#walking is. pretty hard though. either bloody painful or I feel like my legs will give out. either way it's pretty exhausting

[whistlingstarlight]

I try my best to be understanding and patient given the absolute shambles that is the healthcare system, but sometimes it is very hard to be understanding when walking is so painful and it feels like they're taking their sweet time

#standing is. usually not too bad. my back hurts a lot but with the right position my knees feel steady #walking is. pretty hard though. either bloody painful or I feel like my legs will give out. either way it's pretty exhausting #my wrists often hurt and coordination isn't always easy but I'm grateful that overall my arms are working properly #vent #clyde rambles

[stellari-s]

Hi! I love your ithaqua stories and headcanons!

I want to give my request about ithaqua x fem reader werewolf, He goes in the woods and found the seriously injured werewolf and helps him.

If you don't want to do it, nothing happens! <3

🌕

hi, silvi (is it ok to call you this-)! thank you so much - it really means a lot to me that you like what i write 🥹🙏

request; yes, by @silvi-otaku 💕 and requests are open! there's a bit of a queue, but they're open. so send them in if you have any!

wc; 877.

tags; comfort, a bit of angst toward the end, werewolf! reader, pre-manor! ithaqua, i wrote this while sick 🫠

summary; injured from having been ambushed, you collapse in the wintry forest. from your periphery though you see a warm lantern light...

tonight marks the night of a lunar eclipse.

during these times, poachers roam freely in the forest for anything “exotic” - supposedly that includes you. though you don’t have a specific name to call what you are, humans have coined the term werewolf.

a person who can turn into a wolf once a month, when the moon is full.

that is you.

you were originally in a pack, but having been ambushed by a group of poachers, you find yourself not only separated, but also injured. an arrow is embedded in the flesh of your leg, forcing you to walk at a limp.

there isn’t a way to pull out the arrow, but you figure doing so could make the bleeding worse, so you grit your teeth and persist with it dig into your skin. the aching turns into a sharp sting every time you put weight on that leg, however, and you can’t stop a whimper.

the cold winter wind helps numb the pain a bit, but it also makes it hard to breathe and see well in front of you, flurries of snowflakes obscuring your vision.

occasionally, you look back, a part of you hoping to see any familiar faces but also making sure there are no more poachers in the area, chasing after you in your vulnerable state.

exhaustion eventually starts to make your eyelids heavy. you collapse down to the ground, your breathing becoming increasingly heavy.

your consciousness starts to fade away, black specking your vision… but before you black out, you can make out what looks like two thin blades on the ground. you can see that the snow, originally tinted a dark blue by the night, now has a warm orangish hue.

such a pretty color…

that is your last thought before you doze off, letting the calm blackness blanket your vision.

you don’t know exactly how long you are out.

was it just several minutes? or perhaps several hours had passed?

you also feel strangely warm. were you not in the middle of a snowstorm just some time ago?

confused and disoriented, you slowly open your eyes. at first, your vision is blurry, but eventually it hits you that you’re in some kind of cabin. it has a simple interior: a single bed, situated against the wall near a window that showed snowflakes silently falling down, with little sign of wind disturbances. a round wooden table with two chairs set opposite of each other. a hearth is also on the wall, and a rocking chair is nearby. it’s not lit though - the room is illuminated by a simple lantern.

where is this?

just as you think this, a figure approaches you, holding some fresh gauze. the first thing you notice about him is his light blue eyes that reminds you of a clear sky during the day, which complements his pale skin and platinum hair.

“are you awake?” he asks, a small smile on his lips. “i was just about to change your bandages. right now they’re kind of bloodied up…”

you look at him in response, not uttering a sound but not expressing any disapproval either. you won’t turn away from treatment.

he leans down toward your leg, unwrapping the bandages that are stained with blood that now seem more brown than red on the gauze, before he takes the fresh ones and wraps them around your leg. “i put some ointment on it,” he explains while wrapping, “so hopefully it won’t hurt as badly.”

after he finishes wrapping them, you cautiously move your leg, careful not to push yourself too hard.

“i know, how about you stay here for the night? it would make me feel better if i see you are doing better tomorrow. at least well enough to leave here safely.”

at first, you hesitate, unsure if it’s a good idea to stay the night at the place of someone you barely know. not only is there a trust barrier, but also you don’t like feeling as though you’re imposing on him.

as if responding to your hesitations, he says, “you see, i used to live here with my mother.” the boy looks down, his eyes narrowing as a shadow passes over that light blue, dulling it. “but things happened, and now i’m alone here. so it gets kind of lonely, you know. so just one night is enough - please stay here.”

though he appears to be in his late teens, right now you can’t help but think he’s more like a child who needs some company.

you stay with him, letting him sleep on your warm fur. only when you confirm he’s fully asleep from his breathing does your form slowly turn human again. you carry him to the bed, pull the blankets up over him, and, sparing him one final glance, you silently leave the lonely cabin.

when the door closes with a small creak, ithaqua opens his eyes. at first, he just stares up at the ceiling, a blank expression plastered on his face.

then, throwing the blankets aside, he approaches the hearth.

normally, he doesn’t feel cold, long used to the cold weather outside. but still, perhaps in an attempt to feel any semblance of that brief warmth again, he lights a fire.

#ik this is random #but should i make an intro #identity v #第五人格 #idv #id5 #idv ithaqua #idv night watch #夜の番人 #identity v ithaqua #identity v night watch #idv hcs #identity v imagines #idv imagines #identity v headcanons #idv fanfic #gn reader #idv x reader #identity v x reader #identity v x you #idv x you #ithaqua x reader #werewolf #some comfort #a bit of angst

[ghosts-and-blue-sweaters]

@whumptober-archive

Reblogs are a writers best friend, y’all! They really do help out a ton!

This isn’t on A03 yet, but here’s my account if anyones interested!

~~~

Wilbur's hands are bloody.

They haven't bled in a few days, but removing the bandages had started it up again. Wilbur knows he should be worried, disgusted at least, but all he can feel is a curious sort of wonder as he watches the dark liquid stream down his fingers. It soaks into the pores of his hands, and when Wilbur rubs his thumb and index finger together, he can see his fingerprint screaming back at him, outlined by red. The blood also makes its way under his fingernails, which are chipped and broken. It makes him feel dirty, even though he'd showered last night.

It's an interesting sight. Not bad or good. Just interesting.

A sigh brings Wilbur's attention to Phil, who's kneeling in front of him, peeling the soiled bandages away and tossing them into a bin. The winged man has a confusing expression on his face—brow furrowed as if he's angry, lips pressed tightly together as if he's frustrated, eyes strained as if he's stressed. Wilbur makes a humming sound, lightly swinging his legs back and forth.

"What is it?"

Phil sighs again. "It's just... your hands, Wil."

Wilbur cocks his head. "What about them?"

"They're in pretty rough shape, mate. The bandages were sloppy, and none of the wounds had been cleaned; I'm surprised that nothing's infected." He glances up, making eye contact with Wilbur. "Yet."

"Yeah, well, it's hard to see what I'm doing in a dark room. A room with terrible lights, I might add. Only a few worked, and most of them flickered. A few exploded while I was sleeping. Scared the crap out of me."

A breathy chuckle looses from Wilbur's lips, but Phil doesn't laugh with him. If anything, he seems to grow more upset, reaching for a wet cloth and bringing it to Wilbur's hands with hard eyes.

Wilbur hisses as the cloth makes contact with his skin. 

"That hurts, Phil," He grits out.

"I know."

"Like fire. Or gasoline."

"I know." Phil pauses. And then: "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize. It's a good hurt."

"I know, but I..." Phil glances up again. "What do you mean, a good hurt?"

"I mean..." Wilbur purses his lips. Gazes at his hands, which are covered by the soaking wet cloth that's slowly turning red. Phil's hands are warm against it. "It's my hand. My real hand. And it's bleeding."

He smiles. "I'm alive, Phil. And my hand hurts. And if that's not a miracle, then I don't know what is. Me, alive, talking to you, who's also alive. What are the chances?"

Phil's breath hitches. He doesn't say anything more, so Wilbur doesn't either. Instead, be looks around the room, busying himself with studying it's contents.

It's cozy. Fairly small, but it doesn't feel cramped in the slightest. Vines drape down the walls, reminding Wilbur of the forests he used to walk in as a child. All the furniture is made of wood, sanded smooth and shining with the reflections of the lanterns scattered around. There's even a photo of Wilbur hung up by a window—if he remembers correctly, that'd been taken during a trip to the beach. Sally had been there; she'd shoved Wilbur into the waves not fifteen minutes in, cackling as Wilbur struggled and spluttered. 

That had been a good day.

Wilbur takes a deep breath, letting the scent of of pine trees and tea fill his nose. It feels like a home. Not his home, necessarily, but a home. Phil's home. 

"Hold still," Phil murmurs, and before Wilbur can react, his father is pulling the cloth away from his hands, allowing an intense burning sensation to take its place.

Wilbur sucks in a breath, trying not to yank his hands out of Phil's grasp. He does squirm, though.

Phil winces. "Sorry, mate. I have to make sure these cuts stay clean; wouldn't want them to get infected. Then the pain would be even worse."

"I know," Wilbur strains. "I know."

Phil presses his lips together, not saying another word as he begins wrapping new bandages around Wilbur's fingers. Wilbur sighs in relief as the pain fades, letting his body relax.

Phil tightens the last bandage, looking over his work with a critical eye that comes from years—thousands of years—of practice. "Better?"

"Yeah. Thanks, Phil."

Wilbur waits for his father to let go of his hands, but Phil makes no such motion.

 Wilbur waits.

And waits.

And waits.

"Phil?" He whispers. "I kind of... need my hands back."

Phil blinks. "Oh. Yes, of course... of course you do."

And then, with a moments hesitation, Phil releases his hold on his son's hands, allowing him to pull away and inspect the bandages more closely. They're clean, and much more comfortable than the old ones. Wilbur finds himself smiling.

"That's a lot better than before."

Phil chuckles. "I'll say."

They grow quiet after that. There's something peculiar in the air, Wilbur thinks. As if Phil wants to say something but isn't sure if he should.

Wilbur chews on his lip. "Phil?"

"Yes?" Phil's voice is expectant, hopeful, a little scared. Wilbur swallows.

"Do you... is there something you want to tell me?"

Phil goes very still. Wilbur waits for a response, but gets none.

If he listens closely, he can hear the snowstorm outside, howling against the small house. Snow flies past the window, so quick that it looks like a blur of ice. Wilbur knows that he's safe, though; Phil's house is warm, and Phil's house is sturdy. Nothing will hurt him here.

"Wilbur," Phil croaks. Wilbur's eyes widen at the horrible scratchiness, and he finds himself leaning closer with concern. Phil swallows loudly. "I... I wanted... to..."

Phil looks up, sharp blue eyes meeting deep brown ones—land and sea, Techno had used to compare them to. 

Phil opens his mouth, and Wilbur finds himself holding his breath. He waits, in tense anticipation, as Phil's expression shifts a hundred times in a second, and Wilbur knows he's about to say something significant, something important, something profound-

Phil sags, smiling sadly. In defeat. "It's getting late. You should get to bed."

Wilbur feels his heart fall inside of him, and he hopes his face hasn't done the same thing. "We should get to bed, you mean."

Phil nods. "Yes, of course. We."

He smiles up at Wilbur then; that small, bright smile that's as familiar as the rising sun, as unchangeable and steady as the mountains. The smile that's been there since Wilbur could remember, and has been there ever since, no matter what. 

And suddenly, Wilbur's a child again, knowing that his father will keep him safe from the monsters, because he's Philza. Nothing can get past Philza. Nothing can scare Philza.

Wilbur almost says the words. Those three words he used to say every day, in hugs or through tears or as he laughed or just because. 

The words die on his tongue before they can escape. 

Phil's still looking at him, with an unreadable expression that Wilbur doesn't want to try and decipher just yet. He seems to be waiting. For what, Wilbur doesn't know.

So he does the easiest thing he can do.

He smiles.

And the storm continues raging outside.

~~~

Sand Duo my beloveds.

Originally, Phil was going to have a Big Emotional Moment, but then I realized that… that didn’t exactly fit in this story. So I left it out, and, at least to me, it created an incredibly anticlimactic ending.

…which fit this story really well.

This was a super fun story to write, and I’m pretty darn happy with how it turned out :D

Tag list (let me know if you’d like to be added)

@biathediamond @photogirl894 @ladysongmaster

#still need to figure out a title… #whumptober #whumptober2022 #no.11 #sloppy bandages #self-done first aid #DSMP #Dream SMP #fanfic #fanfiction #fic #dsmp fanfic #dsmp fanfiction #Wilbur #Wilbur soot #Phil #Philza #philza minecraft #c!philza #c!wilbur #dsmp wilbur #dsmp philza #Wilbur and Philza #dadza #my stories

[mushroom-for-art]

So this takes place in the au where May doesn't escape Team Rocket and becomes an asset, specifically an au with @blues-sues 's Rue so like Rue!Au I guess? XD idk hope you enjoy

Cave-in

It was meant to be a routine area sweep, it was meant to just be a normal routine area sweep! Survey, look for anything out of place, report it, track it if valuable or useful, apprehend and capture. It had all happened so fast, one of the people's Voltorbs had a wobbly and used self-destruct. The whole mountain side shook, people and pokemon went flying, May and Rue had avoided the initial devastating blast but the rocks beneath them crumbled before either of them could react around the ringing headaches. They'd hit the cavern floor hard and lost consciousness, Mays AEI's (artificial energy introducers) had shattered when she hit the floor.

They fizzled and hissed before sending a weak current of electricity through Mays body jolting her awake in the darkness of the cave, she sat up looking around and could hear Rue quietly huffing and maybe crying. She glanced around struggling to see in the darkness realizing her glasses were cracked and that the hole they fell in through caved in on itself somehow so they couldn't get back out that way.

"Rue…?" She barely whispered, very aware that other pokemon may be inside this cave system they had fallen into and that they could attack, her eyes blinking and slowly adjusting to the darkness.

"Yea. I'm over here." Rue answered shortly her tone slightly pained as May slowly hesitantly walked over, promptly stubbing her toe on a rock and whimpering an "ow ow ouch!"

"What happened?! Was it a pokemon?! Are you okay??" Rue's voices betrayed her panic as she tried to sit up and quickly yelped, falling back down and making another pained sob, "Arceus dammit! Muk!" She gritted her teeth in frustration as May more cautiously tip-toed closer.

"hey hey easy, I'm sorry I just stubbed my toe, what's the matter you sound hurt how bad is it?" May crouched down besides Rue feeling more than useless as she asked questions she moved her arm tapping a broken AEI hoping the electricity might spark enough to life to offer some light to no avail. Frowning she could only squint the best she could to see moving her hand cautiously to tap around to really find Rue.

"I'm fine-" Rue lied, badly. Her tone gave away her pain and she growled as May lightly tapped her arm, "stop that, stop fretting!" May pulled her hand away quickly putting her hands up in surrender though she wasn't sure if Rue could actually see.

"Sorry sorry! I can't see very well, I was trying to find you, see if I could give you a quick check over." May fumbled as Rue snorted.

"In the dark? When you can't see?" May made an awkward noise as Rue continued with a sigh, "I think I hurt my leg, pretty bad too, and my arm. Just everywhere where I landed hurt. I'm surprised you're not more hurt. You landed on your face, your nose is bleeding."

"It is?" May asked dumbly, moving to touch her snout, it had been hurting and running more than usual but she'd thought it was from the cold in the cave, sure enough her fingers felt wet as she made a slight "huh" sound tilting her head back saying "gross. Sorry if I bled on you." Rue puffed a light scoff.

"Quit apologizing, you didn't." Rue looked at the other, besides cracked glasses bloody nose cuts from the broken glass of the AEIs which were bust she'd faired pretty alright, "sure you don't have increased defense?" Rue playfully asked, laughing before hissing in pain as that hurt. "Shouldn't you be leaning your head forward?"

May blinked making an "uuhh" sound that sounded strange from where she was pinching at her nose before moving to lean forward rather than back offering a quiet "sorry" which Rue would've bat her for was she not making an effort to be still.

When her nose finally stopped bleeding May awkwardly mumbled, "I'm sorry you're here badly hurt and I'm here with a stupid nose bleed and you're helping me, what can I do?" Rue could only sigh.

"I don't know, I. I think we're meant to keep me still? If anythings broken and you shift me about then it'll only get worse? And surely the others will be looking for us. So we need to stay put and wait for them to come and collect us." May could only nod lamely offering a quiet, "yea" of agreement.

May awkwardly reached out again before stopping "am, I on your hurt side? Did I hurt you before?" Her voice was soft and guilty.

"You're fine, no I was just, annoyed, I don't like this situation is all." Rue sighed softly in frustration as May awkwardly tapped about finding Rues arm after a bit of uncertain prodding and awkwardly holding her arm in one hand attempting to offer comfort and also kind of scared in case she somehow lost Rue to an after shock or a pokemon snatching her away silently at least if she had hold of her she knew where she was.

Rue shifted her uninjured arm and May awkwardly let go, putting her hands up in surrender once more, trying to hide her concern and hurt. Rue tutted at her impatiently, grabbing one of Mays hands in hers and pulling both their arms down to rest over her chest bump. Mays' tail swayed shyly as her other hand came to rest on her lap as she sat on her knees.

"I can sense you fretting. I'll probably sense anything before you, we'll be fine they won't dare try and attack two of us!" Rue reassured May, giving her a confident grin despite her injuries. "Plus maybe you'll give me some of your defense like this," she gave a soft laugh and another smile. May wished she could give Rue some of her health simply by holding her hand, she squeezed softly and Rue squeezed back. They could only wait.

--------------------------

Rues pain had gotten worse and it had surely been a while, on the cold cavern floor she was shivering which didn't help her injured half the shivers sending twitches of pain through her body. They'd thankfully been left alone by any pokemon but May quietly wondered if that meant there was something bad about this point in the cave, she hated that no one had come for Rue yet she hated that it was surely getting dark out and that the cold was seeping in ever faster.

"Muk it's cold…" Rue quietly hissed in pain, her teeth chattered slightly as May could feel her hand shaking. She felt helpless, knowing no moves and Rue couldn't use any moves in her state or risk making herself worse. She wished she had one of those coats the people wore so she could lay it over Rue but she didn't. She gently squeezed Rue's hand.

"Do, you want me to lie with you and try to warm you up?" She offered unsure, not wanting to hurt Rue by accident.

"No, no, if we do that and fall asleep we might not, well if it gets too cold that could be really bad and one of us needs to stay alert. Plus your knees must be freezing already." Rue spoke softly, and May shrugged, her knees hurt but if it meant being by Rues side then she'd live. She felt Rue slowly let go of her hand.

"Maybe you should go look around, maybe you could find something for me or maybe there's someone nearby that you can lead here?" Rue offered, she was clearly unsure and May was worried about why Rue was sending her away. "Look it makes sense you might find something fluffy or a camper to rob," Rue gave her a playful grin.

May frowned uncertainly but if Rue thought she should, "I promise I'll be back," she slowly stood ignoring the pain in her knees and chest she had started to ache from the cold and probably bruising, "I'm not gonna go far though I'm not leaving you." Rue puffed softly.

"I know you ain't. You're soft like that." But smiling softly and kindly to her as May gave her an awkward nod looking around and tiptoeing through the cavern. She stopped, "you'll yell if you need me right?"

"Yea I'll let you know." May nodded once more before wandering awkwardly into the cave system.

'Got to find something to help Rue, got to find help or something to help Rue, got to find help or something to help Rue,' She repeated those thoughts over and over as she looked around sniffing faintly at the rock walls and mosses that grew for any indication of good healing properties.

'Can't you do that yourself?' A voice spoke in her head that wasn't hers, she spun around quickly trying to spot any nearby activity, any psychic types that might be projecting into her brain. 'There's nothing else in this cave but you and Rue, that explosion scared everything away.' it spoke again to her, right in her head, a female voice she didn't know.

