone wrong.”

A humorless laugh leaves Eddie. “Any more ways it could’ve gone wrong, you mean.”

Buck hates that they have that distinction hanging between them.

Eddie gets up and disappears into the hall, coming back with a familiar blue plastic box. They’ve been in this position enough that Buck knows what he wants. He shifts forward so Eddie can stand directly in front of him; he doesn’t have the energy to protest that it’s just a cut, it doesn’t need anything more than a couple of days to heal.

Unlike the gaping emptiness in his stomach every time he thinks about staring down the barrel of a gun.

“Thanks,” Eddie says quietly as he peels the bandage off. “For sticking up for Chris.”

“You know I would do anything for that kid.”

Eddie’s words from what feels like a past life echo in his mind, and he fixes his gaze on the washed-out, faded pattern of his best friend’s T-shirt instead of his expression, too afraid that Eddie will read him down to his bones.

Gentle hands frame his chin and tilt it upwards anyway, and Buck’s forced to look at him, startling when the thin sheen in Eddie’s eyes matches that of his own.

“That is what I want for him.”

Buck doesn’t know if he’s ever going to be able to live up to the expectation and faith Eddie places in him, but he knows that if it comes without Eddie, he’s not sure he wants it.

“I didn’t tell Christopher because I didn’t want him to worry about us.” An alcohol swab wipes over the cut, and Buck wonders if the repetitive motion is just for Eddie to keep his hands busy as he talks. “I came straight home and got into bed with him. I couldn’t even bring myself to go to the next room down because that would’ve been too far after…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but Buck knows.

There were nights during Eddie’s recovery, where Buck would wake up only to find Eddie curled up on the ground outside Chris’ room with just a pillow to prop his injured shoulder up. Other days, Chris would be either sleeping next to an unassuming Eddie, or squished on the couch with Buck, even if he had started the night out in his own bed.

There were even days where Eddie had come out in the middle of the night to take a seat on the ground in front of the couch, his head tipped back to share Buck’s pillow.

Eddie taking comfort in his presence the same way Buck took comfort in his was something that had snaked around his ribs and burrowed into the deepest corner of his heart, a conviction private for him to draw on.

The nights after Buck went back to his loft were the roughest because he’d gotten in the habit of having Eddie and Chris right with him if he woke up for a nightmare. It helped to have someone close like that — especially the person featuring in all the nightmares.

Learning that Eddie sought the physical proof of his son being okay wasn’t surprising at all.

“You looked like you could’ve killed him with just a glare,” Buck observes. Eddie pulls a bandage out of the first aid box and carefully places it over the cut, smoothing down the sticky edges.

“I couldn’t risk you,” Eddie reveals quietly. “Things would’ve probably gone differently if your life wasn’t on the line.”

Something in his heart shatters as he listens to Eddie's admission.

But that’s the thing — for most of it, Buck was a sitting duck with the police while Eddie was stuck in a cramped metal box with Dominic. If anyone’s life had been on the line, it was Eddie’s — not his.

“When I heard the shot…” Buck curls his fingers around Eddie’s wrist, pulling it away from his forehead for a second, needing him to listen. The pulse under his fingertips is steady, reaching for Buck with each beat. “When I heard the shot, I thought that the last time I was going to see you was in the back of a fucking ambulance with a gun to your head. I can’t tell you what thoughts went through my mind–”

The ricochet sounds in Buck’s head again, triggering his tears and closing his throat. Before he knows it, the last anchor keeping him even the slightest bit sane snaps, and a sob wrangles its way out of his throat.

“Buck.” Eddie’s expression crumples, and through his blurry vision, Buck sees a tear make its way down his partner’s face, too.

“Too soon,” he gasps out as Eddie’s arms come around him, standing as he is. Buck rolls his lip into his mouth to stifle the wrecked sounds that threaten to escape him, but keeps himself close to Eddie, relishing in the warmth of his skin and steady rhythm of his heart. “I thought I lost you. Again .”

Tears drip steadily into his hair as his own press stains into Eddie’s T-shirt, and the image of Eddie crying only makes the dam inside Buck flood even more. How far have they been pushed to break down like this?

He balls his fists up in Eddie’s shirt, tries to not take more than what Eddie’s given, and counts.

He counts each tear beading off his waterline, counts each of Eddie’s tears falling soundlessly on the crown of his head. He counts each shaky rattle of Eddie’s chest as it expands to hold his emotion, counts each heart beat that pounds against where Buck’s forehead is pressed.

He counts each minute they stay locked like this, until their tears finally slow.

“It’s not fair,” Buck says when they pull away, tipping backwards to stare at the overhead light as if that could burn the salt from his face. He feels less like he’s about to burst, now that it’s all in the open, but the ache in his chest has only deepened. “It’s just not.”