'Who,, are you?' May thought awkwardly, 'Consider me an inner monologue.' the voice replied. 'don't people usually, control their inner monologues? Like it's just their voice right?' She heard the other voice scoff, 'well if you don't want my help.' Her mind went silent as the cave sounds drifted back into focus. 'Wait no! If you can help, please come back!' She thought loudly and helplessly spinning around shouting in her head to please please come back!

'Oh stop shouting, you'll give us both a headache,' they returned, sounding irritated. 'I'm sorry, please, I need your help desperately. Rues hurt and-' they scoffed again, 'I'm aware, inner monologue I know what the situation is and I'm very much aware that you have the power to fix it.' May shook her head, 'I'm powerless unfortunately, I can't do anything.' It laughed, 'you can mega evolve can't you?' it almost mocked. May huffed a frustrated snort looking at her AEIs, 'not with these bust, I thought you knew this? I think you're just muk-ing with me.' She sneered in annoyance, moving to look around again annoyed at wasting her time.

'What if I told you how you could mega without those silly little bracelets?' It chimed in sweetly after a few minutes causing May to pause in contemplation, 'how?' If she really could mega right now, well she was very powerful when mega she could help Rue. 'just like that. Think. Why do you want to mega?' May furrowed her brow in confusion, 'so I can be strong and be useful and so I can get Rue to team base and get her help of course! She's my friend and she's hurt and I want to help her! I have to help her!' The megastone in her chest faintly buzzed with energy though she didn't notice.

'You're overcomplicating it. Pick a single goal, focus on that goal, will every fiber of your being to achieve that goal force yourself to bend and snap and break if you have to to get there!' The voice took on a dark undertone as it commanded but May could barely notice for the buzzing in her ears as she clenched her hands into fists focusing on what she needed to do, she had to get Rue out of here to the base, she had to get Rue medical treatment and get her out the cold, she had to help her, she had to help her friend, she had to-!

'I have to help Rue!' Her voice yelled in her head as a strange rush ran through her body, she felt power breaking out of the mega stone in her chest flowing through her, altering her body, the power was warm and came in waves like a flame and, it didn't hurt, not like when the AIEs were used on her.

She stumbled slightly on her elongated toes and blinked looking around, she could, see? And she. She was aware? Normally when she went mega she lost awareness and only came to afterwards when back to normal. This was great! It means she could focus and knew she'd be getting Rue help! Now, which way back to Rue. The mega evolving left her slightly discombobulated, at least until a psychic wave like echolocation left her body and pinged back where it met Rue. She moved quickly on her longer legs rushing back a bit ungracefully to get to her friend.

Rue shivered on the floor still, hoping that May came back with help or something warm, though after feeling a wave of psychic energy she went on high alert. She could hear something rapidly approaching and she couldn't really do much to defend herself. She struggled to crane her head to look lifting her uninjured hand trying to summon any kind of energy as a warning shot as whatever it was got closer and closer, until-

A, mega mewtwo came into view and May beamed at her friend as she ran over while Rue remained alert and aware of the fact the mega version of her friend was a brutal fighter. But. Her eyes were different as Rue opened her mouth while looking at her confused.

"Your eyes are brown?" Rue asked, evidently confused. And this question only served to confuse May in return.

"Aaahh??? Yes?? My eyes are brown!" May answered in confused certainty moving to crouch down beside her friend once more, looking over Rue and frowning at the damage she could now see. Half of Rue was badly bruised, her arm was hanging limply at an odd angle and her leg also looked damaged.

"Normally, they go yellow?" Rue said now unsure as she watched Mays eyes almost shift as they scanned over her looking past and through her body almost. Mays face only pulled deeper into a frown as she looked at Rues leg seeing her bones and how one of them was definitely broken, thankfully it was a clean break. Her eyes drifted to Rues arm, thankfully just dislocated and bruised up with no broken bones though she hoped the dislocating cold and continued position it was in didn't cause nerve damage.

"Your legs' broken, arms only dislocated though," May reassured, blinking her eyes back to normal, "do, you want me to?" she moved her hands as though grabbing an arm in the air and doing a vague shoving up motion to indicate relocating it. Rues eyes fell to look at her arms, she was part fighting type now and it showed she was big and powerful and Rue had seen her in fights. But she didn't seem the same. Normally when mega she was quick and brutal and didn't speak and barely seemed like the mewtwo Rue knew, and yet right now she did just seem like a bigger version of her friend as she blinked down at her sweetly.

"Everything okay?" May tilted her head as she looked down at Rue in concern and care. Rue made a noise giving her a smile.

"Yea, you're just different to usual. Well. Relocate this arm girl I'm cold," Rue chuckled grinning at May hiding her fear of how much this was gonna hurt. May moved carefully sitting Rue up letting her lean against her leg as she knelt on one knee and kept the other just bent, she carefully moved to hold Rues arm who winced softly.

"I'm sorry," she moved the arm carefully into position so it would go back in the socket, "I'll relocate it on 3 okay?" Rue nodded with a slight whimper, "okay, one," Rue breathed trying to steady herself already feeling the nerves creeping in, "two." May quickly popped the arm back into the socket while Rue was distracted and less tense earning a long squeak of pain followed quickly by a "YOU GIT" And Rue quickly batting at her with her uninjured arm. May figured she deserved that as Rue swatted at her before huffing out a growl in her general direction.

"I'm sorry you'd have gotten all tense otherwise, do you forgive me?" May awkwardly pleaded.

"You're a swinub," Rue grumbled as May made an apologetic noise, "you're gonna hate me even more when I do your leg." Rue glared "Do not try to pop my leg back."

May waved her hands in surrender, "oh! No no not what I meant, I'm going to use my powers to hopefully realign the bones then I'm hoping I can like use psychic to lock hold it in place so your bones don't float about and also put psychic on your whole leg so it doesn't move?" Rue raised an eyebrow suspiciously.

"You can do that now?" To which May uselessly shrugged in uncertainty, "I hope I can!" Rue was not that comforted by that. She moved her hand over Rues leg holding it above to not touch, focusing herself, she wanted to align the bones then lock the whole leg so it didn't move easy enough. Rue watched her eyes change again observing her bones it seemed and made a noise of discomfort at the sensation in her leg.

"Sorry sorry," May apologized as psychic energy quickly gripped and binded to Rues broken bone and leg. She made a soft ooh in her discomfort once more as it felt strange and ached but less so than before and when she'd tried to move it on her own.

"Guess you could do that…not bad," Rue awkwardly nodded, feeling just slightly jealous at Mays newfound capabilities. May didn't pick up on this shifting to Rues good side while still holding her upright, she slipped an arm under Rues legs and while supporting and holding her back she lifted easily scooping Rue off of the floor making a concerned noise, "you really are freezing! I'm so sorry I took so long!"

Rue hummed leaning into May feeling the warmth radiating off of her, "I'll forgive you since you're warm." May looked around once more a wave of psychic energy flowed from her, causing a warm wave of energy to flow through Rue too. After a few moments she sighed.

"That explosion and aftershocks caused cave-ins, that's why no-ones came to get us, no one can get in, all the other pokemon must've known this was a danger spot and fled." Rue made a noise, she could use psychic energy waves to see far away like echolocation too now apparently.

May looked over to roughly where they fell in from, "I have an idea. Sorry if this hurts" The arm supporting Rues back and holding her side shifted wrapping her hand under Rues legs with Rue being carefully shifted so her back was more against her shoulder effectively holding her in one arm like a baby, Mays arm was slightly pressing on her injured side but it would've happened had she used her other arm too.

Eyeing up the wall she mentally marked out where she needed to hit, she wiggled her fingers on her now free hand clenching them into a tight fist and gearing her arm up pulling back to punch, she WAS going to make a way for them to get out, her eyes glowed and her fist glowed brighter with energy before she shot out a punch her bound up elasticated energy penetrating through the stone wall with devastating power and efficiency.

May grinned with teeth at the hole she'd made looking mighty proud of herself before quickly jogging over still holding Rue like a baby though her free arm quickly coming to hold and secure Rue properly in her hold as she hopped up leaping onto the edge of the entrance she'd made before adjusting her feet to slide down the side of the mountain they'd been trapped in.

It was dark now, as she slid down not minding the cold of the snow on her toes but holding Rue close when she shivered in the cold night breeze. She leapt from the mountain once close enough to the bottom landing in the frosty grass before the forest. Looking around she sensed camp, glancing at Rue to make sure she was still secure and okay she set off in a light run.

Though a light run for the mega was a speeding bullet for Rue still held securely in her friends arm watching trees shoot past them at dangerous speeds, while Rue was worried one wrong judgment could leave them splatted against the bark of a pine-tree for May she barely processed the speeds at which she was achieving her brain going just as quickly to allow her to run through the trees safely.

She slid to a stop at the edge of the team rocket base camp sighing softly and chuckling, "huh I guess it wasn't that far away after all," May spoke naively glancing at Rue who looked half terrified, "ah? What's wrong, are you okay?"

"Almighty Sinnoh, Arceus! Do you have any idea how fast you were going?!" Rue demanded, earning a startled confused look from the mega who glanced back and saw the dust and frost cloud she kicked up in her haste, "ah..i'm sorry I didn't realize but we're here now! You're going to be okay. Let's just get you to the medic!"

Taking another step forward there was a faint glow and Mays mega form dissipated leaving her back to her usual self still holding Rue who felt significantly bigger in her arms. She wheezed softly more so from the sudden exhaustion that smacked her in the face than Rue resting on one knee still holding onto her friend, before pulling herself back up to stand to carry Rue. Despite her powers fading the psychic binding on Rues leg seemed to have remained as she was carried to the medic tent.

The team doctor looked at them both opening their mouth in disbelief at their return considering what happened before motioning to a bed saying snippily, "put her there," May nodded placing Rue on the bed, quickly rambling "she had a dislocated arm, I relocated it, she's also got a broken leg bone clean break here," she motioned without touching, "I realigned it with psychic and held her bone and leg still with a psychic grip too and she's got bruising-" "Right. I got it I'll deal with it thank you," they cut in with no sincerity in their thank.

"Go run along go, carry something around we're in absolute chaos after that stupid voltorb nonsense so go make yourself useful. I don't want you underfoot." They had no patience for her as they went about checking over Rue. May awkwardly swallowed, saying softly, "okay, I'll see you later Rue," waving a hand she left to go help. Rue opened her mouth to protest, to tell them May was hurt too and should get looked over but was quickly given a heavy sedative and painkiller cocktail followed by an oxygen mask as the medic spoke, "deep breaths now count back from 10 or something so I can fix this blasted leg."

May busied herself making herself useful around the base carrying this moving that, none of the grunts really looked at her as they told her what to do. Her mind was filled with worry for Rue hoping that she'd be okay and that the doctor would fix her leg up no problem, her mind was so consumed by her own thoughts she didn't feel the creeping in the back of her mind as a voice that wasn't hers considered this experience very interesting and she didn't really notice the ache of her chest bump anymore.

#shut- #My writing #My oc #Mewtwosona May #@blues-sues oc #@blues-sues Rue #They're friends ur honor #This probably takes place before Rue has that mega attempt #So kinda jelly of May cause hm :/ she can do that I guess #Don't worry Rue! It comes at a cost! :D #Rue probably told May to bugger off and explore because she didn't want her to potentially get frozen there #And cause in caves you could genuinely be around the corner from someone and not here them so there's that #Tw blood mention #Tw broken bones #Tw dislocated arm #She originally didn't have that in mental script but I added it #Uses pokemon names as swear substitutes lmao #Muk is fuck Swinub for swine arcues for god and almighty sinnoh was an alt for jesus christ lmal #Then there's git XD #Bat's friend Affectionately #Holds friend like baby when get big and powerful #May loves her friend and would do anything for her even making herself mega evolve #And making the voice in her head aware she can do that without the AIEs :) sure nothing could go wrong there #Also medic really said *stabs with sedative* doesn't wanna hear ur words Rue zippy zip lemme fix ur leg #May is just ;^; I hope Rues okay while a mysterious voice is just vibing in her head girl has NO danger senses I swear to god #ALSO the amount of times I put Rues and autocorrect went Tues?? You want a Tues? Like the day?? NO go away #Hope you enjoy #This is kind of an establishing fic for the everything is going to go wrong fic lmao XD cause u know me I gotta establish #But like these guys are just friends fr and also may is lovingly stupid me thinks lmao happy to sit and hold hands

[nightowlwriting]

summary: steve is acting weird. avoiding you, being snippy and mean, leaving the room when you enter. all you want is your boyfriend back, but all he wants is to pretend you don't exist. when he's almost hurt on a mission, you do what you're made to do.

word count: 11k

reader specifics: no race/gender/sexuality/body type mentioned, no pronouns for reader used, powered!reader, insecure!reader

warnings: steve is mean to the reader in the beginning, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, canon-level violence, brief ptsd symptoms, slight description of blood, brief mention of racism in the '30s & '40s

brief mentions of: reader's parents being toxic, homelessness, past accidents, ableism in the past & present

note: this one hurt me lmfao. idk why this went the way it did but i'm not mad at it // also i am a queer, trans, disabled american. i have fundamental disagreements with things that marvel/the mcu as it stands for and some of the more nuanced things that you might not notice unless you're looking for it. this will take place in my writing because i cannot separate myself from the lens in which i consume/create content.

title credit: lil nas x

mobile masterlist - request - support my work? - ao3

Falling in love with Steve Rogers went against every instinct you had. You knew that he was going to hurt you from the first moment your lips touched his. Sure - he’s clever, righteous, courteous… You can’t forget he’s also drop-dead gorgeous because every trashy gossip magazine in a three-state radius of New York doesn’t let you forget. Neither does the sight of him waking up in your bed every morning. (Well, actually, maybe that would remind you if he was still fucking doing that.)

But lately, you’ve had to rely on the fucking tabloids to catch a glimpse of your super-hero boyfriend. The university class you had picked up on a whim at the end of the summer - Life & Times of the ‘30s and ‘40s - avoids any mention of Steve Rogers and the Howling Commandos. Not that your classmates do because, Christ on a bike, those magazines manage to catch pictures of you and Steve in moments that you don’t even remember. Plus, you’re an Avenger too. It’s bound to catch some attention when you waltz into a college classroom.

You’re sure if you were an undergrad trying to fill a gen-ed requirement and were sitting next to someone who could kill you without blinking but also dating Captain Rogers you’d be a little distracted too. You try not to blame your classmates too much, but they do make it hard to concentrate with their -really dating Captain America?- and -wonder if I could get an autograph- whispers. None of that matters because you’re learning, really studying, in between missions and missing Steve and believing that maybe the gossip reporters are right.

Maybe he’s forgotten about you.

You grit your teeth and push the thought away. It does you no good right now, while you’re training with Peter. He’s working his way up to bona fide missions and, because you’re the only one on the team who has experience with real-life teenagers outside of saving their lives, it’s up to you to get him to the level that he needs to be. Plus, the mission where he’s going to get his gills wet is just you, Tony, Steve, Nat, and Bucky. You’d much rather be the one to train him because you won’t traumatize him.

Right now, though, you’re just kicking his ass to try and get rid of some of the tension in your body. You feel a little bad about it, but when you started as his mentor you told him point-blank that you’d never go easy on him. That meant if you were having a bad day he either needed to up his game or he’d have a bad day too. It appears he’s taken that to heart as he struggles to dodge the hits you’re throwing his way. He lunges out of the way when you try to land a right hook but practically walks into the leg sweep that sends him crashing to the ground.

“Awe,” Peter groans, letting his guard down. You take the momentary lapse of focus to grab him by the collar of the hoodie he’s wearing and haul him to his feet, jerking one fist back to cold-clock him but he beats you to it. You hear the sound of your nose cracking before you feel it but then the pain rushes you all at once. You’ve had worse but coming from Peter, the move surprises you. You don’t yell out but he does when you push him away from you and call the fight off. Peter practically yelps your name, hands up by his head as he watches you bend at the waist, both hands over where your nose is absolutely gushing blood. “I am so sorry, I just reacted-!”

“It’s fine, Pete,” You shake your head and stand straight again, the blood beginning to leak through your fingers, “Just go get me a towel, okay?” Peter practically trips over his feet to get something for your nose and as you track him on his way into the locker rooms, you see Steve, Bucky, and Nat. The latter are looking your way, eyebrows raised like they’re asking you if you’re okay. Steve hasn’t even broken stride in his conversation so you wave them off with a bloody hand. Peter’s back in a flash, pressing a wet towel into your grasp and snapping you out of your self-pity party. “It was a good hit,” You compliment as you wipe your face off, “I just wasn’t expecting it. Prob’ly wouldn't have landed it if I had.”

He wrings his hands, shifting from foot to foot. “I’m sorry-”

“It’s a good thing, Peter, means you’re getting better.” You deadpan, checking to see if your nose has stopped bleeding yet, “I don’t think you actually broke it, but I’ll go down to medical to check later.” You do your best to clean up your hands with the wet towel, but it’s so soaked with your blood that it mostly just smears it around. You grimace and shake your head. “Well, I should go now before our sparring match ends up looking like I murdered you.”

“I’ll go with,” He offers, “I’m the one who broke your nose.” You let Peter walk you down to medical even though you were originally going to refuse. Perhaps petty, but it was the way that Steve didn’t even look your way as you left that made you let the teenager walk you the two floors to where you’d be able to clean yourself up. He hums in the elevator and you know that he wants to ask you something - it’s the way he holds his mouth when he’s prying for information or keeping a secret that tips you off. Finally, just before the elevator opens, you sigh and turn to him.

“What, Peter?” He grins but then it falls when he has to skitter after you down the hall. Maybe that’s why it falls - the question he asks next nearly sends you to your ass.

“Is everything okay with you and Captain Rogers?” He easily catches up to you when you stop in your tracks, ignoring that you’re still bleeding a little bit down your face and you might be dripping blood everywhere from where it’s run down your arms.

“What?” You do your best to look confused like everything is fine, but Peter is perceptive. He may fumble around and be pretty awkward, but those are really just teenager things that he’ll hopefully outgrow. You should have known that when someone caught onto how bad things are on your end, it would be Peter. (You wonder if Nat or Bucky has brought it up with Steve, considering he’s spent more time with them in the past week than he’s seen you in the past month.) “We’re fine.” Your words are stilted as you begin walking to the medical wing much faster than before.

“I just thought I’d ask, well, because I’ve sort of noticed… Something just seems off, you know? Like, you two used to spend a lot of time together, and maybe it’s the recon mission coming up, but I was just thinking that you two really barely look at each other even when you’re in the same -”

“Peter!” You say his name much louder than either of you expected and both of you jump. “Peter,” You say softer, looking at the glass door to the medical wing instead of him, “Just leave it, okay? It’s nothing you have to worry about, kid.” Peter ducks around to open the door, forcing you to look at him. “He’s just focused on his stuff and I’m focused on getting you whipped into shape for this mission. We only have two days.” Once you’re inside and surrounded by the medical crew Tony keeps on staff, he thankfully drops it. You love Peter, you do, but it’s a lot like having a little brother. You can only love them so much before you want to fucking strangle them. Eventually, as the doctor checks to make sure he hasn’t broken your nose, you have to order him away to go study or something. “I’ll join you later,” You promise him as the doctor prods at your tender flesh, “I have an essay due soon.”

That’s another thing that’s been bugging you that Peter surely picked up on. Nearly everybody knew you were taking a course at the local community college, but nobody knew what it was about. You’d wanted to keep it a secret until you told Steve, but the day you had registered he’d flown out for a two-week mission without telling you or saying goodbye. After that, you decided it didn’t really matter if anyone knew what class you were taking, and keeping it a secret sort of spiraled from there. If they wanted to know they could look it up. Maybe it was petty, but you just wanted the class to be over and done with so you could forget that you really only picked it up so you relate to your boyfriend more.

If you can even call Steve your boyfriend anymore. You’re not so sure where you stand and, honestly, you’re really close to giving up on the relationship as a whole but you can’t do that. Before you were dating, you were friends, and Steve… He never gave up on you. Not once. How could you repay him by giving up on your relationship? The one that you thought was The One? Even if it hurts, even if you’re unsure more than sure these days, how could you? Somewhere, though, you know you deserve better. You don’t deserve the sinking, dark feeling that lingers in your gut for most of your days now or the way that you second-guess every move you make - even in the field. It’s dangerous but you can’t do anything to fix it.

You’re too scared. You know that eventually, it will happen, he’ll break up with you, but you’d like to put that day off for as long as possible. To relish in the love he once had for you, how pure and powerful it was. You’re sure that you’ll never experience anything like that again.

Hell, you might never fall in love again.

Those thoughts don’t do anything to help you, though, so you try not to have them. You get clearance from the doctor and get cleaned up as much as you can without taking a full body shower. The idea to go back to your room and take one crosses your mind but you know that Steve’s probably done training, probably heading back for his own shower, and you don’t want to open that can of worms. Instead, you go to the common room and drop into the couch between Peter and Tony. They’re talking about something something science something something, but you pull your stack of books and notebooks out from the shelf underneath the coffee table and continue outlining your essay from where you left off. The assignment was focused on how the end of WW1 changed American life and then how life changed leading up to and during WW2 but that had hit a little too close to home for you, so you’re writing about the racial tension and overall racism of the times. Tony and Peter keep talking over your back and then you hear footsteps heading toward the common room.

You barely look up when they enter - Nat and Bucky - because it’s fine. It’s normal. They’re just two of Steve’s best friends, that’s all, nothing to be jumpy about. You don’t even register that emotional pain that hits when you realize that, yeah, you’re not one of his best friends anymore. You doubt you’re even considered a friend in his book.

You groan and lean back into the couch, bringing your study materials with you. Peter glances over, skimming over your page and a half of shorthand, and gags. “Jesus, can you write like a normal person?”

“Oh, sorry,” You say lazily, not looking up as you continue to scribble in your incomprehensible code, “I do forget that some of us had privacy at home.” You lift your lips just a little bit to let Peter know you’re kidding, looking up at him through your lashes as you slouch next to him. He looks red in the face. “Besides, once you have to start doing mission reports you’ll be begging me to learn my shorthand and use my stenography machine.”

“I keep telling you that I can update that ol’ thing,” Tony draws your attention. For the first time, you realize that Nat and Bucky are on the loveseat looking at you expectantly. Steve is standing in the corner over their shoulder reading a book from the bookshelf in front of him. His back is tense and he looks like he’s not reading, just listening. You force your eyes back to Tony on your right and shake your head.

“No, because then you’d know my shorthand and it makes me too happy to see you spend hours trying to decipher it.” His eyes wander to your essay again, trying to find any patterns that he can use to figure out what the hell you’re writing on anything ever. He’s opening his mouth to make a smart-ass remark that will no doubt lift some of the weight off of your shoulders when another voice speaks up.

“Wow,” Steve doesn’t even look at you even as he says your name sardonically, “Way to be a team player.” Your mind comes to a screeching halt, trying to figure out what the fuck he’s playing at. Even Bucky and Nat look surprised at the cold way he spoke to you, Tony and Peter both gasping from your side. You can’t say anything, throat tight and burning with tears as you stare at your boyfriend with raised eyebrows. What do you say to that? How do you respond? You know it wasn’t a joke because he’s not laughing, not smiling, not even looking up from that fucking book in his hands. You can’t tell if you’re more hurt or embarrassed, but either way, you don’t want to stick around for someone to get the nerve to say something.

Instead of replying, you slam your textbooks shut and bundle everything into your arms. You doubt Steve even notices that you’re making such a hasty retreat but if he does, he doesn’t say a fucking thing. You feel like you’re in high school - practically running through an empty hallway with your notebooks and textbooks pressed to your chest, trying not to cry. It’s ridiculous. You’re a trained assassin, you’re an Avenger, you are strong and powerful and yet… And yet. You’ve given so much of your heart and soul to Steve Rogers that he can knock you down eight pegs without even trying. Without even looking at you. You can’t wait to go on this fucking recon mission, where you can put all of your focus on making sure Peter is doing okay and gathering the intel. Where you can stop thinking about how easily Steve Rogers seems to be pushing you to the side.

You spend the next two days writing your essay, ignoring almost everyone, and working on your essay. On the day of the recon mission, you’re running out the door for your eight a.m lecture, printed essay in hand, and reminding Tony that he promised to pick you up on campus after class for the mission.

You’re lucky that you went, too. You hadn’t counted on the professor making everyone stand up and tell the class the subject of their essays - didn’t realize that it would be twenty-five percent of the grade on the paper. You’ll never understand college professors and the weird shit they do, but the class is informative and entertaining. He goes around the room, starting on the opposite side of you, so you’ll be last. Great.

Several students did their papers on the propaganda of the time, one student was brave and did her essay on the ethical dilemma of the super-soldier serum and eugenics, and most of the other students focused on pop culture and how it changed. When your professor looks at you it’s almost like he’s expecting you to have done nothing but fawn over Steve and Bucky, considering you know them personally. He looks surprised when you clear your throat, stand and say: “I focused on the casual and institutional racism that faced non-white Americans at the time.” You almost preen when he looks impressed and then the shame fills you. It’s just… You want Steve to be proud of you. You want him to congratulate you on going back to school, even if it’s just for one class. You want him to be happy and surprised that he was the inspiration for taking the class.

Though, lately, the class has been more for you than for him. You like learning new things, pushing the boundaries of assignments, making people uncomfortable with the truth of the times you’re studying as told to you by two people who lived it. It’s nice. Normal.

Everyone needs a little bit of normal.

But, honestly, normal is fucking boring. By the time your class is over and you’re handing in your essay it’s like ants are crawling over your skin. A combination of nerves from the upcoming mission, a head full of fog from whatever is happening with Steve, and a little bit of fear at the thought of taking Peter into the field has you bolting for the door the moment your essay is taken from you. You’d worn your tac-suit underneath a pair of baggy sweats and a loose hoodie, so you don’t even bother slowing down as you head toward the car that Tony has waiting for you. He’s in the front seat, grinning at you from underneath his aviators and Peter is driving.

You slip into the backseat without thinking or looking at who’s there, tossing your bag in the back and peeling your hoodie off. “God, Tone, we’re goin’ to die before we even get to the mission with Petey driving.” You toss your hoodie back to join your bag and finally see who’s sitting next to you.

Of course, it’s Steve. He’s looking at you - but not really. He’s looking through you, like he can’t stand that you’re both crammed in the backseat of Tony’s electric car. His gaze catches you and holds you in place. Everything around you goes cold and fuzzy, making you miss Peter’s indignant complaining that he has his license so he should be able to drive… And then Steve scoffs and looks out his window, ignoring you. It stings but you have a job to do. You make some witty retort back to Peter, but it falls flat as you struggle out of your sweats. This is what life is, you think. Relationships aren’t meant to be forever - you learned that at a young age.

Until your accident at fifteen, you had watched your parents run out of helium, their relationship expanding and cooling in arguments, in days spent not talking, in trips to your grandparents without the other, in passive-aggressive computer searches for divorce attorneys left open for anyone to see. Then, after you were trapped between those machines - after you spent hour after agonizing hour with electricity pressing between your atoms, being torn apart and rebuilt as a young god - after that day you watched them expand against each other before the neutron core of their relationship collapsed on itself and the resulting supernova sent you to the streets. But then Fury found you. Then Tony, then Nat, then Steve.

Your parents exploded out from each other and the shockwaves ruined your life. At least now, your relationship with Steve is ending silently. There’s no explosion, no collapse, no rapid expansion to take over your cosmos. Your relationship with Steve is simply approaching the event horizon, where it will hang in the air until one of you takes the final step and you both become frozen, two collapsing objects on opposite sides of the universe. Maybe that’s what you already are. You feel so far away from him in the back of Tony’s car - like he’s eons and light-years away from you - and you feel so cold. Frozen, down to the bone. It makes you stiff in your replies to Tony and Peter, slow on the uptake when the car pulls up to the quinjet, nearing stasis and unable to respond when Nat asks if you’re okay.

Finally, you turn to look at her, nodding. “Fine,” You clear your throat, “Been a rough day.” You do your best to smile at her, but your face feels heavy. Your chest feels cold and tight, making you worry about your performance on the upcoming mission. When Peter shakes his head next to you, discreetly telling Nat not to press, you’re focused on Steve and the electricity humming in the most base part of your body.

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. You turn away and force yourself to smile, throwing a weak and numb arm over Peter’s shoulders. “Are you ready for this, Pete?” You jostle him back and forth, leading him toward the sitting area behind the cockpit. “Gonna get your ass kicked?”

“Please,” He shoves you off, nervously laughing, “Not with the skills you’ve taught me.” He mimics throwing webs, making hissing noises under his breath, and you bark out a laugh, shaking your head.

“You’re payin’ my medical bills when I have to save your ass, Spidey.” You shake your head and strap in next to the wall, Peter taking the seat to your right. Tony, from the aisle across from you, points a thick finger your way.

“You don’t pay medical bills anymore,” He waggles his finger, “So you’ll just have to make him do your homework for a week.”

“Mister Stark!”

“He’ll have to earn shorthand to do your essays,” Nat chimes in from between Bucky and Steve, who are both doing their best to not look at you - or anyone really. “You willing to share that with him?”

You lean back in your seat and jab at Peter with your elbow. “Hell no, so I guess Spider-Boy better do his best.” The arachnid in question grumbles, crossing his arms and slouching in his seat.

“No pressure, right?” He complains, “Not like I’m already nervous or anything.”

“You’ll do fine, kid,” Bucky pipes up, drawing your eyes back to Steve, “It’s goin’ to be a cakewalk.”

“Don’t jinx it, Barnes,” You warn half-heartedly, tucking in on yourself, “We need this to be easy.” From the look on his face - everyone’s face, really - you know that they heard you loud and clear when you were really saying I need this to be easy.

After an uneasy laugh from Bucky, a claustrophobic silence settles over you all as the jet begins to take off. You’re in for an hour ride and plan to spend it going over battle plans with Peter when harsh whispering catches your ear. It’s Bucky and Steve nearly crushing Nat between them until she gets up and sits across from Peter, rolling her eyes. Still, you try your best to run him through the actions you both had planned - the names, the setups you needed to execute them, everything. If something happens to Peter, you’ll never forgive yourself.

And then, cutting through your soft promptings to Peter and his equally soft replies, Bucky’s voice. “Leave it, Steve. Until after this mission.” Even Tony looks up from his tablet, curiosity piqued. Their faces are both red, set hard and angry at each other and your stomach drops. What the hell is going on that Steve ‘Till The End Of The Line Rogers is fighting with Bucky You And Me, Pal Barnes? You must shift, or lean too far into Steve’s eyesight, because for the first time in what feels like years he is looking directly at you - and seeing you, too. It makes your pulse jump and, almost instinctively, you want to reach out and ground yourself on the rubber of the seat underneath you.

You don’t get the chance, though, because Steve speaks. “No, why should I? This is clearly affecting the team.” He’s still looking - glaring - at you like you’ve done something wrong. “What’s the point of waiting? I’ve been waiting to talk about this.”

“Bo, I don’t think this is the time,” Bucky looks over his shoulder at you, then, and you know what’s coming. You know that it’s time, that Steve is about to break up with you in front of your teammates. Your friends. Your family. You steel yourself for the anguish you’re about to feel and then jerk your chin out, hardening your resolve.

“Buck, it’s fine. If Steve wants to address something, he can.”

Natasha says your name, a low warning over the hum of the quinjet. “I think he should wait.”

“Well, I’m not goin’ to wait!” Steve unbuckles himself and stands, “I have tried waiting, and look at where that has gotten me.” He puts his hands on his hips and puffs out a breath. You unbuckle and stand, too, unsure of where this is going. “You need to,” He holds one hand out, pointing at you while his voice shakes. You notice his hand is shaking, too, but fractionally. If you didn’t know Steve as well as you do you may have never noticed it. “You need to get it together.”

“I need to get it together?” You question, eyebrows nearly hitting the ceiling with how fast they shoot up. You’re not totally sure you’ve heard him right because what do you have to get together? The broken shards of your relationship? The information and research for your final paper? The awful way you’ve let yourself be treated for what seems like forever?

“You heard me,” Steve says, at the same time Bucky leans his head back and groans deep in his chest. “What? Someone had to say it.”

“We should wait for this,” Nat speaks up again, but lifelessly. She knows now that you and Steve are both on the warpath, neither of you are going to stop. (That’s also why the two of you work together as a couple so well. Very rarely are you both so worked up about something that you can’t back down, so the other is always there to meet you halfway and get you back to earth.)

“No, no, no,” You say, near hysterically, “No, he wants to do this now? Before a mission? Instead of the fuckin’ weeks we had to hash whatever crawled up his ass and died out? Be my guest. He’s already dragged everyone into this by treating me like a pariah.” You’re not sneering, but your teeth are gritted so tightly together you can hear them scraping and feel a tension headache beginning to bloom in your temples. Bucky looks… Almost incredulous at your statement. Like putting the blame on Steve is a dick move or something.

“Oh, so I’m the bad guy here?” Steve is curling his lip, glaring at you. There’s something behind his eyes, but he’s buried it so deep that you can’t reach it and figure out what it is. “I’m the bad guy, right. Right, right, right.” He scoffs, shakes his head, and then he’s running his fingers through his hair like he really can’t believe what you’re saying to him.

“Well, what else am I supposed to think?” You throw your hands out to the side and let them slap back down on your thighs. “You ignore me, you make me feel like shit, you talk down to me like I’m some insignificant foot soldier. How else am I supposed to take that, Steve?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe ask me what’s wrong? Maybe ask me why I’m acting like this, instead of ignoring all of your problems like a child?” He mirrors your moments, but the sound his hands make when they hit the outside of his suit is more powerful than yours. Fueled by anger, you think. Anger and whatever the hell was in the serum Erskine pumped into Steve.

“Ask you?” You repeat, near-hysterical, “Ask you? Oh yeah, let me get right on that. Hey, Mister Rogers? Mister Captain America? Mister Ignores-His-Partner-For-God-Knows-Why? Hey, just why are you doin’ that?” You’re surprised that you’ve said something so snotty, but you don’t back down. (Steve looks surprised, too, and Bucky has stood up next to his friend like he’s about to start berating you as well. At least he looks more cautious about it, like he’s not totally sure that this fight should be happening.)

The more surprising part of your fight is how fast it’s shut down. Tony and Nat stand at the same time and exchange a glance like they’ve surprised each other. “That’s enough,” Tony starts.

Nat cuts him off. “I don’t care if you fight this one out instead of talking, but if you do it before this recon mission you two are going to blow it. Do you understand me?” She looks dangerous, the sharp edge of a knife spiraling through the air. You force yourself to look away from her, from Tony, from Bucky, from Steve. She’s right. You know she’s right - especially on this mission. Peter is there, going to be in real danger even though there’s not supposed to be one Hydra agent in a four-mile radius. You have to clear your mind and focus on protecting him.

Steve seems to think the same thing because he stands down. When you watch him collapse in on himself, Bucky’s arms around his shoulders, into the little quinjet seats your everything aches. Heart, lungs, eyes - everything. Even though you don’t know what’s going on, what could have possibly happened to make your relationship sink this quickly and out of the blue, you still love him. He’s still The One for you. You still want to be the one to comfort him and make him feel whole when he’s struggling.

But you can’t. You can’t and it kills you.

The heat of battle makes a lot of things fade into the background. Important things like why the fuck are there Hydra agents here? and Steve is going to break up with you when you get back on the jet and Tony swore on the fucking limited edition AC/DC vintage tour poster he has in his office that this would be an easy in/easy out information mission. None of that matters, though, because you’re in deep shit. There are seventeen of them, all primed to the teeth with weapons made to take your team down permanently.

You’re practically glued to Peter, calling out commands and plans for him to initiate. It’s when all of your plans fall through that you take a hit from a heavy fist on purpose, hitting the ground hard. “Plan F, Spidey, Plan F!” You cover the instruction with a groan and then you’re back on your feet, working your way toward him.

“Plan F?” Tony says, somewhere above you in his suit. Your comms crackle ominously as another heat-seeking grenade is launched, interfering with the radio waves your tech relies on. You don’t worry about it, because you know Tony is on it. He’s your eyes in the sky.

Peter is the one who answers his question, watching your close hand-to-hand tilt out of your favor briefly. “Plan Fuck It, Mister Stark.” He grunts as he webs up a Hydra agent, jerking him away from where he was about to slip a knife up and under Natasha’s kevlar. You finally drop the guy in front of you, ignoring Steve’s disappointed Language! and toss one of your knives toward Nat for her to use. Tony is still laughing in your ear, wheezing as he drops down and snags the rifle from one of the snipers and then takes back off.

What your little protégé failed to mention about Plan F is that it’s not just chaos, but controlled chaos. You let loose, letting a soft current cover every inch of your skin as Peter switches to his conductive webbing and takes special care to not web any of his allies. Except for you - if you’re in the way and he catches you in a web it doesn’t matter because you’re you, alive with electricity that drops the men that get caught in the web, too. You rip out of the webs and turn the current off when one of your teammates gets too close.

More Hydra agents are pouring out of the woods, topping out their numbers around twenty-five. That’s twenty-five too many in your opinion, especially when you can see Peter getting tired, his anxiety spiking, his moves having more and more hesitation behind them. You need to get this over with quickly, but you don’t have the options to do that. Steve, Bucky, and Nat are really the heavy-hitters - you, Pete, and Tony are the only ones without serums despite all of your individual abilities. Desperately you reach out for a web that’s still connected to Peter’s arms, pulling him out of the way of a baton that’s about to come down on the back of his neck.

The baton the agent is wielding glints in the coming dusk, freezing you as Peter scrambles past you with a quick apology. You’ve seen that before - seen it, felt it, know it like the back of your hand. There’s no way that you could ever forget that weapon. The man stumbles when his hit doesn’t connect but then rights himself and searches for a new target.

A long, black baton that splits into two prongs at the end is heavy in his hand. Electricity crackles between the bulbs at the end, flashing in the setting sun and your memories. The man only has one, but if it was hooked up to a machine, spinning. If there were four, five, six. If you were pinned between them, screaming in the pain as they rewrote your DNA… You’ve only felt it once, but you’ll never forget it.

And now, you’ll taste it again. On purpose this time. The man holding the stun baton is going for Steve’s back - his strong back, the one that protects people, the one that holds the weight of the world, the one that lays in your bed, the one you see whipping out of rooms as you’re entering just so that he doesn’t have to look at you - and you can’t let that happen. It only takes ten amps to kill a regular human, but you know those things are cranked up to twenty minimum. You don’t want to see how many amps of current it will take to stop Steve’s heart. You’re between the baton and Steve before you can think about what you’re doing or what comes next, the hard bulbs settling unyielding into your side and cranking out maximum power for maximum damage as soon as the current is connected and able to flow from one bulb to the other.

The pain hits you and your throat catches on it. It burns through your body, setting everything on fire - your chest hurts as your heart protests the electrons and then your powers kick in, sweeping them into your very atoms and cells. You’re a live wire now, ears humming and body thrumming with power you’ve only dreamed of. It hurts, and it burns, and you feel tears rising in your eyes because you’re back there - back begging for death or for life or for God and god at the same time - but then it’s over. The man sees that you’re not seizing up, not dropping dead in front of him, and he takes three steps back.

It’s not far enough.

You’ve only felt like this once before - right after you were unhooked from the machine that changed your life and brought you to your new family. You remember how you looked when you were put in front of a mirror with all of the pent up electricity circling your body - how your eyes were filled to the brim and dripping with bright and blue electricity, the way it was jumping across your body, how you didn’t need to breathe because your body was fully saturated with pure, unadulterated power. You wonder if you look like that now and assume you do because you can see the bright blue reflecting in the terrified eyes of the Hydra agent.

Your suit, unlike everyone else’s, is not grounded. It’s metal, metal, metal. You’re made to conduct, born for it, and the earth beneath you comes alive with bright white as you release all of the energy, the power, surges down and out. You’re practiced. You can reach out and feel the synapses and neurons of every human being in the clearing, know exactly where your teammates are standing, and know exactly how to target everything but them and the pitiful amount of electricity their brains carry. You grin, something truly feral and unhinged, and you can see the fear in the Hydra agent. Then, you let go.