“I know.” In his peripheral vision, Buck sees Eddie scrub a hand down his blotchy face, eyes rimmed red and nose a bright red. He knows he probably looks just as horrendous — if not more. “But it happened, and we’ll have to learn to live with it.”

“No more pushing things down, huh?”

Eddie laughs wetly, plucking a tissue from the side table and passing it to Buck, flopping down next to Buck. “Not after you just got snot and tears all over my T-shirt.”

The quip brings a much needed levity to the room, and despite himself, Buck laughs, too. “Tell that to my hair.”

“Crying helped, weirdly enough,” Eddie says, bumping a knee against Buck’s as he tosses the first-aid kit back on the coffee table.

It’s so much like them before the shooting that Buck almost starts crying again.

In races, hurdles are always placed a certain distance apart so the runner doesn’t trip and fall over them. Being taken hostage feels like a hurdle that was placed too close after the first one, and it’s not going to be easy to learn how to jump over it.

Eddie’s expression flickers rapidly from one emotion to the next when Buck finally turns to look at him. Buck feels stripped open just from one look, more vulnerable than he’s ever been when Eddie speaks again. “I’m okay, and you’re okay. And Chris is safe and won’t get hurt. We’re okay.”

“Yeah. Yeah we are.” He commits the words to memory.

We’re okay.

“You can come by any time, you know that,” Eddie says softly. “I don’t care when, just use your key.”

It's just like Eddie to offer as freely as he does, but Buck’s no less. “And you?”

He smiles unexpectedly, bright and uninhibited even with the redness of his eyes. “If you hadn’t come here, I was going to call you anyway. That’s all I need.”

Buck knows what it would’ve cost Eddie to say that, to confess to needing someone, even if it’s not in as many words.

The fact that it’s him Eddie needs lights a flame of pride in his chest.

“Well, that was a lot. You hungry?” Eddie asks after a stretch of silence, eyes kind and inviting. He stands and disappears into the kitchen.

Buck laughs to himself, following him. “Not if you’re cooking. We’re only just okay again.”

Eddie flips him off, and just like that, order is restored to his world again.

We’re okay.

Saying it out loud does help, because a large part of his brain — the same part that was logging each of Eddie’s breaths a few minutes ago — doesn’t believe that they got out of there. A part of him is still stuck in the hospital, listening to the gunshot on a loop, watching nurses run past him in the opposite direction. A part of him is still stuck on a main road, watching Eddie bleed out.

But like this, being seen for it in one of the only places that have ever made Buck feel safe, he thinks they’ll be alright. One day, he’ll look at Eddie and not hear the sound of a bullet disengaging, and one day, Eddie will look at his son and not hear Dominic’s words reverberate like an echo chamber.

Buck watches Eddie slice vegetables and smiles.

That’ll be one day — but for now, this hope is enough.

#zee writes #buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buck x eddie #christopher is here too hehe #for a minute #oneawkwardcookie #tuserksn #userisha #userdahlias #911 fic #911fic

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chiwhorei · 3 years

Text

gun bunny

pairing: mafia!s. aizawa x fem!reader

genre: mafia!au, quirkless!au, smut- 18+ minors dni

word count: 2.5k

warning: somnophilia, voyeurism, violence, attempted kidnapping, attempted assault, mentions of blood, mentions of guns and knives, degradation, age-gap (reader is 19 and aizawa is 31), spitting

a/n: hello! this is my contribution to the smut pile mafia!server collab, this is both my first smut pile collab (this is so late i am so sorry sksksksk) and my first full-length bnha piece, be sure to check out everyone else’s amazing work here! thank you to @10millionyearsdungeon and @messwriting for your constant support while i trudged through sad pal hours for a fucking month and crawled out of the pits of writer’s block

hymns: hayloft by - mother mother, i’m on fire - awolnation cover

Blood pours over decades like syrup, the tinny-sweet smell was distinct but all too familiar. A muffled gun’s buzzing frames 19 years of life. The barrel feels cool, sitting precariously by the highest angle of your cheekbone.

“I told you not to cause trouble, brat. Now I have to clean up your little mess.”

Aizawa’s body is tall and broad above you, holding you against him with a protective grip on the small of your back. Every word is sneering, punctuated with a growl-- you feel it reverberate against his chest.

The bullet is resounding even through the silencer; a deafening sound, final bell tolling next to smeared streaks of mascara.

Aizawa Shouta has always been around-- whether bringing your dad a hefty stack of reports to thumb through or loosening his tie in the parlor and toasting him to another job well done. A carousel of chauffeurs and bodyguards encircle you, but all are nameless faces except for the man that can make people disappear in an instant: Eraser.

Otsuka y/n, the only daughter of the most powerful man in Japan, is a weighty title against your shoulders. Your father’s reputation has cradled you for almost two decades, keeping you draped in fur and balancing on red-bottoms. He has more money, more power than God. To most of your father’s inner circle, you are the dutiful, angelic heiress to his blood-soaked empire. You play the part well enough, polite, temperate- your hands are painted red in culpability, but perfectly manicured.