You know that everyone is going to be pissed. (Maybe not everyone.) You’re not built for this, not made to take down nearly twenty fucking people at once. As you let go, you feel what they feel. The seizing muscles, the stopping of their hearts, the inside of their bodies crisping against their bones. At that moment, that delicious moment, you see the universe.

You become God. You become everything - your mother and your father and God and god and anyone else who’s watching your life from the ether. You become the judge, jury, and executioner of souls that you don’t know from Adam. You become lightning, and thunder, and exposed nerves of the cosmos at the same time. The world bends to your will and you relish in it, taking that power in your fist and wielding it to protect the man you’ll love for the rest of your life and the family that you’ve made. You will stop at nothing to end this, even if it means turning yourself inside out to do it.

You damn near do turn yourself inside out too, but that doesn’t matter, does it? The blood spilling from your ears, nose, and eyes feels like heaven. It’s hot, and thick, and it’s proof of the power that your body holds. You’re a temple and a sanctuary, a war-room and a bunker, a field of flowers and a sun-dry desert. It does not matter if Steve doesn’t love you at that moment, because you are love and hate wrapped into one package. You are everything and nothing, spread thin at the beginning and the end of time.

And then none of that is true. You are just… You. Standing in a clearing, surrounded by twenty-something dead Hydra agents and your terrified, terrified family. It hurts to breathe and you can taste blood in your mouth, but that’s an afterthought. Steve is still standing behind you, but he is alive. That is what matters.

This is what love is, you think.

Pain and pleasure.

Even if he leaves you, you will always love him.

Pain and pleasure.

You’re weak at the knees when he finally turns to see you - and you’re a sight. Struggling to stand, fingertips blackened with soot but not burnt, blood pouring from your nose, ears, eyes… You look like death, but you feel like life. Someone says something behind you - Peter, maybe? Or maybe Tony, in your comms? - but you don’t hear it. Everything tunnels out, your weak knees finally collapsing as you keel backward.

Steve bears down upon you almost immediately. You’re halfway to unconsciousness when he wraps you up in his arms, keeping you from falling in with the pile of bodies around you. He’s saying your name, harsh and soft and then in a voice like he’s ordering you to wake up. You loll about as he drops you down onto a patch of clear grass, hands searching your body for wounds. When he skims over your side, where the baton has burnt through your suit and your flesh, you surge back toward being able to have cohesive thoughts. The pain brings you back, hands wrapping around Steve’s arm and calling out his name. “Steve! Fuck, that hurts!”

“Honey,” He breathes, “Fuck, we have to get you back to the jet.” His jaw ticks, hair dirty and loose from its normal style. “Why’d you do that?” Steve doesn’t wait for an answer from you, ordering Peter to web something up to carry you over your protests.

“I’m fine,” You argue, only slurring slightly, “I feel fine.” But you’re going to let Nat and Bucky load you up on the webbed stretcher anyway because it’s the first time Steve has cared for you in a long time. You want to relish in this moment, the way that he didn't say your name but called you honey.

Well, and because Natasha slides a thumb across her neck over Steve’s shoulder in a silent threat.

You groan when Bucky accidentally grabs your calf where there is an absolutely awful stab wound, but you wave off his apology. “How could you have known?” To be honest, you hadn’t even known it was there until his Vibranium hand was slipping against it and sending shockwaves of pain through you. Peter is next to you the whole time that you’re being carried back to the jet - Tony staying back to begin scanning the bodies of the Hydra agents for the information you need and any other information they may be carrying. The poor kid is nearly at a breakdown, so you reach out to him and shake his arm when his fingers twine with yours. “Chill out, kid, I don’t know how you got it into your head that this is your fault, but it sure isn’t.” He sniffles, but hands back with Steve as Bucky and Nat get you situated in the small medical room of the jet. They transfer you and then make to leave, only Bucky hesitating near the door.

“Stevie’s goin’ to be here soon and… I don’t know what made you do what you did but you have’t explain it to him. He’s bendin’ over backwards to figure it out, and we don’t have’a clue. Came out’a nowhere.” He looks at you for another moment before shaking his head and stepping out of the room. Your head is spinning, partially from what Bucky just said and partially from the pain and stimulus of electricity. You wait there, then, because this is it. This is the event horizon. You wait there, eyes closed, until you hear footsteps approach the med room, and then the door slowly opens. Steve says your name, holding all the finality and weight of an atomic bomb. You don’t open your eyes until he swings a chair next to the stretcher and lays a hand on your calf.

“You don’t have to do this,” You finally say, pushing yourself up onto your elbows to watch him. “I know that you don’t want to.” Steve only scoffs and begins to wash the stab wound using a packet of soap and a water bottle. You say his name twice before he looks at you, something between hate and hurt curdling into a glaze over his eyes that stops you in your tracks.

“Just let me do this. It is the least that you can do.” His words are painful and stilted, like it’s taking force to push them past his teeth. You lay back down and close your eyes, content to just feel the pain of Steve beginning to stitch you up and then dress the wound before you feel the pain of Steve leaving you like you knew he always would. (Falling in love with Steve Rogers went against every instinct you had. You knew that he was going to hurt you from the first moment your lips touched his.)

When he’s done he sits back and puts his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He heaves a heavy sigh and then shakes it off, “I’ll dress your burn, and then we’ll talk.” And normally, yes, you would agree but this is too important. You want to get it over with so you can lick your wounds metaphorically and dress them literally - and then you want to go home, you want to pack your bags, and you want to disappear and remake your life somewhere else.

Some far-off place where everyone you know won’t take one look at your face and know that you’re still painfully, deeply in love with Steve Rogers, end of your semester be damned. Family you’ve made be damned. You can’t sit around and be in love with him like a neon sign on a dark highway while it’s painfully clear that he hasn’t had a sign on his highway in a long time.

So instead of agreeing, you swing your legs over the stretcher and swallow your flinch when the burn pulls tight. Steve opens his mouth to argue but you give him a tight-lipped shake of your head and his jaw snaps shut. “No,” You say, voice not giving in to the emotion swirling in your chest. “I have let this go on long enough.”

It’s the wrong thing to say because Steve fucking scoffs again and looks away from you. “One day was long enough.” He says, cutting straight to your core. Okay, ouch. You take a deep breath and shake your head to try and bite back the tears that are inevitably rising in your eyes. If one day was long enough for him to realize he doesn’t want to be with you, why did he let it go on for nearly a full year? Why did he spend so long leading you on, pulling you by a thread before garroting your heart with it? What was the point?

“If you want to leave me, just say that,” You reply harshly, standing and wobbling away from him. He just watches you go, watches the way you struggle past the lead weights your muscles have become, the way you’re starting to feel the stab wound on your leg, the way the skin on your burn is beginning to blister and only just now losing its heat. He just watches you, where the Steve that loved you once upon a time might have helped. You turn your back on him, hands on your hips so that you can hide the way that you’re crying and your hands are shaking.

“If I want to leave you? If?” He says. You hear the scrape of his chair as he stands, “I think after what you’ve done, it’s not an if, sweetheart.” The way he says it tastes like iron. Steve never calls you sweetheart like he never calls you by your name. It’s always honey, lover, dovie. You don’t turn to face him because you’re struggling to keep yourself above water. “I spent so long thinkin’, wonderin’, askin’ myself - God damnit, will you look at me?” You turn slowly, not because you’ve never heard Steve speak like that but because his voice is desperate and raw. When you turn, you’re not sure what to expect. Maybe him, standing in front of you, broad-shouldered and disappointed like in those PSA’s he had to film once. Maybe he’d be angry, hands clenched at his sides and eyes narrowed like he gets in meetings when he doesn’t agree with something but he’s out-voted. But you never expect to see him crying, lip wobbling, folded in on himself like a young boy instead of the strong, invincible man you’ve come to love.

He looks so different.

It hits you, then, that you’re not looking at Steve Rogers. Not really. He's not Steve Rogers, not Captain America, not even Captain Rogers. You see him as he was - before America spat it’s untruths all over him and injected him with a serum that changed who he was, is, will be. He’s not the able-bodied man that you know, not strong and unreachable, not the heartthrob that overshadows the team during press events. He’s not America’s Darling, not really. Not where it counts.

You’re looking at Stevie Rogers. Stevie Rogers who, for all intents and purposes, was supposed to die before he made it out of toddlerhood or soon thereafter. Stevie Rogers who the doctors said wasn’t supposed to survive. Stevie Rogers who grew up sickly, rattling painful breaths and never playing ball with the neighborhood boys. Who couldn’t walk until middle school when he got his braces off. Who never had a partner because Bucky, strong and handsome and tall Bucky, was always deemed the better option. Who believed in his country so much that he tried to sneak into the second world war, subjected himself to a painful medical procedure so that he could change his very DNA to be what the world wanted him to be.

Captain Steve Rogers. Captain America. Strong, blond, patriotic, resilient.

You’re sure that if men don’t want to go to therapy now, in the modern age, they certainly didn’t want to go in the ‘40s. So where did that leave Steve, your Steve, standing in front of you and looking small, and broken, and sad, and alone? Did they expect him to take his new, taller, working body and run with it? Did they not think about how he would lose a part of himself in the process? How did they expect him to go from disabled to abled without some disconnect?

You think about the You That You Were Before and the You That You Are Now, and how you lost a part of yourself when the accident gave you your powers and how you’d lose yourself if someone figured out a way to take them away. You Before formed your identity around being normal - living in a shitty home with shitty parents, sure, but normal - and You Now form your identity around your powers, your team, your job, your love. If you lost those things, what did you have left? Who would you be?

When Steve lost his identity and became everything that America wanted everyone to think that America was, what did he have left? Sure, he could tell himself that he represents America - strong and patriotic and just - but it must have conflicted with everything he knew about himself before that. You know that disabled people now know that American society is unjust, unfit for them with abled people not willing to make room to allow them to thrive. You can only imagine what it was really like for Steve in the ‘20s and ‘30s and ‘40s. What he had to do just to survive. (Medical experimentation, you remind yourself. Did they know it wouldn’t kill him? Did they know his body wouldn’t rip itself apart with the new sinewy muscle they were packing on? Did they care? Or was he just a body they saw as broken? A project to fix? To turn him into something more like them and call it patriotism?)

You shake your head at him, still filled with despair, and try to figure out what he’s talking about. “Stevie,” You start, pet name easily replacing what you had been calling him because it’s not fair to shoe-horn him into a body that doesn’t feel like his own. You wonder if he still expects the bone-grinding pain that he used to tell you would happen when it rains. He raises a hand, a strong and family hand, shaking his head.

“I just need to know why I wasn’t enough for you,” Steve looks sad, slouching in on himself like he’s expecting to get his ass handed to him in another alleyway and hope Bucky is there to save him. “I need to know why you wouldn’t just break up with me if you wanted to see other people so badly.” You suck in a shocked breath because, okay, that’s not what you were expecting. Between that and the paradigm shift you’ve had on how Steve must view his identity, body, and self, you’re stunned. Steve continues like he doesn’t even register that you look shocked and pale and now you’re crying because he thinks you’re cheating on him? “And I get it. I get it. You have no idea how much I understand. If I were you, I wouldn’t want me either, okay?”

You cut him off there because what the actual God damn fuck is he talking about? “No, Stevie, I’m not cheating on you.” You shake your head again and this, your statement, lights a fire in him. He still looks like Stevie rather than Steve, but there’s anger there. You imagine that’s what it might have looked like moments before he got himself in trouble back before he was serumed. “I’m not.”

“Oh, yeah?” He challenges, jaw ticking and chin jerking up, “Oh, yeah? You can’t lie to me. I know, okay? The act is up, it’s over, I know, okay? You can stop pretending.”

“Steve, I do not fucking know what you’re talking about but I”m not cheating on you!” You raise your voice, not really angry but more out of necessity. You need to get it out of his head that he is anything less than everything you want - that you could possibly love anyone more than you love him.

“I wanted to clarify something for you,” Steve says like he’s reading an old script from when he was just a beefy, red/white/blue stage prop for the American military, “I am excited to meet with you, but there are some rules. Do not talk about Captain Steve Rogers. I don’t want to hear about him,” As he continues to recite something that has clearly hurt him, you go lax. You know exactly what’s happened - your fists unclench, your jaw drops a little bit, and it feels like someone has gutted you, “I think it is wise to keep work and pleasure separate, and it’s a rule I will enforce heavily. I look forward to seeing you again.” He’s sneering at the end, tears falling down his ruddy cheeks.

“Steve,” You try again, but he cuts you off.

“Am I just work for you?” His voice is shaking more than you thought possible, and so are his hands. You’ve never seen Steve so off-kilter, so thrown, and it breaks your heart that yes, technically, you’re the cause of this. Before this, before this horrible misunderstanding, your relationship with Steve was the paragon of trust so neither of you cared if the other read emails or texts. You remember the email - the email from your fucking college professor - because it had made you so angry that he’d referred to your relationship with Steve as something as simple and base as just pleasure - like you could even put words to the galaxy of a relationship you had with Steve - that you’d gone to the gym to work off some of that irritation. You hadn’t wanted to take it out on anyone accidentally. When you came back from the gym, Steve was gone on that two-week mission that he’d left on without saying goodbye.

Oh, God. You feel sick to your stomach as the paradigm of the way that Steve’s been treating you shifts violently to the left. You have to physically hold yourself up and try to speak past the lump in your throat. Steve looks… Brokenly smug. Like he knows he’s right, but he’d rather gnaw his own legs off than be right.

“No,” You croak, “No, Steve, you’ve got it all wrong.” You want to reach for him, but it feels like the room is closing in on you. You’re second-guessing everything now - especially what you’ve just said. How many people said the exact same thing to him pre-serum because they said something meant for Bucky to him? How many times did he hear that when he was getting a new diagnosis, hoping for the best? How many times had his own mother said it to him when he told her something someone had said, fresh-faced and not yet used to the way that abled people sometimes treated disabled people? You think you might be sick. “That email was from my professor, Steve. I’m not cheating on you, I’d never.” He laughs darkly and sits back down in his chair, head in his hands again. You try to gather the strength to move toward him when you see his shoulders shaking, a telltale sign that he’s crying.

“A professor,” He says with a watery laugh, “Right.”

Finally, you realize that he needs you, needs to know you love him, that you’d do anything for him. You can iron out the kinks later - figure out why he didn’t want to come to talk to you past the original hurt, why he treated you so coldly, why he didn’t trust that you wouldn’t do this to him - but now, you need to show him that you’re here. That you choose him. That you’ll always choose him.

You make your way to him and set a shaking hand on his shoulder. For a brief second you think he’s going to shake you off but then Steve’s hand shoots up and latches onto where your hand is resting, dipping his head to press against your arm. “Stevie, please,” You say, unsure of what you’re asking him to do, “I picked up a class, just one, and it’s… I picked it up for you, it’s about the ‘30s and ‘40s and…” He looks up at you and he looks so broken - face ruddy and wet with tears, lip wobbling, chest heaving as he tries to not sob. His brows are knit and he looks confused, “I just wanted to be able to understand you better. You had to leave so much of yourself at the door when you joined the Avengers, had to leave so much of yourself in the ice… In Erskine’s lab… Stevie, I just wanted you to be able to be you when you’re with me. I wanted to know the you that you were before you became Captain America.” Your voice is shaking, knees knocking together, and honestly? You feel like you might blackout.

“What?” He rasps, “What?”

“He sent that email because too many kids signed up for his class thinking that they’d be able to look at pictures of you and Buck for a semester. Emailed me directly because he knows we’re…” You choke on your words, shaking your head because you’re not even sure there’s a we anymore, “Because he knows I’m on the team. Didn’t want me walking in and making his class about just a few years in the ‘30s and ‘40s rather than the culture of the time.” You don’t know how else to explain it to him, but Steve isn’t saying anything - practically isn’t moving or breathing- so you continue to try and explain what’s really happening as best as you can, “And - and that email made me so angry because he singled me out, didn’t email anyone else about it, and I left to try and work some of that out; I didn’t want to take it out on you, or let it spoil - let it spoil… But when I came back from the gym, you were gone. You were gone for two weeks and I didn’t know why.” You’re crying harder now and pretty sure that within the next sixty seconds you’re going to collapse if you don’t sit down.

Steve shakes his head, still looking like he doesn’t understand. “What?” He says for a third time, “A class? A college class?”

“I just wanted to feel closer to you,” You confess, “Just wanted to understand a fraction of your life without making you do the heavy liftin’ and teachin’ me. Shouldn’t have’t do that,” You’re sobbing, barely biting out your words as you realize that something you’ve done to strengthen your relationship with Steve has destroyed it, “Shouldn’t have to explain a whole different time just to feel loved, Stevie. Should be able to be with someone who understands without you havin’ to explain.” You’re not sure you can say Peggy’s name out loud, and you hope he understands what you’re saying without making you actually say it, “Should’a been able to have love with someone who knew, and I know I’m nothin’ compared to what you should’a had, but I want to be. I want to be in the same ballpark instead’a watchin’ from the stands.” You wipe your face with your free hand and look away from Steve when he stands in front of you. You don’t want to see the look on his face - what he’s thinking about what you’ve said.

He says your name and you glance at him, but his expression stops him in your tracks. Where Steve looked broken and hurt and fuming with anger to hide the anguish, now he looks stricken. You shake your head, “No, no. I didn’t say that to make you feel guilty-”

“You think that I care about whether or not you can understand the ‘40s?” He cuts you off, hands moving to curl around your biceps, “You think that I care whether or not you can relate to a time in history when you weren’t even thought of?”

“Of course I love you. I love you more than anything in this world, but you shouldn’t have to not care, Steve,” You argue, shaking your head, “That’s what I’m trying to say. You should be with someone who understands without explanation. I just wanted to give that to you - didn’t know that this would happen.”

“I should be with someone who loves me,” He argues back, “If you love me, that’s all that matters. My past be damned.”

“But your past is you!” You try to pull away from Steve, but he anchors you there. You’re dizzy from being so close to him after this long, but also because of how many different twists this situation has taken. You can barely keep up with how bad your communication with Steve has become - barely keep up with how you need to fix it, or how to fix it. “Your past is you,” You repeat when you realize that Steve isn’t going to let you go. “And you shouldn’t have to give that up so that someone will love you.”

“But you love me,” He says desperately, ducking his head so that he’s nearly nose to nose with you, “You love me, right?”

“More than anything,” You say, closing your eyes and relishing in the feeling of being so close to Steve, “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. I don’t care about what anyone else thinks, or anyone else. I’ll even stop goin’ to class if you want me to - Steve, I just can’t do this anymore. Can’t do this thing where you don’t talk to me about what’s botherin’ you.” You’re choking up, barely whispering, but you know he hears you. YOu can feel his warm breath on your face, “Nearly fuckin’ killed me.”

“I thought it was goin’ to be easier,” He breathes, nose bumping yours, “When you eventually decided to leave me for him. Thought I was savin’ myself some trouble.” You can practically taste his tears as they fall again, “Buck and Nat tried to tell me that you weren’t - that you wouldn’t - but I just couldn’t believe them.”

When you open your eyes, his are closed. This close to him you can see the soft freckles that are blooming over his eyelids, his soft eyelashes kissing his cheekbones. You can feel him breathing, feel him nearly pressed against you in a way that feels hauntingly nostalgic and terrifyingly fleeting; like you’ll be able to feel his warmth for years to come, but he’s about to disappear. “That’s okay,” You finally whisper, “It’s okay that you didn’t believe them. That you thought what you thought. It’s okay.” He shakes his head against yours, opening his mouth to protest, but you refuse to let him feel guilty about feeling this way - you have plenty of time to sit him down and talk to him candidly about the way he acted because of these feelings, anyway. “If I would have been in your place I’m not sure I would have believed them.”

“I treated you so badly…” He shifts and wraps his arms around you. It’s almost immediate - you relax into his arms and wind yours around his waist, keeping him pulled against you as he presses his face into your neck and you press your cheek against his chest. “So awfully.”