Your father’s business isn’t a secret, no matter his attempts to shield you over the years. There’s only so many nights spent humming to the tune of cracking skulls in the next room before “investments in oil” starts to lose its validity. Whenever you ask him, he pats your head, smoothing stray strands of hair, “I do it all for you, bunny. Everything is for you.”

You decide not to think about rouge splatters of blood and bruises against his knuckles, ignoring the clicking of a loading gun before he leaves for the office.

It’s better this way.

“You can’t be serious, Otsuka.” Aizawa paces across the hardwood, heel to toe with Italian leather from one large bookshelf to the other. A familiar habit, you’ve seen the contemplative marching before and know it to mean one thing: Aizawa is pissed.

“Have you ever known me to joke around? Especially with y/n?” Your father’s elbows hit the table in front of him, the jagged scars lining his face seem even more intimidating when coupled with a harshly set frown. You perch on the side of his large desk, swinging your feet lightly.

“Oh daddy, I’m not a child. I don’t need Eraser to babysit me.” You huff, crossing your arms and providing a pout to your father’s hard expression. You hear the mumbled, “Don’t call me that,” from behind you, but decide against a response.

“He’s going to look after you while I’m in Musutafu. I have to handle some…” he trails off slightly, one of his hands coming up to rub against his bald head, “noncompliance, but I shouldn’t be gone for more than a few days.” His disfigured fingers curling around yours, you look up to meet his eye, “Be a good girl, bunny.”

You give your father’s temple a kiss, pulling back to smile sweetly. Your next words have Aizawa snorting, rolling his eyes far enough into his skull to be painful.

“I always am.”

A bend downwards at the hips frames your ass perfectly, the lace of your panties curls around your pussy tightly, hooking against the lips and showcasing your soft skin. Questions swirl in the bowl of cereal in front of him, all but forgotten as soon as a cup“fell” from your fingers and clattered to the floor. The taste, the smell, the feeling of--

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

Aizawa is ripped from the reprehensible desires of his senses to meet your eyes, your form still folded over on itself and displayed for Aizawa in the otherwise empty kitchen. You giggle at his scowl, snapping back up and smoothing out your skirt. Aizawa bites down on the spoon in between his teeth, he swears he can feel his teeth cracking. Better his canines than his will.

This only marks the beginning of a long week for your father’s right-hand man. The proceeding days turn to nights at a snail's pace. The past week has been inching towards disaster with every minute of alone time you could steal with Aizawa.

“Eraser, what are you doing up so late.” Your voice curls around his shoulder, the whine tugging him towards your open bedroom door. It’s late, far too late for you to be up to anything good.

You always like to push your luck, playing a game you know Aizawa won’t let himself win. Pressing firmly against the line but never pointing your heel across. Maintaining your immunity, feigning innocence behind a soft pout. Your appointed guardian isn’t fooled by any honeyed façade you build around his associates. He knows what you are at the core.

He tries to shake off your pull, but the way your voice lilts against the long hallway is magnetic. The past few nights have been the same song and dance, your disarming call to him as he trudges to one of the many guest bedrooms. Every night he gets closer, heavy feet and tense nerves guiding him towards your warm voice. He’s weathering a sea, you’re the siren hell-bent on his drowning.

“I told you not to call me that, little girl.” His response to your wanton call is shallow, the nickname is one he hates the sound of, especially rolling past your lips.

“Do you like what you see?”

Aizawa’s brows set harshly as he looks on to where you lie nestled in pillows and silk. You have nothing but a loose, light pink camisole to cover your body, cotton panties pulled down to your ankles with shameless intent. Your legs are spread wide for your viewer’s pleasure, two fingers brush against your lips, dragging lazily- up and back down.

Aizawa knows what you really are, a petulant brat.

You pull at the soft skin, spreading yourself to unveil the tight, clenching hole. He leans his shoulder against the jam, eyes drinking you in where his body shamefully wishes to be. The groan aching deeply in his chest is not lost on you as your other hand pulls the hem of your shirt upwards to catch in between your teeth.

The soft plush of your breasts bounces slightly, nipples peeking out from the folds of fabric, now fully exposed to the inky-black stare of your voyeur. There’s nothing left to his imagination now, the question that haunts sleepless nights, palming a large hand up and down his cock and imagining something softer and smaller. The picture of what his boss’s precious daughter would look like squirming under him becoming clearer beyond all reason.

Aizawa should turn heel and walk away, he should slam your bedroom door shut and count the days until your father’s return with a measured distance. He should walk away. He should-

A soft whimper drags him from contemplation and back to the writhing succubus center stage. Your fingers move quickly against your aching clit, drawing out babbled pleas to hit harshly against the tall, brooding presence at your door.

“I’ve had about enough of your games, bunny. Your father tasked me to keep you out of trouble, but you are the trouble.” Aizawa’s words hit your ears mockingly, but they sound more like an invitation than a warning, especially as his body inches forward, breaching the threshold of your bedroom inch by inch.

Two fingers slip past your lips, pushing in and drawing back slicked with arousal. You repeat the action, slowly, ensuring the boring set of eyes are trained on where you clench desperately; wanting to put on a good show with your bodyguard in the front row.

Aizawa’s head is swimming, dizzy and drunk. He wants to tear you apart, to lay claim to the twitching prize between your legs. If you struggle around two of your own much smaller fingers, it would be nearly impossible to wrap you around his thick cock.

That is, not without breaking you.

The heated pants escaping you pick up in canter, your audience winding a tight cord with his presence alone. Aizawa is unrelenting in his deep, unblinking stare, stepping towards your bed slowly. Once his body is looming over you, the coil in your stomach has turned into a hair pinned trigger.

“Such a messy little slut. Getting off to the attention aren’t you?” You’re rendered dumb at his comment, Aizawa barely has to press his thumb into your chin before your mouth hangs open. You look up with glassy eyes, fingers sore from working against your pussy, chasing a high you can only imagine how fast Aizawa could steal from you. His expression is as neutral as always, but the despondency doesn’t quite shadow the fire burning in his eyes. You watch him lean forward slightly, a string of saliva falling downward to land against your tongue. His spit feels hot, you can taste the remnants of cigar and mint gum as you swallow.

You come undone in a litany of cries, pleading with your captor. His hold is passive as he looks at you, watching you cum against your fingers, the squelching sounds make his mouth dry. The only source of hydration is at the apex of your thighs. Visions flash before his eyes, images of what the curve of your breasts look like as he’s buried tongue deep, lapping you up post-orgasm and pushing you over once more for good measure.

Aizawa retreats, lest he pulls you against his mouth while your cunt is still pulsating, he needs to escape before your knees are pressed to your shoulders. He slams your door closed harshly, leaving you with the taste of his contempt for you on your bottom lip.

You’re quick to sleep, body falling into the warmth of unconsciousness coupled with dreams of what a certain set of fingers would feel like against you. How the scars and calluses would brush against your most intimate inches of spongy flesh, how he would stretch you.

You can almost feel the soreness in between your legs and the heavy slap of something against your stomach. You can almost remember the whispered confessional swimming in the back of your head, the soft grunts from above your sleeping form. As sunlight stretches across your sleep-stiff body, your hand trails down over your naked skin, maybe you aren’t the only one playing games this week.

You could have almost sworn you had gone to sleep with panties on.

The car ride to your father’s bar was filled with unflattering tension. You had protested in vain that going with Aizawa wasn’t necessary, but had been met with a dismissive, “I don’t trust you to behave.”

“I’m not a child, Eraser. I don’t see why I couldn’t just sit at home.” You wobble behind your escort, heeled boots clacking against the gravel.

As you enter the building, a young mop of violet hair flanks Aizawa down with a stack of papers. The man is nameless to you but is familiar enough to be assumed under your father’s thumb.

Aizawa looks over the document’s now held in front of him with care, rolling up the sleeves to his crisp dress shirt as his eyes scan the pages. You note the shimmering silvered skin of a scar under his left eye, pronounced by the harsh lighting surrounding you. His hair is held up partially by a tie, the loose strands framing his face.

“Are you listening to me, little girl?” You're snapped back from watching his mouth curling around syllables to actually make out what they’ve been saying.

“Go sit down, I’ll only be a few minutes.” You nod along and turn to perch at the bar, but stop at the grip pulling you back for one final order. “Don’t get yourself into trouble.”

Aizawa leaves you to stew in the subtle brush of his pointer finger against the tender skin of your wrist, he rubs the skin subtly before disappearing to the back rooms.

The minutes ticking by are agonizing. Aizawa, usually the epitome of brief, has been gone long enough for the condensation on your glass to mar the wood below it in countless ringlets. You twirl the straw against the strawberry liquor, willing time to crank by faster with the action. The drink in your veins isn’t nearly enough to get you drunk but does make the opening of the front door unnoticeable.

Your back is facing the heavy wood, unaware of the two strangers now approaching until the curdling sound of one man’s voice hits the shell of your ear.

“Well, well, look what we have here. Why don’t I buy you a drink, princess?” Each man steals one of your sides, enclosing you into a tight, predatory huddle.

“This is my bar. I don’t need you to buy me anything.” You try to shake off the nauseating feeling of their bodies so close to you, gut twisting uncomfortably as one man’s breath crawls across your shoulder blades. They’re both so close. Too close.

“Wow, this little kitty cat’s got some claws, don’t she?” You feel hands curl around each bicep, a bruising grip right below your armpits. Your body is hoisted up, your balance off at the jarring upheaval.