“We’ll talk about that, okay? But later. Right now you just need to know that I love you, Steve. I love you more than I can tell you - more than I can express.” You want to kiss him, but you can’t. Can’t kiss him, you need to wait for him to kiss you, for him to close that gap and show you that he still loves you like you love him. “We’ll have to have a talk, a long and hard conversation about this, Stevie, but for now… For now, I’m just content to be with you, okay? MIssed you so much.”

He sighs, nose pressing against yours again. “Missed you too, dovie. Missed you more than I can even say,” His voice breaks as his lips brush yours. Your relationship is not without its flaws and problems - Steve’s actions when he thought you were cheating on him are proof of that and, well, the fact that you didn’t realize what was happening, why it was happening, or a large part of your boyfriend’s psychological makeup having an impact on your relationship while it went unknown by you… There is a lot of work for the two of you to do, a lot of work to do, a lot of communication to be done… But you’d do it all for Steve, over and over again.

When he presses forward and presses his lips gently to yours, you know that he’ll do it all for you, over and over again, too.

#steve rogers imagine #steve rogers/reader #steve rogers x reader #marvel imagine #mcu imagine

[writefightandflightclub]

I really enjoyed your Nathan fluff 🥺 we love this angry peach fuzz king 👑💖 would you ever write him being comforted after having a nightmare? 💕

First of all, LOL @ “angry peach fuzz king” 🤣🤣🤣

Second of all, here you go! 🧡 I will warn you - I think I forgot the fluff a little bit though. It became more hurt / comfort? More angst than expected? It ends nicely though and comfort is given to Nathan - but only after I’ve subjected him to rattling around in his own head and house for a bit.

Through the looking glass (Nathan Bateman x GN!reader)

Summary: Nathan has nightmares after The Incident. After so long alone, he doesn’t realise how badly he needs a little comfort - and maybe he doesn’t believe that he deserves it.

Author’s note: hopefully this isn’t too similar to All Better. I know they both take place post-stabbing, but I tried to give this a different focus. I know I could have made the nightmares based off of anything given the ask, but this timeline / focus seemed most sensible to explore the character.

Warnings: nightmares following traumatic incident (a stabbing); mentions of blood and injury - not graphic. Self-harm (punching the bag until injury); Body horror if you squint (some gruesome descriptions occurring in-dream, but fairly abstract); swearing; implied alcoholism recovery if you squint; mentions of therapy; Nathan mildly injured in fic; reader offering comfort.

Rating: MATURE for themes mentioned above.

GIF: by @santiagogarcia (this whole gifset is magic- check it out + reblog!)

Nathan wakes up breathless, plastered to the covers by a sheen of sweat - and not in a good way. On instinct, or out of habit by now, or maybe somewhere between the two, his palm slides over his body to the site of the wound.

He is so slick that he half-believes he is soaked with dank, deep blood again, until his fingers trace over nothing more than a half-concave, half-ridged scar. The lack of searing pain is the next point of evidence leading him towards an alternative conclusion. He’s not dying (again).

It’s just another gruesome nightmare.

Although… there is nothing “just” about it.

The nightmares are pretty brutal. Brutal enough for him to wake with ragged breaths and a hammering heart, his sheets dampened and coiled up around him. Enough that it takes effort to sift through the layers of terror and distinguish reality.

With what can only be described as a whimper, Nathan swings his legs over the edge of the bed, bringing himself into a seated position and bracing his head in his hands until his racing heart levels.

In his mind, he’s telling himself to be logical about this. That Ava hasn’t truly arrived to finish the job she started; but logic is not the safe haven it used to be.

She could come back.

She’s still out there, somewhere, and Nathan distinctly got the impression, last time, that she was vehemently not a fan of him.

His hand trembling, Nathan reaches for the glass of water by his bedside, glugging it down so eagerly it spills into his bushy beard.

Since the… accident? Malfunction? Functioning just fine, actually? Failed experiment? Greatest achievement known to man? Attempted murder? (Truth be told, Nathan isn’t quite sure what to call it, so he simply calls it The Incident.)

Since The Incident, Ava has begun to regularly visit him in his sleep.

The visitations are not waning with time. In fact, they are happening more often, not less. They are happening more since you moved into the house.

It’s a bad fucking time to have quit drinking.

You’d been sent by the board. Something about Nathan taking “tortured genius” a slice too literally. Something about him being in isolation too long and needing another human around in the compound.

Well, that’s not technically true, is it? The shit all started when he opted to get social, after all.

Fucking Caleb.

Before that, he was doing just fine.

Nathan doesn’t like it at all - having you here. Being watched. Observed. Having someone monitoring his actions. Waiting for him to either fuck up or prove himself.

Ironic really, considering where he kept Ava. The experiments he ran on her.

She’d probably find it poetic, if she could truly understand such a concept.

At the thought of her, Nathan physically shudders, and reaches for an old vest to haphazardly mop the excess sweat from his skin. Then, he balls up a change of clothes and tracks nude to his wet room, feeling relief as the luke warm water sluices over his skin.

He watches himself in the mirror as he stands there naked. It’s not a vanity thing - at least not any longer. These days, he examines the way his form has changed since it happened. He lost some of his muscle and bulk during recovery, whilst unable to exercise, his arms slightly smaller and his abs softer. His stomach a little more rounded.

There’s also the puckered scar, of course - that permanent reminder of where he was skewered through the chest like a piece of kebab meat.

His gaze travels up over his body, until his eyes settle on his still haunted face. He doesn’t have his glasses on, and somewhere between the blurred vision, misted mirror, clouding steam and sluicing water, his reflected face distorts. It transforms - for the briefest of moments - into her.

Still amped with adrenalin from his harsh awakening, this briefest flash sends a surge of panic zipping through Nathan’s chest, his heartbeat racing so hard he can feel the pounding of blood in his ears.

Fuck, he curses, reaching his arms out to brace himself against the shower wall above him, his body trembling and his head dipping down between the cradle of his broad shoulders as his legs threaten to buckle.

He turns the water cold, until it is practically glacial and thundering on to the back of his neck, subduing this spiking heat.

She really did a fucking number on me, didn’t she?

It’s true though.

Ava is haunting him. When he sleeps - and at other times too.

Nathan didn’t know robots could do that. Didn’t know they could spawn ghosts.

Nathan doesn’t believe in ghosts, of course… but he does believe in trauma and its effect on the brain. He at least concedes that it is natural to continue to feel afraid; but this?

Being dogged by the spectre of her taps into Nathan’s deepest insecurities.

After all, there is nothing a genius fears more than doubting his own mind.

Nothing a God fears more than his own mortality.

And the man? Turns out, there is nothing he fears more now, than dying alone.

With a ragged breath, Nathan towels off and pulls on his grey sweatpants, tugging on his black zip-up hoody over his bare chest. And then, keen not to return to his damp, tangled sheets, he tracks towards the kitchen - mainly for want of any more favourable option.

Of course, he had returned to the compound after The Incident. Something about that many fibre optic cables being a bitch to lay down. Sunk cost fallacy and all that - too much already invested.

But it possibly wasn’t the best choice for his recovery.

Nathan has certainly gotten more used to walking down that hallway since he returned from the hospital, and yet he still finds himself holding his breath until he is free of it. Still finds his pace is just a little faster as he passes through. His gaze deliberately averted from that spot.

Once, you’d found him lying in it.

Lying in that exact spot, his body arranged like a crime scene photo, his eyes closed.

Hey, it’s hardly his least healthy coping mechanism, is it?

What in the fuck are you doing, Nathan?

Re-enacting my death, obviously.

Uh-Kay…. A beat. A devious smile. Shall I get some popcorn?

Absurd as it was, he had laughed. Laughed for the first time since it happened, and, with an extended hand, you had helped him up off the floor.

Still, now that he’s alone, he does not dwell in the corridor, colder and darker as it is without your light in it, and he tries not to think about your face or hers as he pads to the kitchen.

When he arrives though, he bypasses it entirely - heading out on to the decking, the crisp night air soothing his hot skin.

He wants to be outside.

There are too many ghosts in his house now.

He has tried to shake it. Tried to desensitise himself to Ava’s face. Spent longer than strictly necessary poring over footage of her.

He built her. Shouldn’t that take the fear out of things? Not to mention the fact Ava’s face was simply a composite of some manipulable nerd’s wank bank browsing history.

Fucking Caleb.

Still, once Nathan had looked her in the eyes and seen a rage that was all too human, things seemed a hell of a lot different.

Nathan crosses to the punchbag on the deck -lit by creeping dawn- on instinct, or out of habit, or maybe some combination of the two, his unease riling him enough to sock some punches at its midsection. Right at the equivalent site of his corporeal puncture.

He punches so hard that the skin on his knuckle splits, but Nathan doesn’t stop. He throws punch after punch until his hands are scathed and bloodied, and a trail of spit hanging from the corner of his mouth. Until he hugs the bag - the closest thing he has to a warm body to hold - and slides down it, coming limply to his knees, wiping his face on his sleeve.

He stays there, dead eyed and still for some time, the pain in his hands raw and singing. Unpleasant, but better. Better than what he was feeling, and worse all at once.

He considers his tired, cumbersome body, and contemplates remaking the world one more time. Uploading his mind into a machine or some shit, so that he doesn’t have to contend with the fragility and failings of his own existence.

He stays there, until some motion in the interior of the compound causes the light and shadows to dance differently over him, and he looks up to see your figure there, cast in a soft halo of yellowed light.

He tips his head up slightly, opening his mouth as though he might cry out to you for help, but no sound comes out - only a thin, dry croak.

So, instead, Nathan watches you for a moment, moving seamlessly around his kitchen as though it is your own. Maybe it is - more yours than his now.

Observing you like this, through the tall, cinematic windows, it is as though he peers in on another world entirely. Something less resembling a nightmare.

Lighter than that. Something more like a good dream, albeit a good dream that Nathan cannot be part of. One he can only ever watch, from the outside looking in, always fated as he is to be on the other side of the glass.

Truth be told, you haunt him too. You represent everything he could have and yet doesn’t deserve.

You appear in his nightmares and his dreams, in various terrifying and beautiful incarnations. Many variations of which his therapist would have a field day with, he’s sure - or, she would, if he’d ever fucking call her.

When you first arrived here, he was plagued by grotesque visions of you. Grotesque visions of the skin being peeled back from your body. Sometimes, circuitry beneath, and other times, muscle and bone. Sometimes, Ava’s face was buried beneath the chilling slip of your fleshy mask.

Sometimes it is a better dream. Sometimes you save him. Sometimes he saves you.

Sometimes it is a good dream. Ava isn’t there at all. But the good dreams never seem to last for long. 

Sometimes you kill him, and sometimes...

The glass door slides open.

“Reenacting your own death again, are you?” you tease, though not unkindly, interrupting the spiral of Nathan’s incessant thoughts.

A lump forming instantly in his throat, Nathan swallows thickly, and looks up at you helplessly with a thin, joyless smile. He snorts as though it’s funny, but it really isn’t. “Over and fucking over.” 

You nod once, and, without hesitation, you extend your hand towards him. Your gaze cuts through him as you search his face and he feels suddenly see-through, as if he’s about to be hit with some Shyamalan-esque twist. Was he the ghost all along? Did he die here after all?

If so, is this purgatory because Ava is here too, or heaven, because you are?

Christ. So fucking schmaltzy, Bateman.

After hesitating, Nathan takes your hand and you yank him to his feet, drawing him inside, through the looking glass.

The room seems warm on the other side. It feels… safe.

“What happened?” you ask, as you look down at your joined hands, your thumb painting a smear of red across his split knuckles. 

You mean now. What happened now, but Nathan’s mind harks back further than that. In his mind, everything is connected. Every thing threaded to another. This one smear of blood to that weeping flower of red.

The thought -the thoughts, all of them- halt him in place, his feet firmly planting on the ground. Nathan’s hand clenches tightly around yours as though it is a lifeline, as he is cast adrift on this familiar crimson tide, his face growing increasingly angular and stern.

“She...” He swallows, unable to complete that precise thought, his eyes dropping down to his feet.

You turn your body towards Nathan as he croaks, still not letting go.

Your eyes flitting around his face, attempting to search his eyes, you tentatively step closer, sliding your palms slowly over his tense shoulders, feeling them rise with an uneven, stuttered breath as you do so.

He’s so tired. He’s so very, very tired.

And it happens all at once on the exhale.

Suddenly, your arms are tugging him closer, and his face is contorting as a violent smattering of tears beads in his long lashes. You are encasing his body in your embrace and rubbing circles into his back as his buzzed head sags all too willingly toward the junction of your shoulder, your fingers splaying along the smooth flesh at the nape of his neck and pads dancing over the gentle prickle of his hair. You are shushing and soothing and reassuring and squeezing and smoothing and cradling and Nathan can feel it. Can feel his heart race in his chest and…

Finally.

Finally, his heart is not pounding because he is reliving his death.

It is pounding because he feels alive again.

When was the last time he cried, even? The last time someone really hugged him? He doesn’t remember the last time. The serendipitous combination of Nathan willing to be vulnerable, and another being willing to hold space for his pain is an all too rare thing.

There’s a reason -or several - he’s so emotionally constipated, after all.

Fuck. I’m taking a huge emotional shit right now.

Nathan remains in the welcome circumference of your arms longer than is strictly necessary - until the tear trails over the bridge of his nose begin to feel cloying. Until his breaths steady, and until his thoughts and ego creep back in. Until he notices the way his hands are clasped at your waist like claws, fingers sinking into your softness, and he thinks to release you.

Then, he leans away, a weight on his brow making his expression stern.

He waits for you to judge him, another swallow trailing thickly down his throat.

However, your eyes are kind and level, dancing with soft concern. Not with judgement or satisfaction or pity, or with anything he fears.

It is refreshing not to feel so afraid.

Finally.

“She…” Nathan begins again, finally finding courage. All at once his eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline. “She fucking stabbed me.”

You take his words in. You listen.

His “reveal” is simple. Plain and factual. A little indignant. Kinda salty. It’s not overly emotional, or articulate.

But it is enough.

Your eyes narrow, and you nod slowly, trying to understand the true meaning beneath his words.

You even reach up to cup Nathan’s face, his springy beard a cushion beneath your gentle palm as you hold him. “Yeah, genius,” you tease, with a tentative, lopsided smile, dropping your arm all too suddenly, perhaps as you catch yourself. “I got that from context.”

In response, Nathan chucks air from between his teeth, bringing his hand up to comb through his beard - perhaps to obscure his involuntary smile, or perhaps chasing your tender touch, the impression of it left warm on his cheek.

As he brings his hand up, your brows draw together, and you hook his bloodied paw delicately in yours, examining the wound, and leading him gingerly across to the couch as though his whole being might be hurting along with it.

It is.

You order him to stay put while you fetch the first aid kit, and then, in stages, Nathan watches you with fascination as you painstakingly clean and tend to his wounds, without ever being asked to.

He watches you carefully swipe the angry red away from his skin, and, to his overactive mind, it’s all connected. This red is one and the same with the flower of blooming red from The Incident.

Ava hurt him then, and she is hurting him now too.

And you…

“Going to tell the board about this?” Nathan asks, his voice weak and scuffed.

You search his eyes, holding your words back for a moment before answering. Then, you launch them on a big breath. “Fuck the board, Nathan. I told those assholes to stick it.”

Nathan blinks in confusion, shaking his head, his hand flourishing emphatically through the air. “Then… what the fuck are you still doing in my house?”

“Well. I’m… here for you,” you admit, sucking in air through your teeth, your voice shrinking. “If you want that.”

Well, that’s news to him.

Welcome news, perhaps?

You’re not watching him at all, are you? Not observing. Not asking him to evidence his humanity. Not waiting to see whether he fucks up or proves himself.

Instead, you’re seeing him. You’re seeing him and you’re not running.

Nathan had begun to think that maybe he was the nightmare. He’d begun to think he might always be haunted.

Always alone. That he might die that way; again.

And now, here you are.

Nathan thinks about that. He could so easily revert to his old ways, in this moment. Of pride and ego and stubborn independence.

But, perhaps those assholes from the board got a few things right - he’ll admit.

Maybe he had been in isolation too long. Maybe he didn’t need to take “tortured genius” quite so literally.

And so, Nathan almost protests. Almost rejects your presence and your comfort and pushes you away. But the truth is, he’s just so… tired. He’s had so many nightmares, and this time, he’d like to be on the other side of the glass. He’d like to step into that dream.

Nathan takes a deep breath, and releases on the exhale. Releases more than air.

He slowly, ever so slowly, shifts towards you on the couch, angling his body until he can safely dip his head towards your lap, his nose pointed in towards your abdomen and his knees curling around you.

“Th.. this okay?” he asks weakly.

You throw your splayed hands up into the air in surprise as the weight of Nathan settles there, but as he curls his arms around your middle and shuffles closer, you ease into it. You snake your fingers in intricate caresses over his head and neck and shoulders.

“Yeah, Nathan. This is okay,” you soothe gently, voice taut with emotion.

You comfort him.

And finally, Nathan does not need to peel your skin back to know what’s underneath.

He knows you’re not a robot, and that, as your kind touch finds him corporeal, that he is not a ghost.

He closes his eyes. And this time, when he next wakes, he knows that whether the dream is bad or better or good, it doesn’t matter. Because you will be there with him.

He wants you with him.

It’s not at all natural to him, to have you around. For the longest time, he didn’t like it. It didn’t come instinctually, and he has formed no familiar habits.

It isn’t easy - he doesn’t make it easy.

But he wants it to be.

And, in your arms, he can finally dream that it will all work out. What’s more; he can dream he deserves it, too.

#Nathan Bateman #Nathan Bateman x reader #Oscar Isaac #ex machina

[astaroth1357]

Demon Brothers Getting Possessive at the Club

… I can explain. Or, well, no I can't. But this exists now anyway so enjoy?

Warnings: Possessive Behavior, Yandere-ish, Violence

Intro: The MC and their favorite demon were just trying to have a fun night out at The Fall. The lights were going, the music was blaring, and the two of them were by the bar but there was a problem. Their demon noticed a sketchy creep who'd been eyeing their human all night long… and that simply won't do. So when their human left to use the bathroom…

It was time to take care of the problem.

Lucifer

Though Lucifer was usually less than into the club scene, the MC wanted a change of pace from their usual dates and he did so want to make them happy… At first, he thought he'd just be dealing with the loud noise and crowded atmosphere but then he noticed something else…

A demon had been following them through most of the night, always keeping his distance but staring at the MC far too much for his liking…

This put Lucifer in a bit of an odd position. He didn't exactly want to leave the club because the MC didn't look tired yet, but he also didn't like seeing that cretin following them around…

Yet, of course, it also rubbed his pride the wrong way to go tell him to stop directly. Lucifer would never admit to feeling bothered by some pitiful lesser demon… Never.

But by the time the MC left him to use the restroom, he was at his wit's end. He could see the man had taken a seat at the other end of the bar just to watch them and he was growing irritated… So he had to devise a new strategy.

It's unusual for demons to walk around in their true forms. It's not that it's frowned upon or anything, it's just that it's normally something reserved for big events… or for displays of dominance and control.

So when Lucifer slipped into his demon form in the middle of The Fall, it turned quite a few heads. Truthfully, there was only one head in particular that he wanted his way, and once he got it, he stared the guy down…

It was a taste of the lowlife's own medicine, but so much worse coming from him… The feel of Lucifer's bloody-onyx eyes and chillingly cold smile from across the bar could have made even the strongest men run for the hills…

Needless to say, the demon didn't last very long under the eldest brother's gaze. In fact, he wilted almost immediately before slinking away as quickly as he could… 

A guy not even able to stomach the firstborn's stare? Truly a pathetic coward if Lucifer ever saw one.

He was totally back to normal by the time the MC returned and went back to dancing with them like nothing ever happened… Though his human couldn't help but notice the crowd kept their distance from them for the rest of the night... 

Eh, Hell is just weird sometimes isn't it?

Mammon

Look, Mammon had been trying to have some fun the whole night and for the most part he'd been succeeding except for one thing…

He could sense that asshole still hadn't left them alone. He'd just hover near him and his MC like a hellhound stalking prey… It was annoying. It was creepy…

And it was reeeaaallly getting on his nerves.