Possible escape routes flash across your mind but all seem impossible. Would trying to shake off the still faceless strangers even work? And even if you sprung free, would you make it to the back office before they caught up? Should you try to scream? Would Aizawa hear you?

Before you can make any moves, you feel the flat side of a knife at your collarbone. A chill rattles down your spine at the contact, two inches of metal keeping your entire body compliant.

Their intent is clear, you’ll be coming with them, and by the sharp point of a blade digging into the first layer of skin-- you’ll be coming quietly.

A mixture of shock and disbelief compels your body into compliance, dragging you to the front door and closer towards an awaiting trunk.

“Your carriage, princess.” You hear the shorter man on your right, his voice at your neck sounds waterlogged through the blood rushing in your ears. Any protests die at the knife against your skin, digging in shallowly and pricking a small trail of red along your clavicle.

A sharp snap sounds behind you, like a piece of thin wood under a heavy boot. One of your captors falls in a pile next to you. You’re turned around to meet a familiar pair of venomous, black eyes, Aizawa’s words roll from his tongue with a growl.

You’re pulled at the wrist, stumbling back into the strong chest of your appointed bodyguard.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing with my bunny?”

#aizawa smut #aizawa x reader smut #aizawa x reader #bnha smut #bnha x reader #shouta aizawa #tw: somnophilia #tw: violence #tw: blood #tw: weapons

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thehandsresisthim · 3 years

Text

Monster Sized

Dabi | Todoroki Touya / Reader

Synopsis: Touya is your pet. He misbehaves and you punish him accordingly.

nsft / dominant reader / sex toys (small vibrator, plug, big monster dildo lol) / pet play (Touya is addressed as puppy, mutt, etc., reader is handler, master etc.) / bondage (handcuffs) / degradation / dumbification / size kink / stomach bulge due to the dildo / not beta read

"Oh, my dumb little mutt. I think I haven't properly kept you in check - you sure seem like nothing but a bitch in heat, begging for a big cock to fill you up, don't you?"

He sure overstepped your limit this time.

You harshly janked on his leash, "come on, bitch, we're going to the bedroom," and Touya had no choice but to follow you, crawling on all fours - he still vividly remembers the time he tried following you walking upright and the harsh punishment which had followed that.

Once in the room, you secured Touyas leash on one of the bed posts and walked over to the drawer you kept your sex toys in - thank goodness you hadn't told Touya about your newest purchase yet! The huge, oversized dildo would surely suit a bitch like him. But you would ensure that it stayed a surprise, only taking out a pair of handcuffs, deciding that the grand reveal would happen later on.

"Hop onto the bed, doggy." you said, glaring at Touya. Sadly, he decided to be a brat.

"Why the f-fuck would I?", Touya tried to seem confident, but he couldn't even properly understand what you were saying - he was way too needy to focus on your command.

You sighed. "I'm gonna count down from three. If you aren't on the bed by one, you're not going to like what'll happen to you."

He just glared.

"Three."

Touya seemed torn between wanting to disobey, and being afraid of your punishment, but he still did not move.

"Two."

He felt like his brain was broken - he couldn't focus on anything but the stimulation on his prostate and how the plug was spreading his hole, creating pressure. What did his handler say again? He tried, but his dumb mind couldn't handle it, - go towards his handler? That seemed realistic, so he started crawling.

He slowly moved up, getting on all fours from the previous position he had been sitting in, and started crawling. Intrigued, you decided to hold down the countdown for a moment to give him a fair chance at getting up.

He did not get onto the bed, but rather crawled towards you.

Oh, your dumb little mutt. He truly was a brainless bitch.

He continued to crawl, until the leash stopped him. Frustrated, he attempted to go further, but obviously couldn't.

"Oh, sweetheart, you truly can't do anything, can you? No, your handler has to constantly keep you in check."

Sighing, you decided to give up on trying to teach him any commands for now. Dumb whores like him only needed to be breed, right now there was no point in teaching him.

You took him by the collar and dragged him onto the bed, his lanky limbs getting in the way of things.

Touya growled, "Fuck you". You sighed once more, not responding to the mans rude response. He did not deserve this kind of attention right now, it was best to keep silent to make sure he understood that his vocalized opinion did not matter to you - he wasn't worthy of a response.

Quickly, you secured his arms to the bed using the cuffs. If only he hadn't been so disrespectful.

For the first time in the last hour, you looked at his pitiful cock. It was fully erect - not that the little thing was impressive - and coated in his streaky precum. The tip was bright red, most likely an effect of the continuous teasing you had subjected him to earlier in the day - before he decided to misbehave and make you mad, resulting in the punishment right now. If only he had behaved better, than he would've reached his climax already and you both could've been cuddling on the sofa whilst watching a show, but no, your mutt had to just ruin everything with his filthy mouth.

You took to spreading his legs, slowly rubbing over the staples which badly connected burned and healthy skin. He truly was pathetic.

"Oh, finally. Are you goin'... fuck me already? Took you long en-enough. My hole is really stretched out from the plug, ya' know?" Touya tried to keep his voice calm, like he couldn't care less whether you made him cum or not, but you could see right through him. He was aching to finally release his seed, but you knew that that wasn't going to happen for a while longer.

Softly, you removed the plug from his sensitive hole. He whimpered and moaned throughout the entire process, clearly enjoying your touch.

Afterwards, you coated your fingers in lube and went straight for his hole, immediately putting the bullet vibrator inside of him. It became warm, like the rest of his insides. You chuckled a little and pushed it further into him, rubbing it right against his prostate.

Touya couldn't hide his arousal at that, groaning loudly whilst his cock twitched.

You decided that teasing him with the vibrator would be fine for now - you'd take out your surprise later.

+++

"Please don't - don't, no - miss - it's way too big! It won't fit, my hole won't be able to take it! I-I don't want to, miss I-", Touya complains, but you just slap him across the face, effectively shutting him up.

He cries even harder, full on sobbing, as you start to press the lubed up monster dildo against his equally lubed hole.

He also tries shaking and squirming away, but that also does nothing.

If only your poor, confused, dumb dollie hadn't been such a bitch - then maybe he would not have to experience his hole being stretched out further and further and completely filled by a monster cock. But alas, he was.

As you slowly put in the tip, Touyas eyes visibly started to widen, and he continued to whimper - most likely trying his best to deal with the situation. The plastic dick started to gently pry apart his opening and it was obvious how much it was affecting Touya - his breathing became heavier, his still painfully neglected, pitiful nub of a cock started to twitch, he was sweating, and loud noises escaped his mouth.

But you relentlessly continued. As the dildo filled out most of his ass, but still not touched his prostate, the true effect on Touya started to show - he loudly sobbed, the shock in his face clearly evident - it was too much for his poor, cute, once tight hole.

You started to use your fingertips to softly trace the stomach bulge the dildo created. This obviously didn't go unnoticed by Touya - he lifted his head and crained his neck to also take in just what was happening to his small body.

"Look, little one. Your hole is almost all filled up now. Feels good, doesn't it? Maybe my cute little bitch can behave, now that he is being breed all good."

"F-fat fuckin' chance of th-wah! Ahn- miss- feel good -big- cock inside my hole, rubbing against - ngh-", Dabi tried to protest, until you, mid sentence, rammed the plastic all the way in, pummeling into his hungry, greedy ass.

Overwhelmed with being filled up so suddenly, Touya started to grip onto the sheets in a poor attempt to ground himself.

Slow at first, but then picking up on speed, you started fucking Touya using the toy. His reaction was delicious - eyes widening, sobbing, light screams, body twitching and squirming around, arms flailing, - the whole ordeal.

His cute cock started getting even more interested in what was going on - the thing looked like one would only need to touch it once to bring it to an orgasm, so that's what you did.

Using the hand which wasn't occupied with guiding the dildo in and out of his hole, you slapped his cock - hard. Touya wailed, hips lurching forward, torn between the pain and pleasure.

Upon seeing that he hadn't cum yet, you repeated the action a few times, at the same time making sure to fuck the toy right up against his prostate at the same time as the blow to his nub.

Obviously, the breeding bitch couldn't control himself - his cum shot out of him soon afterwards, dirtying your hand and his body.

But this didn't deter you - no, he should be happy that someone was willing to touch his disgusting cock. So, you continued to fuck him, but opted to massage his nub instead of slapping it, since your arms were getting tired.

At first, Touya didn't realize what was going on - not until the last droplet of his pathetic sperm stopped leaving his cock and the after shocks of his first orgasm fizzled out.

No, your dumb little mutt left his mouth wide open - tongue out - and rolled his eyes onto the back of his skull. You wished you could take a photo, but for now, your memory would be enough.

Just a few moments after, he sure did realize it, though - based on your malicious smirk and your calculated movements, Touya was sure you were out to torture him further.

Each stroke on his twitching, aching little cock, the soft touches on his tummy bulge and hits of the dildo to his oversensitive prostrate were ensuring that he was properly punished - it didn't take long for him to feel a second orgasm coming.

Amidst screeching, screaming, moaning, groaning, whimpering and gasping, Touya tried to tell you what his nub of a cock was about to do - he really did - but the words just wouldn't come out!

And after that, it was already too late to warn you - he was already releasing for the second time.

This time, he knew what you were going to do after - not that he could prepare much for the continued stimulation other than maybe beg you to stop. So that's what he did, although his stupid mind was also fucked out, and thinking was hard for a bitch like him - "miss- cock hurts - too big - m'hole is all stuffed - soo full! So good-nh, but - too much... ahhn-" and "please, need break, cock can't cum, cock can't cum!"