When the MC left for the restroom, he was leaning back against the bar scanning the room for their abhorrent admirer while using the tint of his sunglasses to hide his eyes.

It didn't take him long to see the gross fuck sitting alone at a table. Who knew what he was planning... following them home? Taking candid shots of MC? Either way, he wanted to sock him in the jaw…

But, of course, Mammon knew he had to play it just a little smoother than that to stay in the club.

Mammon sauntered over to the man's table and invited himself to sit, kicking his feet up to look casual but knocking his boots against the surface so roughly it made the guy jump... Pathetic.

"Oi, so I've seen ya lookin at my human… Real work of art, eh?" He flashed the guy a fanged grin and watched him sweat for a second before cutting off any answer.

"-'course they are. Don't need to tell me. But I gotta say, you're really ticking me off, bud… We're just tryin to enjoy ourselves but I keep seeing your ugly mug wherever we're at."

He pulled his legs back from the table and reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a deck of playing cards.

"Tell ya what, I'm feelin oddly generous so let's play a game. You and me. If ya win, I'll let ya have a night with'em…" He fought the urge to punch the guy when he saw his eyes light up, "but if I win…"

Mammon put the deck on the table then leaned in real close, "I'll flay your skin off and gild ya skeleton in the 4th circle myself… Gold skulls are selling like hotcakes right now." He put every bit of malice he could into the threat, even barring his increasingly sharpening fangs.

The guy must of had a good head on him because he paled immediately before getting up and running from the table. If there's one thing everybody knows about Mammon, it's never play cards with him if he can make even a single Grimm… Chances are, you're gonna lose.

When the MC came back, Mammon flagged them down to their new table and pulled them onto his lap for a little chat before getting more drinks. They're his human. His.

Leviathan

Of course Levi noticed this creep the second that they walked in. He's Envy. He had been hyper-vigilant of all the attention the MC had been receiving since their first step inside. But this guy was… persistent.

He'd been tailing them all night, always finding spots with good vantage points, which of course was sketch as hell but...

Honestly? Levi just didn't like him looking at them. Not at all. In fact, he'd hazard to say he truly hated this complete stranger for how much real estate his eyes were taking up of his precious MC… What gave him the right??

By the time the MC had to use the restroom, he was sitting at the bar seriously contemplating whether or not to just carry them home… He didn't like night clubs anyway, but they seemed to be having fun and they always looked so cute while dancing…

No. He couldn't just take them home. But once they left, he had a much better idea.

It was easy for Levi to slip away from the bar. The asshole was leaned back against a nearby wall and pretty much pulled his phone out the second the MC was out of sight. From there, Levi only had to do what he did best, blend into the background, until he was right next to the guy...

He didn't say anything. He didn't give him any warning or threat. No, no he was far too ticked to be that charitable…

The only indication the man got of how royally he fucked up was the searing pain of Levi's fangs digging into his shoulder, the thirdborn's gloved hand muffling his screams until the venom took hold of his prey.

The last thing that man ever saw, propped up and paralyzed against the wall, was the MC coming back to their docile otaku, who now pulled them into his arms… still shooting the occasional smirk in his victim's direction.

And the last thing he ever heard was the same word his killer whispered to him after his throat became too tight to scream… "Mine."

Satan

This always seemed to happen whenever he took the MC places… They could be walking together in the park and he'd still see lesser demon eyes following them around...

Frankly, it did piss him off to a degree. He knew they never asked to be stared at like a piece of meat, but if he'd go on a rampage every time it happened then they'd never have a quiet date again. So he learned to put up with it… to an extent.

The demon that had been following them that night was really testing his notoriously short patience...

He had tried several tactics to shake the guy as they were dancing but he'd always come right back. He even got more handsy than normal to show, "Hey, this one is mine!" but that had gotten him equally dismal results… It was bordering the line of disrespect now.

He did his best to keep up a friendly face while the MC was with him, but they must have noticed he'd gotten tense. They told him to try and relax a bit before they left for the bathroom…

Oh, he was going to relax alright.

The second they were out of sight, Satan's smile broke into a glare he leveled right at the offending scumbag's table. Of course, seeing the MC had left put the guy's attention elsewhere, but that was his funeral.

Satan knew his time was limited, so he skipped the pleasantries and marched right over to him, slamming his foot down onto the edge of the table with such force it threatened to tip it over then grabbed him by the neck.

"Back. OFF."

It really didn't take much, his reputation preceded him. He felt the guy's pulse skyrocket between his fingers before he let him go.

It was hard not to get a little satisfaction when watching the worthless creep scramble away from him like his life depended on it (as it very much did). He almost considered giving chase just to amp up the fun, but the MC returned sooner than he expected…

A pair of arms around his waist and lips against his cheek were enough to evaporate his anger right then… but it didn't settle his sudden need to mark them in the slightest.

Ultimately, the real question was whether he could wait until they got home to show the world that they were his or if they needed to find somewhere… quieter. No promises, MC.

Asmodeus 

Asmo had dealt with his fair share of admirers, the stalking kind included. Fortunately, dealing with them had always been relatively easy for him (he is a ruler of Hell after all) but one targeting his beloved human…? That was far less acceptable in his eyes.

He caught sight of the beady eyes of the creep while he was dancing with the MC. At first, he thought the guy was looking at him (who wouldn't?) but then he followed his eyeline right to his lovely human companion…

Though he couldn't exactly blame him for staring, he and MC made a fantastic looking pair, he definitely couldn't sit idly by either. People like this are usually bad news and he refused to let any harm come to his MC…!

He was as tactful as ever, though. He liked The Fall and would rather not be banned from returning… He waited patiently for the MC to go to the bathroom before making his way over to the creep, his perfect smile still sitting on his face.

"Excuse me, cutie." He waited for the stalker's eyes to leave his phone and settle on Asmo's own. "Ah, there you are! Good. I had a question for you, I think… oh no, I must have forgotten it! Silly me."

Though he could see the demon was growing annoyed, Asmo stalled for just a few moments longer… just long enough for his bewitching charm to set into his victim's mind.

"Ah! Now I remember. Do you like dogs?" He smiled in satisfaction to see the creeper's head nod slowly. "Oh good! Because I know a very hungry dog right now… Cerberus is his name and I don't think he's had a meal today. Would you be a doll and go feed him for me? He lives in the cave behind the House of Lamentation. You can't miss him."

The demon's head nodded slowly yet again as he rose from his chair and walked out of the club quietly. Quick, painless, and with no messy cleanup!

Well… none that Cerberus wouldn't clean up for him anyway. Asmo returned to the bar with a newly giddy grin on his face... His MC wouldn't be seeing that man ever again~!

Beelzebub 

Beel is very patient. Beel is very kind. Beel is very forgiving. Beel is… really not about this right now...

Unlike his brothers, Beel's easygoing nature made him less quick to pick up on the lingering glances that the MC gets from others. Even when he does notice, he can usually let it slide if looking is all they do (he's the only one who can touch after all).

But even he couldn't miss how wolfishly that demon was staring at them… It made him uncomfortable and the guy just refused to leave them alone…

By the time the MC left Beel at the bar to use the restroom, he was on a level of irritated usually only reserved for when someone denied him food… It was like that jerk had taken a cheese grater to his patience and it was wearing thin…

As much as he knew he could deck him, he didn't want to get them kicked out… The MC was having such a good time, despite the creep's ogling, so he used a different approach…

Being so high up in Hell had its perks and one was that anywhere in town that offered food also had a secret menu… A Beelzebub Only menu (as a precaution so that he wouldn't wreck the place whenever he stopped by). Anything on his menu always had huge portions and The Fall was no exception.

The bartender didn't seem too surprised when he ordered a Drakon Leg, but he was very surprised when he asked to get the full bone too… Not with the meat on it. Just the bone.

Fun Fact: the bones of Drakons are supremely thick and strong enough to be used as clubs.

Even More Fun Fact: it takes an incredible amount of force to snap these bones…

...which Beel did without breaking a sweat… and maintaining eye contact with the creep The. Entire. Time. The sound of the bone snapping in two was almost as deafening as a gunshot and he didn't even flinch.

The demon went running out of the club with his tail between his legs and quickly got swapped out for the MC running back, worried about what made such a loud noise…

Of course, by that time Beel had the bone thrown away and was chowing down on the meat like nothing ever happened so they dropped the subject soon enough...

He may not be as open about when he claims someone as the rest of his family but that's because when push comes to shove, who in their right mind would want to challenge Beel anyway...?

Belphegor 

Nope. Nope. Nope nope nope, he's not having this. Not one bit.

Belphie lacks a lot of the good-natured patience of his twin... Chances are if there's something happening and he's not stopping it, it's just because putting up with it is the path of least resistance…

But there are always exceptions and those are usually reserved for the MC.

Strangers trying to get close or even imagining themselves being with MC really makes his blood boil… He knew them the most. He loved them the most. On just what grounds did some random moron think he could take his place?? Wishful thinking? Keep dreaming, buddy.

So, of course, he wasn't happy when he noticed some asshole staring at the MC like Beel does when he sees a havoc roast...

He kept his poker face up while he was with the MC, but he was devising a plan to take care of him the entire time… One he finally got the chance to enact once the MC went to the bathroom.

He's even better at going unnoticed than Levi, so sneaking his way over to the asshole was a piece of cake. He didn't notice until Belphie casually draped his arm around the guy's neck, hanging his clawed hand dangerously close to the scumbag's heart...

"Having a good time…?"

He could feel a shallow swallow against his arm as he began to slowly apply pressure to his trachea.

"I bet you were… and I was too until I saw you following us… Care to explain yourself?"

"I-I uh-Gah!" 

The guy's voice gets cut off by Belphie's arm getting even tighter, the sharp tips of his claws drumming directly over the man's thundering heart.

"Ugh, that's what you actually sound like? Never mind, it's not worth knowing…" His fingers stopped drumming and slowly began to dig into his skin...

"I'm only going to say this once… If I ever see you tailing my human again, you won't be needing this-" his claws drilled a little deeper into his chest, "-anymore. Am I clear?"

The demon's head nodded as much as his strangled throat would allow and Belphie finally retracted his claws, wiping the blood off on the guy's shirt before letting him go. He fell forward onto all fours before attempting to scramble away as fast as he could...

Belphie watched him go with disinterest on his face, but satisfaction in his heart. Yet another threat to his human dealt with… And they could go back to enjoying their evening together. Alone. Just where his human belonged...

#obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me headcanons #tw: yandere #tw: possessive behavior #tw: paralysis #tw: violence #tw: mentions of death

[txciaz]

Hi!! So,

it's my ( literal ) first time writing fanfiction, so I'm pretty new at this stuff, but Lady Dimitrescu is all I was able to think about for weeks and I >needed< to do something about it.

( If you want some context, I wrote this thinking “what if Alcina survived?” - Alcina's pov )

———

The fall,

The end of everything you once loved

Ethan Winters.

You woke up... somehow, you woke up. The frigid air hitting your fresh wounds felt like a jolt send by reality, as if one says "you're still alive" -

- and oh how you were starting to hate that feeling.

Laying on the demolished floor of your castle, muscles twitching in pain, mouth open gasping for air... that's how you are, how you will remember yourself from now on. A defeated dragon, a crushed woman, a dead mother.

You should get up, you should let go of your carcass and crawl your way back into the warmth of your home, you should—

—you should be dead, actually. Resting on death's cold embrace along with your daughters.

Daughters.

God, your daughters.

The memories flood your mind with a painful, unbearable reminder; they're gone, dead, crystalized - gone. They're gone. Your lovely daughters, your pride and joy, the main reason you'd open up your eyes in the morning...

...Bela,

Cassandra,

Daniela....

Their names are long cold, not yet forgotten - no, never forgotten - but somewhere else, as they don't belong here anymore; not on your arms, tucking them to bed. Not on your hands, caressing their faces. Not on your lips, kissing their foreheads. Not on your tongue, as you say them.

A raspy scream leaves your throat, it sounds disturbing.

You sob, hot tears trailing down your cheeks and neck, small cries for help find their way into the wind, disappearing with less importance then when they materialized.

You cannot recall for how long you stayed at that very same position, perhaps some hours, perhaps a day, but you are certain that at some point you were overcame by tiredness and collapsed - probably the best to do for now.

xxx

And so, rises the moon and the stars watch upon your limp body, the night howling a merciful wind and singing a melodic song. Grunting, you push yourself up with your elbows, sitting up and facing the sky through the hole you've made on the roof... and the levels above...

A huge carcass sits besides you, it's wings bended on itself and it's big mouth open to whoever would like to have a peek; you probably changed back into your normal body while unconscious... Now that you can see it clearly, you notice the damage that man-thing did to you... by heavens, how were you still alive and...

Oh. The castle. You look forward, taking in the horizon - the stars look exclusively shiny tonight - you breath in, the dusty air causes you to chough a few times. Stretching your neck a bit to see your whole house, you tell yourself it looks.. fine, actually, ignoring the broken windows. The broken windows.

It's cold. You shiver harshly, panting as the air meets your bare back and rumbles through your lungs, making you hug yourself, - you're naked, you just realized - the winter in Romania is truly kind to no one.

Your legs tremble with just the thought of trying to stand on your feet. You don't rush to do it either, let the wintry breeze take in your wounds, make it sting, burn it, freeze it; freeze your body along.

“To die. To die is to live. To live without them, that's torture. To live without their presence, absent of their scents, to not hear them, nor see their faces again, that's worse than death; far, far worse. How could I ever walk into that damned house without the heavenly sounds of their laughs, the tapping of their feet as they walk free, the steadiness of their heartbeats, reminding me that my own still beats.

Beats for them. For them only.

And they're gone.

So who shall my heart beat for? Myself? No, that wouldn't do. I will rip it out from my chest if I must, sacrifice it to any god who may hear me, all so I could spend five more minutes with them. Then I'd die in peace and find them at my arms again at whatever comes after this poor life.

But I'm here.”

You still hold yourself as you stare at a castle's - broken - window, new warm tears hanging the same trail the old and now dry ones did, a silent cry.

Your intrusive thoughts were abruptly cut by a loud noise from the inside of the castle, making you jump up, gathering all your last strengths to stand and walk a few shaky steps closer to home. The more you walked, the louder the noises got; a little rustle became a bang, and your tiptoing became a sprint, you hold yourself as tight as you can, ignoring the bleeding, the cold air spiking your lungs, how insanely fast you heartbeat was. You need to get there, protect the last remnant of them you still have.

The gates felt heavy now, even for you, who would open them with one hand. Where is your strength now? The fearless dragon who'd do anything to protect her house? Perhaps she died on that fall, and now all there's left is a shadow of what you were one day.

With much pain, you open the big doors, leading to the comfort of your house; you don't get in, you throw yourself in. The warm atmosphere engulfed you like a summer kiss on a winter storm, all you needed to ground yourself to reality for now. Grabbing some sheets laying over an old counter, you wrap yourself in it – oh, that's gonna get soaked in blood, but that's not of your concern now – moving incredibly fast for someone as hurt as yourself, you follow the continuous sounds that could not mean something good. The main doors are open, the cellar is unlocked as well, that idiotic man-thing couldn't even close the doors once he finished slaughtering your home? Imbecile.

You stand at the library's door now, suddenly frozen; you know what happened in there... do you really want to get in? Are you truly ready to face it again? Maybe you should take a step back and walk away, it would be the most logical decision to take now.

But what is logic when the heart screams? What is the brain for once your emotions take the best of you? You can't walk away. Put some honor on your name. Save the last bit of your daughter that fate is still conceiving you. Your chest rises and falls completely out of coordination, your fists close around the fabric involving your body; get ready, you're going in; gather the last bit of courage you have inside yourself and blast these doors.

And so you do.

You bring those pieces of wood to the ground, the only barrier between you and the reality you couldn't accept; a guttural growl forms in your chest as you see a lycan approach your child's crystalized body; you're blind with ire, sorrow, protectorship - you name it - and it makes you shout at the top of your lungs as you dilacerate the filthy beasts you'd bat your eye at. A bloody trail of corpses marks your way through the castle grounds, your claws dripping with fresh sanguine fluid - which you can't tell if it's from the creatures or from yourself - the crimson path follows you all the way to the other wing of mansion like a spirit who must haunt you for eternity.

You scream like a feral animal, blood soaking the once white cloth around your form; the scream becomes a shriek, which descends to a yelp, ending as a furious cry. You can feel the anger leaving you, like the waters of a waterfall; explosive, big portions of water falling into a numb, deaden lake. Hopefully those waters will carry you with them, you shall fall and sink at a anesthetizing lagoon.

You kneel, eyes closed, eyebrows frowned; a loud sigh fills the deafening silence in the air, your mind is blank – better, your mind is red, scarlet red mixed with black, ire and grief. Slowly, your head lower itself so you're facing the floor.

The big Lady Dimitrescu,

kneeling on a pool of blood, defeated.

•

“Lady Dimitrescu!”

Who..? The voice was so far yet so close, you try your best to focus on the direction of the calls but your nerves just won't cooperate.

“Lady!”

Who would be calling for you? Is your mind playing tricks on you now? And since when you were laying on the floor? Too many questions for too little answers. You try to stand up, but a sharp pain on your side made you cry out and fall on your back, face knotted in pain – perhaps your adrenaline rush was keeping you from feeling what was really happening with your body, and now you feel like you're betraying yourself for that.

A small figure approaches you in a fast pace, causing you to unleash your claws one more time and snarl at the not-so-possible threat; you were hurt. Vulnerable. Letting someone close was the last thing you wanted now. The humanoid thing backs away a few steps with your aggressive reaction, hands on their chest, visibly afraid – even though your vision is quite blurry, you identify their expression: scared, desperate, sorrowful – they call out once more, almost shouting.

“Please, Lady Dimitrescu, let me help!”

Ah... Help... The now clearer feminine voice washes over you - a wave of compassion - as if hope has found its way to your house again. Well, it better go away again, or you'll drag it out yourself.

“Out.” was all that left your lips, your intense gaze locking with hers, a silent yet not so discrete warning; although you had only said one word, it was well understood by the woman, who stepped away, eyes still meeting yours, a dreadful cast hang on her face.

Still, she didn't left.

Is that girl testing her luck? It can only be. Once again you warn her: “Leave. I will not repeat myself.”

Her posture stiffens, after a moment of silence she looks at the door, truly wondering about leaving or not; her body turns around, her knuckles going white from how hard she was grabbing the fabric on her chest – she's conflicted. But why? Who is she, after all? – A long, defeated sigh leaves her, as if she knows there is no choice left.

“Allow me to help.” A failed effort on trying to sound confident; her voice is full of tears and her tone is oscillating – it makes you wonder if she has been crying – The human walks towards you, trying not to make any eye contact; you can't stand on your feet, you left hand is pressed on your injured side, the other is open and directing your now extended nails towards her.

Oh how funny it is, no?

The predator being cornered by the prey. The dragon being trapped by the rabbit. How ridiculous it is.

Her extremely shaky hands hang in front of her, trying to say she won't hurt you – oh if she only knew it's going to be the other way round. – One step closer.. Her lips and chin tremble; Another. Your claws grow bigger, eyes peering through her soul; another step, your eyebrows frown, her eyes are teary. The last step - your blood is boiling hot, your nerves on edge; you are still the predator. - a slicing sound and a half-scream saturate the air for a millisecond, just for silence to overfill it once more. Red splashes over the room again, on your face, on your chest, but mostly on the floor, where the girl was thrown at.

An agonizing scream leaves her throat - what a miracle, she remains alive - both of her hands cover her face, blood spilling all over her; what a sight, you would most definitely enjoy this very much on another situation. She cries out in despair, making you face the ceiling and close your eyes, a tired look on your face – you just want all this to end, you don't have any more patience for this. You want to crawl back into your bed and starve, you want to destroy this place, make it abandoned ruins of what one day was a home; you want to kill that damned sickening man-thing, kill this foolish girl for perturbing your grieving, and then yourself.