Touya was absolutely miserable. His hole was stretched beyond belief, his cock was red with how many times you've slapped it, the prolonged edging before hand, and now, the overstimulation, his face was covered in his drool, there was cum all over his shaking, aching body - he needed a break.

But sadly, you don't care. Why would you? He surely has one more for you, doesn't he? So, you don't even slow down.

"Just one more, puppy. If you apologize and promise to do better, mutt." you explain to him.

Based on Touyas facial expression, you can figure out how hard he is thinking - trying to process your words. His arms are trembling in the hand cuffs.

It appears he has figured it out. "I'm-I sorry, Master! I was - a dumb puppy, I'm sorry! I'll - I'll do better. Your disgusting slut promises to be better! I'm sorry!", Touya started to cry, finally doing what you wanted him too.

As a reward, you stopped rubbing his cock for a moment, instead moving your body and taking your hand to slowly rub his hair - your nails scratching his scalp, soflty massaging it.

He smiles, happy to have made his handler happy and enjoying your pleasant touch.

"My good boy. You can be so good if you truly try." you say and carefully take your hand out of his hair, instead placing it on his cheek and massaging it as well.

It seems you truly fucked all the bitchiness out of him - he was finally listening to you, to tired to complain or rebel against his handler.

You smile and start to move the dildo again, and also take up touching his cock again - Touya cries out.

His arms and legs tremble, his hands grin at the sheets, and he starts squirming. You just continue smirking and start softly talking to him.

"You're my good slut. You can take it. Good boy. Come on, let your master milk one last orgasm out of you."

He cries and babbles on - you can only make out a few words - "master, need-wah! hole is stuffed so good! Cum, cum, cum- please, want you, need, ngh-" until, with a cry of your name, he came for the last time for tonight.

"You did so well, Touya." you praised him and started to remove the dildo from his hole, uncuffed him and removed the leash from his collar.

"Thank you, Master." he answered.

"Come on, sweetie, I'll get you some water, then you can take a shower whilst I change the bed sheets." you suggested, and he nodded, so you walked to the kitchen to fill up a glass of water for Touya.

#dabi x reader #dabi smut #Sub dabi #bnha x reader #sub bnha x reader #Dabi x y/n #Dabi x you #Mha x reader #Mha smut #Bnha smut

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young-dumb-and-vaccinated · 3 years

Text

The Sommelier (Hannigram x Female!Reader) pt. 6

So we’re slowly but surely getting into the Hannigram shit I promised.

Someone with murderous intent finds y/n just as she thinks her life is beginning to improve. Little does she know, it will.

@deadman-inc-bikeshop and @dovadokren here you go homies

Trigger warnings: Suicide bombing, graphic descriptions of violence, gun violence, death, cults, cult manipulation

You waited until he had left the restaurant to read that all-important scrap of paper. For some reason, you felt the need to hide in the bathroom to read it. It was probably just a name and phone number, but your brain was anticipating some kind of love letter.

You carefully unfolded the receipt like it was your most treasured possession. Inside, it simply read ‘Hannibal Lecter’ followed by a phone number.

You hugged the paper against your chest and a huge smile overtook your face. You couldn’t attach any rhyme or reason to why you suddenly felt so alive, other than you were completely and utterly infatuated. You felt like you could break into song.

“Hey, [F/N]!” Charissa said, banging on the stall door. “Not to interrupt whatever this is, but could you take out the trash please?”

“Oh.” You answered, your voice cracking. “Yeah. I’ll be right there.”

Charissa trailed close behind you as you collected the bags from each can around the restaurant. She was uncharacteristically quiet, probably waiting for you to start spilling every detail of your night. The joke was on her, because you could let the silence go on forever. She wasn’t getting a word out of you.

“So you’re not going to tell me?” She sounded deeply offended.

“What’s to tell?” You said, hoisting a very full garbage bag over your shoulder. “Nothing happened.”

“He sunk his teeth into you, didn’t he?” Charissa asked. At this point, you weren’t sure if she meant it metaphorically or literally. “That’s why you’re acting all, y’know, not downright miserable?”

“Is that how I act usually?” You began to make your way to the back.

“I don’t know how to tell you this, but,” She prefaced. “You basically have two moods. Depressed and customer-service happy, which is just depressed with a facelift. And whatever is happening here doesn’t fit into either of those categories. So something happened.”

“Detective Charissa Rodriquez does it again.” You rolled your eyes and put one hand on the back door. “Some things just have to stay between a bartender and her... possible love interest.”

You punctuated the last sentence with a wink, sending your friend into a righteous fury.

“Holy shit, [F/N]!” She exclaimed, smacking her hands together. “Come on, [F/N], I’m your best friend. You’ve got to let me in.”

“I’m still trying to process what happened myself.” You said in earnest. “Believe me, if I’m telling anyone, it’s you.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” Charissa wagged her finger.

You tightened your grip on the garbage bag and lugged it outside. The night had fallen, and the orchestra of cicadas and crickets was in full swing. The warm pre-summer air welcomed you. As much as you resented her for bringing it up, Charissa was right. You hadn’t been truly happy in a very long time. And, as terrifying as the thought may have seemed, in a way, you owed it to Chase Mulvaney.

You hauled the garbage bag into the dumpster and slammed it shut. The crash echoed and you turned back towards the door.

Someone grabbed your arm. Your immediate thought was that it was just Charissa playing a cruel joke, but then they twisted it back and shoved you against the wall. You felt the cold blade of a knife against your neck and you froze up.

“You didn’t repent.” A manic voice hissed into your ear. You could feel your heartbeat against the cold brick wall. The hands that bound you were soft and the voice was much more female. This was noticeably not Chase.

You sputtered as you tried to articulate any of your thousands of questions. “Who the fuck are you?!”

“Silence, she-devil!” The girl slammed you against the wall. “Keep your forked tongue between your teeth or I’ll cut it out!”

Her voice and hands shook and she enunciated as if she were reading off a script with a gun to her head. The adrenaline turned to genuine fear when you felt something hard strapped to her midriff. You knew in that moment that she wasn’t going to use the knife.

"I thought Chase wanted to kill me himself." You muttered.

“Did you really think vanguard would be stupid enough to come back here?!” She forced a laugh but her voice was broken with fear.

“Yes.” You said back, resigning to at least die with honor. “And, why is Chase the one in charge?!”

She tightened her grip on your arm and smashed your head against the wall. “Don’t you dare talk about vanguard that way!”

He ripped off his cult leader title from fucking NXIVM? You thought, fully aware that it could easily be your last thought ever.

“No, but seriously, think about it!” You implored her, hoping that if you got her talking, she wouldn’t hit the detonator. If there was one thing you knew about evangelicals, it was that they loved to hear themselves talk. “Chas- er, vanguard attacked me in broad daylight in front of dozens of witnesses. You’re smarter than he is! You came after me when I was alone in the dark!”

“Everything he does, he does for a reason.” She shouted. "It's not the unwoman's place to question vanguard!"

“Oh god, now he’s ripping off Handmaid’s Tale?” You said out loud this time.

“Vanguard told me that you would try to fill my head with lies!” She growled. “So long as you are alive, you stand in the way of god’s work! You spread only falsehoods about our savior!”

“Is this about the TattleCrime article?” You ask. “Because I didn’t say anything about god, I only talked about--”

Then it hit you, again. “Oh, so this is a cult cult.”

"It's not a cult!" The girl screamed. This was the first time you'd sensed any genuine emotion behind her words. "Vanguard takes good care of us. And he can take care of you, too [F/N] [L/N]."

"By sending someone to kill me?" You spat.

"No!" The girl exclaimed. "No, no, no, no, no! Silly! I'm here to save you. If you repent now, and let Jesus Christ into your heart, your earthly shackles will be broken!"

"And what's in it for you, huh?" You struggled against her grip. "The privilege of blowing yourself up for Chase Mulvaney?"

"I was a sinful being like you, once." She said. "My grand reward is to give my life to save another."

You heard the click of a gun behind you. “Put the knife down and take off the vest!”

The girl grabbed you by the neck and turned you to face this approaching foe. She held the knife to your throat. “If you shoot, she’s dead.”

You couldn’t make out the details of his face, because he was backlit by headlights. You could, however, see the face of your captor. She was completely emaciated with bones protruding from her skin. Her head was sloppily shaved and whatever instrument she used to shave it left deep cuts on her scalp.

She reached a shaky hand into her pocket and pulled out a detonator. Tears streaming down her face, she began to chant. “Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness' sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”

The man let off a shot, sending a bullet into her leg. She fell backwards, dropping the detonator and the knife and giving you an opportunity to run. The man gestured for you to get behind him and you obliged. He then let off a second shot, this bullet hitting her right through the skull. The girl collapsed backwards, her brain matter painting the side of the building.

The man dropped his gun, mumbled something about a bomb squad into his phone, then turned to you. Finally, you could get a good look at his face. Immediately, you noticed his rich brown curls and a smattering of scruff around his jaw. His features were soft, comforting even. But a long enough examination of his face told you that he was just as deeply haunted as you were.

“Are you okay?” He asked, weakly.

“You...” You said over desperate gasps for air. “You saved me.”

Soon enough, the first responders joined you. But for a few minutes, it was just you, the man and some unspoken mutual understanding words couldn't articulate.

#hannibal lecter #hannibal nbc #hannibal x reader #hannibal x you #will graham #will graham x reader #will graham x you #hannigram x reader #tw violence #tw bomb #tw suidice

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