The woman captures your attention once again, she is kneeling, her body facing yours, her right hand presses her ripped face, the other makes its slow way up to you, although she is trembling, she manages to keep her hand steady enough to hand you a little green flask with a yellow-y label; You look closer, 'treatment disinfectant' it says... Oh you can only be joking. You feel like slaughtering the girl right this instant, but takes in a deep breath and holds the flask, her hand immediately falling along with her body. Is she dead? No, her slow yet consistent breathing exclaims that she is still alive – you honestly find it a bit offensive – You should, but you cannot bring yourself to finish the human; you should end her suffering, but now she caught your attention; and besides, she wants to help, doesn't she? then the price she'll pay is staying alive.

———

hahaaa I'm so nervous about posting this,,, ,

and yes! It is a alcina x maiden fic! I do plan it to be slow burn, and if some you liked it and read it till here, please like and/or reblog and I'll post chapter 2!

( posted on Ao3! Name: “The woman in your castle” )

( chapter 2 posted!! )

#lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina x reader #alcina dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu #help idk what im doing

[sugurugetofavoritemonkey]

Pretty Necklace - Part 2 (Megumi x Reader)

✵ Pairing : Megumi Fushiguro x Female Reader.

✵ Summary : Megumi will protect you no matter what, and when you take care of him after he was hurt, things are getting a bit heated.

✵ Word count : 3.2k

✵ Warnings : smut, dry-humping, cum licking (male and female), fingering, handjob, intimacy (🥺), very little descriptions of harassing (don't worry yall Megumi is here), little descriptions of injuries, Megumi and reader are so soft.

✵ Note : As I said before, this chapter is almost ready since almost a month and I just finished the smut part today!

I never wrote that much so please tell me if this was good🥺

(I wasn't feeling well today and writing for him helped me a little, so thank you Megumi🥺) Maybe I will write more for him...

Chapter 1

ENJOY <3

After what happened a few days ago between you and Megumi, to your surprise, the two of you got even more closer. 

From the beginning of the day to the end of this one. 

He would walk all the way to your apartment, waiting in the cold while you got ready, his hands pushed down to the bottom of his hoodie’s pockets with his red headphones on his ears. 

When you would be finally ready, getting down the stairs one by one, he would scold you for not being quick enough, letting him alone for a too long amount of time, freezing. 

But when he saw you, freezing just as much as him, rubbing your own hands against each other to bring them more warmth, his frown would disappear instantly. 

Removing his hands from his pockets, he was getting closer to you, taking gently both of your hands between his own, much bigger than yours, making Megumi able to cup your hands perfectly in his. 

The second after, he approached his mouth to your palms, blowing on them, effectively offering them so much needed warmth. Exchanging a smile with him, Megumi then spoke to you with his lips still close to your palms. “You should start thinking about buying a pair of gloves, puppy”. 

That made you let out a light laugh when you answered quickly “I definitely won’t, if it means I can have my personal heater everyday, everywhere and a pretty one on top of that”.

Blushing for the umpteenth time since you got to meet each other, Megumi starts looking away, but you stopped him in his tracks, bringing a now warm hand to his face, making him look back at you, staring into your kind eyes. Tracing a thin line to his pinkish lips, Megumi closes the gap between the two of you before you could have the time to do it, giving you a messy kiss. 

As you separate from each other, Megumi breaks the silence, “You remember I have to go buy some food for the dogs, before we go get lunch right?”, as you nod in agreement, Megumi takes your left hand in his, intertwining his fingers with yours while you start walking alongside each other to your destination, his thumb absently brushing lightly against the top of your palm every now and then.

You were currently sitting on a bench, waiting outside for Megumi to come back from the pet store, your headphones in your ears, looking at some random pictures on Pinterest to make the time pass faster. 

The air was still pretty cold but luckily your boyfriend had gave you his jacket, insisting on the fact that “I don’t want you to catch a cold, last time you did, you were literally whining all day long and I had to fight with you because you didn't want to take your medicine, not again”. 

Okay maybe you were a pain in the ass when sick, but clearly who wasn't? 

As you started to get impatient, you carelessly tapped your foot on the ground, hoping that Megumi wouldn't take too long. 

As this thought processes in your mind, a group of three men were passing by, just next to you. At first you didn’t pay any attention to them, too focused on your phone and music to even fully raise your head up. But when one of the men lay his hand on top of your shoulder, you were instantly put out of your thoughts, and more importantly, you were feeling really embarrassed. 

As you remove one of the earphones out of your ear to hear what the man wanted from you, his two other companions start to get closer to you, almost caging you. And that is at that exact moment that you started to panic. 

“Hello pretty lady, you seem alone, maybe you want some company, maybe we could help?”

As the first man, the taller one, finished his sentence, all of the others started to smile, in a way almost disturbing. They were so gross, you thought. 

Albeit the fact that your legs were wobbly, you stand up to show you weren’t going to let them harass you in any way possible. 

But the fact that they outumbered you was not in the slightest way helping you. 

They were bigger than you, stronger and scarier. 

But as you felt the hand of the taller man beginning to slide down to your collarbones, you heard a voice, his voice. 

“Remove your hand. I won’t ask again”, Megumi’s voice was so composed that the contrast between his words and his tone was almost perturbing. But you knew him oh too well to make the distinction between softness and anger. He was trying as much as possible to stay calm despite the fact that you saw, even with the distance that he was clutching his fists so hard, that his knuckles turned white.

The guy didn’t budge, instead opening his mouth to declare, “And can you tell me what will you do? I could just take her right now and you wouldn’t even mov-”

He didn’t even have the chance to finish his sentence that Megumi had taken a few steps forward and punched the man in the face, surely having enough of his vulgar words. 

Even if Megumi was stronger than you and could easily get rid of these guys, the fact that the three of them threw themselves on Megumi at the same time wasn’t going in his favor. 

Everything escalated quickly and soon enough the three men were punching Megumi hard, not without the fact that he obviously hit back with as much force, if not more. 

As they were all bloody, Megumi succeeded in making them leave, as you got closer to him to support his body, the three guys ran back from where they came from, not without a few insults and threats. Even though Megumi had always been strong, the fight didn’t go well for him either. 

His wounds weren’t deep nor bad but all the littles cuts on his face and knuckles could easily get infected, in addition to the hits he received on the head that started to make him feel dizzy. 

As you were putting his arm around your shoulder just to stabilize him, he started to puff, “I’m okay, puppy, I swear”. 

“No you aren’t Megumi, your nose is starting to bleed, your lip as well, you're gonna come home with me so that I clean your wounds, end of discussion.”

When he touched his lip to find some blood on his fingertips, he knew he wasn’t that well, he hadn’t even felt the cuts before you noticed them.  

Maybe it was because Megumi never complained. Never. It didn’t matter how hard he was hurt, he would never talk about it, even to you. Even if he trusted you with his life, he had the habit to always take care of everything himself, not wanting to bother anyone. 

Maybe it was because he thought he could handle everything himself. 

Honestly, you didn’t like that, you wanted to share everything with your boyfriend, not just the moments of joy, but also every other moment where he needed you, whether it would be your help or comfort. But you knew that maybe, with time, he would open to you entirely. You could trust him about that. 

By the time you finally arrived at your apartment, opening your front door and switching on the lights, Megumi’s face was covered in a thin layer of his own blood. You made him sit on the couch while you were heading to your bathroom, to get disinfectant, some bandage and tissues with water. 

You tried to put everything in your arms and hands without making anything fall. As you get back to the living room, Megumi’s still waiting for you calmly. 

“You don’t have to do this you know… ”, he whispers, to which you reply back.  

“I know Gumi, but I want to.” 

“It doesn’t even hurt, puppy.”

You don’t believe him at all and as you press your thumb on the cut on his eyebrow, you hear a little hiss of pain slipping from his lips. 

“Liar.”

Caught off guard, he had no other choice than to let you help him, for once.

Knowing very well that you won’t let him get away with it this time. 

Seeing that he was now more compliant, you put your recipient filled with water on the side of the couch alongside the disinfectant and keep the bandages and tissues in your hands. 

To get more comfortable to clean Megumi’s wounds, you sit on his lap, your thighs on each side of his hips. 

You drench the tissue into the water besides you and start cleaning his wounds, from top to bottom. 

The first one is the cut on his eyebrow, which you think is the deeper one, seeing that most of the blood is coming from there. 

Then you move down to his nose, making sure to be extra gentle with the way you remove the dried blood. 

You continue with his lower lip, the most delicate area to clean, you don’t even dare wipe the tissue on it, but prefer to just press on it lightly.

And to finish, the back of his hand, you don’t count but it seems that nearly all of the knuckles on his right hand are open, small cuts lingering on them. 

You don’t seem to notice, but Megumi took his time admiring you all the while you were taking care of him. His eyes focusing on you and the tender touches that you put on his body. Never in his life did someone take care of him the way you did. 

He didn’t even ask for it, but deep down, he knew that he wasn’t regretting any of it. Even when you disinfect his wounds, he doesn’t flinch a inch. Too busy being concentrated on the way your delicate hands take the time to take care of every little cut, even the one who doesn't really need affection. 

Too lost in his thoughts he didn’t even feel you putting the sticking plaster on the skin of his nose. It’s your sweet laugh that put him out of his daydream. 

“Can you tell me why you're laughing please?”, hearing his tone, you don’t know if he’s amused or upset. You opt for both. 

“Nothing, it’s just that I had no idea that the Hello Kitty’s bandage would suit you so well”, you laugh again. Truly it was a sight to behold. 

Megumi with a frown and a little Hello Kitty on his nose. 

You make a mental note to take a picture of him later.

Thinking about earlier, your tone switches to a more serious one, “Megumi…Why did you do that? I could have defended myself you know, now it’s my fault that-” He cuts you off. 

“What they had in mind was bad. And I couldn't just stand there and let them do what they wanted. Never. I know you’re far from weak but I will do everything in my power to protect you. You know that right?” 

“I know Megumi”, you spoke tenderly. 

After a few few seconds had passed as Megumi and you look into each other’s eyes, both of you being too lost in your daydream to even blink, you closes the gap between his lips and yours, almost pressing a kiss to his lips when you move your head back a little to deny him this pleasure, giggling to yourself. 

Megumi looks at you with a raised eyebrow, not finding this as funny as you do. Before you feel Megumi grabbing your jaw to pull you back closer to his lips, you hear him jokingly but annoyingly say : “Rude”. 

You don’t have the chance to reply back when his lips cover yours in a comforting warmth. He doesn’t wait to deepen the kiss by putting his injured hand behind your neck, and adding his tongue to the kiss. 

As the kiss grows more and more passionate, Megumi and you sharing your own heavy breaths, you can feel his hands trailing down your sides slowly until they reach your hips, grabbing them with force. 

Megumi starts to rock your hips on his growing bulge, trying to ease the sexual tension between you and him. When he feels that you start to lack air he removes his lips from yours to kiss at the pulsing vein on your neck, biting you from time to time to leave a reddish mark on your throat, until a few marks are lingering on your skin. Indeed, showing everyone that someone was already by your side. 

Megumi wasn’t really the possessive type, but when he remembered some images from the past encounter you had with these gross men, his primal instinct of protecting you had just come back with full force.

His hungry kisses and bites makes you crave even more his body, his touches, and without realizing it, you take the lead in the back and forth movements on his sensitive area, making it throb against your aching cunt, giving more frictions to you and Megumi. 

You don’t know how many minutes had passed with you dry-humping each other in this silence apart from the kissing sounds and both of your panting breaths but when you put your forehead against his, you can finally hear him say something under his breath. 

“I’m going to cum if you don’t stop right now”. 

“Well, is that a bad thing Megumi?”

He laughed at that, “No, not if you come for me first”. 

His reply didn’t even surprise you, Megumi was the type of person to always put the people he cared about before him, always.

Even if he needed more love in his life. Megumi clearly deserved this love and far more.

When one of his hands makes its way under your skirt and inside your panties to rub at your swollen clit, you decide to do the same with him. Lowering his jeans a little for him and taking his hard cock out of his boxers. 

When you see the feeling of surprise making its way onto the face of your boyfriend, you speak before Megumi has the chance to argue with you. 

“We can just cum together hm?”, you smile at him. 

And when he reciprocates with his own smile, you know that, for once, he’s letting himself go, just taking his time to enjoy some pleasure with you. 

He starts first to insert his fingers in your already drenched pussy, thrusting them with ease at a regular space, not too slow, not too harsh, just building your pleasure as he adds his thumb on your clit, rubbing it just how you like it. 

Following him, you tighten your palm around him, pumping him with the same rhythm he has set up for you, and occasionally pressing your thumb on his red tip, smearing the precum on it. 

While mutually touching each other, your eyes find those of Megumi, as always. Not an hour would pass without the two of you looking intensely into each other's orbs, this gesture being your own silent “I love you”.  

When the pleasure begins to be too much for you, your head previously on his, starts to lower into the crook of his neck, finding comfort in his lavender scent. 

While Megumi, on his side, puts his head on your clothed chest, your fast beating heart efficient in giving him the lullaby that he needs. 

Your movements and Megumi’s are beginning to turn faster and more erratic as you’re now chasing for your orgasms. His fingers are now hitting all the spots that you need him to and his thumb is pressing harshly on your clit, while your hand slides up and down his now wet member from his own precum, making it easier for you. 

With this position, Megumi can directly hear your whines and moans of pleasure beginning to get louder, your mouth being on his shoulder, close to his ear. 

As you feel yourself close to your climax, you can hear him mumble into your shirt, “Come with me puppy, please”. 

And even though you’re sure that it’s almost impossible for two humans to climax at the same time, you swear that you can feel yourself clutch tightly around his fingers exactly when you feel him cum on top of your still moving hand, almost like a bond linking Megumi and you.  

When the two of you have come down from your orgasms, you two wait for your own breaths to come back to normal, in a comforting silence, a little whine or two breaking it when Megumi or you still feel the after wave of the climax. 

After a few minutes, Megumi feels your heart calming down and raises his head to look at you, while slowly removing his fingers from you. And you do the same, unclasping your palm from his softening dick, putting it back into his black boxers and removing your head from his shoulder to look at him. 

There’s a moment where you’re both looking at your own right hand covered in the other’s cum, and as you look up at the same moment, there’s like a silent agreement, like you understand each other. 

As you put your hand up to your lips to lick at the cum drops on your hand, Megumi does the same and licks at the juices on his fingers, all the while not breaking the bond between your gazes. 

When you’re both finished, you hear Megumi jokingly say to you, with a raised eyebrow, “Dirty”. 

“Hey you did the same, you dork”, you laugh at him. 

“True”, he replied back, not without a little blush that only you can notice. 

After that, Megumi takes the time to hold you in his warm embrace, ghosting his fingers on your back under your shirt, sometimes pressing little kisses on your nose or in the corner of your mouth. 

But when you notice again the Hello Kitty sticking bandage on his nose, you remember that he’s the one that should get some kisses at the moment. 

You gently move out of his hug, and when he look at you with a confused expression, you just take his face into your hands, softly kissing the cut on his eyebrow, then the pink bandage on his nose, the next one being his damaged lower lip and finally you take his hand in yours to kiss each and everyone of the cuts on his knuckles, sometimes looking up at him to see his eyes following where your lips try to ease his pain. 

When you kiss the last injured finger, Megumi has his brows furrowed in tenderness, asking himself what did he do to deserve such a precious angel. 

“I hope I helped them heal faster Gumi”, you smile at him with love. 

“If it doesn't work then I don’t know what will, puppy”, he replied to you just before kissing your forehead in a protective way.

#megumi fushiguro scenario #megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi x reader #megumi smut #jjk reader #jjk smut #jjk #jjk imagine #megumi imagine #megumi x you #megumi #megumi fluff #megumi scenario #megumi fushiguro imagine #fushiguro x reader #fushiguro smut #jjk scenarios #jjk fluff

[lovelybarnes]

berlin- b. barnes

pairings: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: mentions of blood and dying, fighting, weapons, avengers stuff, it’s not fluff

about: a challenge “berlin in the cold/ all that fighting/ all that snow” for @sventeen-daybreak

a/n: i hope this is good! it’s only 1k words or so, so i hope that’s enough lol i'm also so sorry for any mistakes, after reading it for like the third time, every word i read was just horrible so i stopped reading lmao

also i am currently working on the loki part 2, so i'm hoping it'll be out by thursday (aka my normal posting day)

"berlin in the cold,"

the cold air is nipping at your uncovered skin, numbing your nose and your cheeks, but you don’t seem to notice. your evening breaths are visible, swirling in front of you as white puffs. your fingers are tapping slowly against the leg of your suit, staining the color with the dark red on your fingers. you can still feel the wound they pressed on, the thick vermillion coating your fingers while you struggled to keep it in. you can still hear the whimpers and the screams, and the eyes that stared up at you, pleading for you to do something you were unable to.

the snow you’re standing in is pure white, a stark contrast to the carmine colored you can still see. very little of it is yours, but it’s a meaningless comfort with the reminder of the pain heavy, and it’s barely noticeable that the avengers came to help with so much death.

your legs still ache from the excessive use, thighs sore from squeezing heads so hard, the bodies belonging to them fall to the ground; dead or passed out, you didn’t bother to tell because you’d cracked their necks already. the weapons you used sit uselessly in the pockets of your suit: bloodied or chipped knives, broken tasers, and guns emptied of ammo.

you can still see the bodies, both human and alien, and a few in between, strewn across the white, but your face remains expressionless, the hate for the things that caused the destruction loud and clear as it runs in your blood, making your fingers reach out to take the lives you’ve already taken, not that you’d be able to with how exhausted you are now. the evidence of that, though, is nonexistent, and will be until you’re in the compound, free to pass out as you please in the confines of your own bed.

the presence behind you- familiar and comforting, a striking change from the ones you’d been encountering for the last hours- gently reminds you it isn’t your bed only anymore, but yours and bucky’s to share. the thought draws a relaxing sheen over your thoughts, the thought of hands and touches that don’t bring with them murderous intent a large enough relief to let your shoulders drop a little.

just a little, though, because even if you close your eyes, the metallic smell of blood remains, burning in your nose, appearing on your tongue, and the still bodies are still there, all life drained away.

“you’re cold,” bucky says quietly, and you don’t mind it; his voice is always soft, gravelly in a way that should shatter the war-ridden silence, but it doesn’t, only makes it tremble, as if he’s handling it with the same tender hands he handles you with- only light touches, as if you aren’t the opposite of the most delicate thing in the world.

you don’t respond, but you don’t need to, bucky has already slipped his arms from the coat you made him take, draping it over your shoulders. the only reason he doesn’t turn you around and puts it on you correctly is the eerie silence there rarely is when you’re around him, and the complete lack of your touch. you’re always at his side, hidden under his arm while you ask him if he’s okay because you always are.

you aren’t this time, he recognizes, watching you absentmindedly scratch at the dried blood on your thumb, the red speckles harshly interrupting the bright white as they land. “i don’t understand why they came here like that.” you think out loud, voice soft yet cracked. you mean suddenly, without the warning usually given and taken advantage of by arriving earlier, stopping most of the chaos and coldblooded murder.

“they’re aliens,” bucky points out dumbly, because he doesn’t know what else to say. he doesn’t understand either. this is something he asks you, and you answer with something true and honest because that’s what you are. you blink, not moving from the place you stand, watching the ruins of what was once a home. “but if we got here sooner-”

“you know what thinking like that does,” bucky interrupts carefully, and you do. you’ve seen the tears that tinge his eyes red and roll down his cheeks, the nightmares that limit his rest to only a few hours. yet, you can still only remember the little girl, whose blood possibly wouldn’t be caked on your hands if you’d gotten here earlier.

she was so little, you think, sniffling. “you’re cold,” bucky repeats, attempting to ease you into the quinjet where the rest of the avengers wait, friday doing her job stitching up natasha’s wounds. the stinging on your calf reminds you that you should probably be there too, but you remain still. “it was so pretty here,” you whisper, remnants of the place it used to be still floating in the air like a shadow. you wanted to take bucky here one day, show him how beautiful the cold could be; but the scarlet covering hides the beautiful, the bodies smearing the illusion, only confirming bucky’s views.

the snowflakes that fall from the sky mask the devastation with a sheen of peace, landing gently in yours and bucky’s hair in a way that makes him look angelic. it’s nearly ironic, with his gun shoved in his holster, bloodied and used. he’s still on your side, bright blue eyes staying frozen on you.

you’re standing in snow up to your knees, the ice unkind to your raw skin. the flakes only continue to fall, and you know that everything you can see will be covered by a new layer by tomorrow. it makes you upset, hand curling into a tight fist, sticky with blood. “why hasn’t anyone picked them up?” you ask.

“too much snow. shield didn’t have enough manpower to get them all,” bucky replies, staring at the alien carcasses that remain, shriveled and ugly, one caught in mid scream. you shake your head, “i don’t mean that,” you state, voice slightly raising, nearly breaking your facade. “i mean them, they don’t deserve to- to lie there with their murderers.”

“y/n…” bucky begins, your breathing catches, murmuring a no under your breath, “they didn’t deserve for their last memories to be fighting. they don’t deserve to be buried under so much snow.”

you turn to bucky, finally moving. “they didn’t deserve that.”

“i know,” he responds, voice hushed while he comes closer to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and waist. “i couldn’t help them,” you snivel, letting yourself fall against bucky completely until he’s practically carrying you, his body enveloping yours till you aren’t visible anymore, safe in his embrace.

“you did everything you could, you helped so many people,” bucky murmurs, pressing his lips against the crown of your head, “not enough,” you counter, cold tears bleeding into his shoulder. “so much, y/n. people are alive because of you.”

your arms finally go around his back, pulling him closer, “then why does it feel like i did nothing?” bucky shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut at the sound of your broken words. he didn’t know how to make this better. seeing you cry was new to him, it was always you comforting him, hugging him tightly and whispering loving words in his ear until he calmed down and clung to you as you ran your fingers through his hair.

“you did everything you could,” he repeats quietly, rubbing small circles on your back. “i really hate being an avenger sometimes,” you mumble into the ripped material of his suit. “i know. i do too,” he nods, kissing your head repeatedly. his body heat is melting the cold off of yours with each second that passes by. if you close your eyes, you can pretend you aren’t where you are, and the liquid coating your fingers isn’t what it is, but something less gory. not a heavy reminder of what happened.

“i don’t want to be here anymore,” you start, “i want to go home with you and never see anything like this again.” your words are unrealistic, and both you and bucky know that, but he nods anyway, pulling away from you and tugging the coat tighter around your body.

you walk next to him towards the quinjet, the snow you used to love stained with the ghost of the decimation that had just taken place.

"all that fighting; all that snow."

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #you x bucky barnes #avengers #avengers x reader #avenger!reader #avengers fluff #marvel #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes writing challenge #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x reader fluff #avengers+angst #bucky barnes x female!reader #bucky barnes x you #y/n x bucky barnes #reader x bucky barnes #sventeen-daybreak #sventeen daybreak

[one-boring-person]

Any Takers?

Gunnar Jensen (The Expendables) x reader

Warnings: violence, gun use, knife violence, blood imagery, death, swearing

Requested by: @80s4life

A/n: I hope you like this, though I kinda changed up a part of it😅 sorry for the long wait!💛

Masterlist

Gunfire pelts the concrete beneath my feet, grazing past my shoulders as I charge towards cover, head ducked down, gun held across my chest for some protection. My legs pump hard, feet pounding the ground with each step, my boots sounding in the enclosed space, though it is barely audible over the roaring barrage pursuing me. In my ears I can hear my rushing blood, pulse thundering under my skin, the adrenaline driving me onwards even as the tinge of fear starts to bite at my throat. 

The container seems to get further away as I sprint towards it, the gaping door taunting me as I grit my teeth and push harder to get there. Quickening my pace, I fail to notice the gunfire has abated until it's too late, my eyes widening as I come skidding to a halt. Adjusting my grip on the M-16 in my hands, I swallow tightly at the sight of the horde of soldiers moving towards me from the end of the passage.

Backing up, I spin on my heel, intending to race back the way I came, only to stop in my tracks as more approach me from behind. Swearing, I scan the area, frustration and panic building as I realise escape is impossible, the stacked steel containers on either side creating impenetrable walls, with no option of climbing out available. 

"I'm gonna need some backup here, boys. Any takers?" I say into the mic, nervously shifting, "I'm pretty far up Shit Creek over here."

I don't get a reply, my brain wracking itself for a solution, only to come up with one that is very unlikely to work but will keep me alive for long enough. Chewing my lip, I slowly slide the second automatic rifle I have with me off of my back, taking each gun in one hand respectively. Taking a deep breath, I move to face one of the walls, lifting my arms out to my side, my fingers held over the triggers of each gun. 

Clenching my jaw, I close my finger.

Instantly, bullets spray the gathering soldiers, shouts and screams of pain mingling with the thrum of gunfire, commands and orders being yelled in foreign languages as I fire into their ranks. Shots narrowly miss me as I stand stationary, my stance making it hard for anyone to get a good aim on me, though the whistling of one particular bullet past my nose has me slightly worried. Men fall in the squads to either side of me, diminishing them somewhat.

Soon enough, the rifles run out of bullets, the rounds completely distinguished now, my shoulders aching from the relentless recoil on the weapons. Gritting my teeth, I drop them to the floor, pulling out my two handguns, cocking them before firing into the scrambling ranks once more. 

Less men fall with these rounds, but those who do show no likelihood of standing up again, unlike some of those caught in the automatic fire, who were only wounded. The magazines of these guns empty quickly, but I swiftly reload them, biting back a cry of pain as a bullet grazes past my neck, just catching the skin. Hot blood leaks out onto my throat, but I know the wound is superficial so I simply keep firing, emptying more clips of bullets into the approaching soldiers.

Unfortunately, these run out relatively quickly, leaving me with no long-range weapon. 

Sighing, I glance between the two groups, a silence having fallen on us as they slowly walk towards me, guns raised. It isn't long before I'm surrounded by them, facing a circle of gun barrels, angry, bloodied faces behind them. 

Realising the situation, I feel my shoulders slump, the fight going out of my body as I hold my hands up in surrender, an annoyed frown in place on my face. It takes them a minute, but soon enough the enemy soldiers are stepping towards me, lowering their weapons to watch me be taken in. I bite back a sound of irritation as they come close, my heart racing in my chest; where are the others?! 

As the first hand makes contact with me, I spring back into action. Swiftly, I drive my elbow down onto the shoulder of a nearby soldier, following the momentum as guns are raised and fired, blood splattering me as men fall all around. Surging back upright, I pull my knife from my boot and drive it into someone's neck, slicing it cleanly before moving onto my next victim, swiping the blade round to make a jagged wound on their face. Bullets fly all around, hands and legs smacking at me as the men try to subdue me, my knife whirling and wounding anyone nearby. Blood coats my arms and face, gargles of the dying people at my feet going unheard as I duck and lunge, blade flashing brightly. 

With calculated proficiency, I stab the knife into a man's chest, pulling him round in time to shield me from a barrage of bullets, the body jerking in my grip as they tear into him. Pulling the weapon free, I go to turn onto a new person, only to find an arm thrown over my throat, pulling me back, cutting off my air. Grunting, I release the knife to grip at the arm, eyes widening as another moves towards us, lifting a foot in preparation to kick me. The blow is harsh as it strikes me, winding me as pain explodes in my abdomen. Groaning, I feel my eyes roll back into my head lungs burning for air as spots begin to form in my vision. With one last push, I grab the arm around my neck and pull down on it, bucking my body down so that his goes flying over me, releasing me from his hold.

Gasping, I fall to my knees, clutching at my throat and chest, wheezing breaths rattling into my lungs harshly. Unable to stand, I feebly lift a hand to defend myself as more men move on me, weapons raised as bats, three making agonising contact with my body before a hum of gunfire starts up again. 

This time, all the men around me are gunned down, leaving me kneeling amongst a sea of corpses, my body aching. Breathing heavily, I look up at my saviour, reaching for my knife as I see them hurrying towards me. A burst of relief floods me as I recognise who it is, only to feel it sour a little as I notice who it is.

"Stop tryin' t' play Rambo all the time, Squirt. It ain't cool." Gunnar grunts as he steps over the bodies towards me, face bloodied and bruised.

"I wasn't, actually. And don't call me that, asshole." I retort, voice slightly shaky as I climb to my feet again, taking up a soldier's gun as I go, checking it for bullets.

"Ain't gonna happen, Squirt." The Swede says dismissively, kicking at some of the corpses to check they're dead, shooting one through the head as he whines.

Flipping him off, I go to move again, limping slightly as I realise I've been grazed by a bullet on my leg, my trousers torn in many places. 

"You know, a "thank you" never hurt anyone." He calls after me, taking up a defensive position behind me.

Rolling my eyes, I thank him, barely sparing him a glance. 

"Thanks."

"Is that it?" Gunnar exclaims, incredulous, "No "thank you for saving me, Gunnar" or "I would've died without you, Gunnar"? Because you know damn well you would've."

"Yeah, yeah, imagine I said those things. You do it often enough anyway." 

"Can you two stop flirting for one moment? It's distracting as fuck." Lee's voice echoes through the earpiece I'm wearing, a few agreements following from the other team members.

I'd forgotten to turn my mic off,  a fact I now realise with a deep blush.

"We're not flirting, dickhead." I reply, edging round a corner, ready to fire if necessary.

"Keep telling yourself that." Caesar joins in, laughing a little, though his voice sounds strained.

"If you kids don't keep quiet, I'm gonna lock you all in the hangar for a week." Barney grouches over the mics, sounding stressed.

"Sorry Grandad." Lee quips back, clearly being affectionate.

"Very cute, Lee." I can almost hear Barney's eye roll.

"What's the plan, boss man?" Toll breaks in, out of breath.

"Get back to the plane for now - don't lead anyone to us, though! I'm not about to fight off a battalion of soldiers because one of you sorry idiots didn't watch your back." Barney informs us, waiting for a response.

"Got it, boss." Gunnar responds, his voice echoing weirdly in the mics as I hear him speak behind me.

Turning off the microphone, I carry on on my path, leading Gunnar with me. I have no idea where we are, but we can't be too far into the complex - I didn't get that far before I was ambushed. Unfortunately, that doesn't mean we won't get lost. Limping heavily, I sigh as I feel blood seeping through my trousers, as well as trailing down my neck from the wound on my neck. My entire body is aching and hurting, my cheek stinging from a blow of one man's assault rifle; it will bruise over soon enough, but for now it just hurts.

"You gonna survive, or do you need me to carry you?" Gunnar asks after a while, sounding almost genuine.

Before I can reply, however, voices chime in my ear, Barney and Lee suddenly shouting down the mics.

"The place is surrounded! There's no way out!" Barney yells at us, apparently dodging bullets as gunfire sounds in the background.

"Fuck, yeah, they're fucking everywhere!" Lee strains seconds later, sounding panicked.

Worried now, I come to a halt, glancing up at Gunnar.

"What do we do?" I ask them, trying not to sound too concerned.

"Only thing I can think of is splitting up and camping out here tonight...get back to the plane early in the morning. They'll be tired...make more mistakes." Barney replies, apparently running now.

"Camp? Where?" Toll questions, worry edging his voice.

"In one of the containers. It's the safest I can come up with." Lee replies, less snarky than usual.

Sighing, I shift in place, dreading a night of little sleep thanks to constant paranoia already. 

"Ok, got it." Gunnar bites out, meeting my gaze.

*

"Relax, already, there ain't gonna be anyone coming up this high." Gunnar sounds exasperated as I tap my knees, a nervous habit I picked up years ago.

"I know that." I snap, a little tense now, "Doesn't mean I can't be careful."

"Well, you better not keep that up all night. If I don't get any sleep because of you, I'll be pissed." The Swede warns, taking a swig from his hip flask.

"Like I give a damn." 

Gunnar grumbles something, but I don't quite catch it, making me look at him properly.

"What was that?" I question, suspiciously.

"I said " You used to"." He repeats, staring me down, "Not anymore. You're too fucking stubborn."

"Stubborn?! You're fucking stubborn! I wasn't the one who refused to listen to my friends when I tried to set off a bomb that nearly killed me!" I fire back, only to regret my words as I yet again refer to the one incident I'd rather forget.

It's silent for a moment, neither of us saying a word to fill the new void, only staring at each other, until I drop my eyes.

"Why do you always dwell on that one bad moment?" Gunnar finally says, voice somewhat quieter than normal.

Glancing back up at him, I feel the need to give in to the urge I've had for months, every part of my being screaming at me to reveal the truth behind my constant upset over the incident. I swallow tightly, my thoughts conflicted, until I finally give in.

"Because," I sigh, "That was the day you broke my heart."

He sits, shocked, eyes widening, mouth falling open.

"I...you...what?" Is all he manages, rendered completely speechless.

Fighting back the tears that have sprung to my eyes at the painful memory, I bite my lip and look away from him, building the courage to reply.

"I loved...love...you. I always have. I hate that we argue and bicker all the time, and I hate insulting you, but I have to because you don't feel the same. You hate me! I never told you anything because I was afraid you'd laugh me off and take the piss." I grit out, swallowing again, "That day back then, you broke my heart. Those things you said...god, it nearly killed me. I've never gone a day without hearing them, so I bring the moment up a lot because the others think it was a day when you just fucked up at your job and will joke about it at your expense. It makes me feel better."

Finishing, I clench my fists in my lap, unsure of how this is going to go.

Gunnar stays quiet for a long moment, before he suddenly climbs to his feet, stopping low in the steel container to avoid hitting his head. He sits himself in front of me, taking one of my hands and pulling it to his lips. Gently, he places a kiss there.

"I wish you'd said sooner." He murmurs, before leaning in close and pressing his lips to mine. 

Surprised, it takes me a moment to respond, but I do so quickly once my head has caught up, my arms moving to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer. It's a slow, sweet kiss, our lips moving in sync, his hand cupping my jaw, fingers stroking over my cheek. Soft sounds leave us as we push closer, the Swede swiftly pulling me into his lap, arm falling to wrap around my waist, securing me in his hold. 

Eventually, we pull back, looking into each other's eyes, smiling a little at the adoration we find in them. I feel a sense of relief spread through me, a breathless sigh leaving me as we gaze at each other. 

"I'm sorry for what I said back then. It was wrong and-" Gunnar starts, only to stop when I place a finger over his lips to shush him.

"I forgive you, Gunnar. I just want to know if they're true or not, those things." I whisper to him, chewing my lip.

He shakes his head firmly.

"No. None of them. I love everything about you." He reassures me, nosing at my neck, "I love you, (Y/n)."

Smiling, I relax into his grip, exhaustion starting to overwhelm me as he manoeuvres us onto our sides, lying against the wall of the container, my body cradled against his chest. It's not long before I fall asleep in his arms.

-

Tag list -

@posionivy0061 @the-schizotypal-cryptid

#the expendables #the expendables x reader #gunnar jensen #Gunnar Jensen x reader #Gunnar x reader #the expendables imagine #break writes #dolph lundgren

[nctsjiho]

Bloody Accident

warnings: mentions of blood and injury

❀ A little accident in the practise room becomes something a little more serious

The 10 members of NCT 127 had gathered in the practise room to prepare for their next Japanese release. They hadn’t recorded their songs yet, but the demo for the tittle track ‘gimme gimme’ served as good enough material to learn the choreography to.

The members were either sat down on the floor or standing up in their spots as the choreographer explained one of the moves the oldest member was struggling with. “Jump and then let go.” The choreographer said, putting emphasis on the order of the movements. Once Taeil finally understood he was asked to repeat it a few times. Though he was doing the moves right, something seemed a bit off. JiHo watched his every move until she realised how she could help him. “Oppa! I think I can help you. If you just-” As fast as she had stood up, was as fast as she was crouched on the floor again. Her hands covering her face when her vision becomes blurred.

“JiHo!” Taeil was immediately at her side checking up on her. The girl had stood up just as he threw his hands back powerfully to practise the aforementioned dance move, he had barely noticed her standing up and he definitely didn’t realise how close she was standing next to him. His hand had made contact with her face, in particularly her nose, with an incredible amount of force and now she was hunched over, most likely in so much pain.

“I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” Quickly the other members gathered around asking her if she was okay and not in any pain - though it was pretty obvious she would be in pain after the loud sound the impact produced. “Yeah.” She mumbled, but had yet to look up or remove her hands from her face. “I hit you really hard, please let me check. I want to see if I didn’t do any damage.” Taeil hated the fact that he had to say that out loud. He feared for the worst. His head filled with desperate wishes that he didn’t break her nose or anything severe like that.

“I’m going to take a look now okay?” His voice wavered a little before he placed his index finger under the girl’s chin. He noticed how his finger felt slightly wet and - oh God - did he wish it were tears, but he was almost positive that it wasn’t the salty liquid he hoped for. He gulped and then pushed up her face, his other hand carefully pulling one of hers away. “Oh my God.” Jungwoo gasped as he saw the red stained palm of JiHo’s hand. More worried sentences filled the room but JiHo just waved her hand as a sign to tell the boys she was fine.

The choreographer had ran over with some tissues. He gently wiped her nose, holding it and slightly pushing on each side to check if it was broken or not. “I don’t think it’s broken JiHo, but it’s still bleeding a lot so let’s go to the hospital okay?” She nodded reluctantly and soon felt a hand on her waist to help her stand up.

JiHo finally decided to open her eyes for the first time since the initial impact, but quickly regretted it as a painful sting surged through her head. She stumbled a little but Yuta, who hadn’t let go of her waist yet, was there to stabilise her. “You sure you’re okay?” Taeil asked concern so visible in his eyes it made JiHo feel bad. If only she hadn’t been bleeding so much, everything would’ve been fine. Her eyes lowered towards the ground were she was confronted with the sight of the pile of bloodied tissues. “Oh my- Is that my blood?” Her words were slightly slurred as she pointed towards the tissues. Taeil nodded but lifted her head telling her to keep her head up since she still hadn’t stop bleeding from her nose. “Don’t worry about it.”

Blood had never been something to trigger JiHo. She doesn’t even get set off when someone throws up in front of her, but for some reason, whether it be the blow to her face or the fact she was sleep-deprived and suffering the beginning of a cold - or maybe even the combination of both - but this time the sight of blood had made her sick to her stomach. Yuta had brought his hand up to JiHo’s forehead to brush away her bangs and tilt her head backwards a little, but what he didn’t intend to happen was that the girl’s legs would give out from underneath her and without his second hand he wasn’t in time to completely break her fall. The girl heard a few frantic calls of her name, before her world became completely dark.

  JiHo’s eyes fluttered open and she was met with the sterile white walls of a hospital room. She looked around a bit until her eyes met the back of Johnny and Taeil’s heads. In front of them sat Mark with a clear view of JiHo. “Dude! You can’t just faint on us like that!” He stood up once their eyes met and walked towards her. The older boys, slightly startled by Mark’s sudden outburst, caught their breathes and walked up to JiHo as well.

“The doctor said that you’ll be fine, but you need a lot of rest and you were also dehydrated.” Taeil sounded almost disappointed, but more so worried. JiHo just looked at him knowing that if she were to apologise as she planned it would only be met with protest because she didn’t really have a reason to apologise anyway. She just felt bad that her poor health had paused practise for at least 3 of her members. “We’re practising for a comeback JiHo, you need to take better care of your body. Even though I’m the reason your nose started bleeding in the first place...” “It’s okay oppa, I know you didn’t do it on purpose.” She placed her hand on his giving it a gentle squeeze. “And besides, I think you got the move down now. It looked pretty decent. Besides the hitting me in the face part of course.” JiHo’s attempt to brighten the mood sent Mark and Johnny into a laughing fit and the oldest had to stop himself from cursing at the girl, but his hard look quickly turned to a smile.

Taeil then ruffled the girl’s hair, who tried her best to lean away from his hand feigning annoyance. ”You better get the bloodstain out of this shirt when we get back to the dorms, it’s one of my favourites.” He argued, pointing towards the stain on his white tee. “After you cook me dinner for almost breaking my nose.” She smirked at him and now the two were in a stare - more like glare - contest. “Okay! Enough, can we just call the nurse and get out here, Mark needs to go to the bathroom.” Johnny yelled causing the oldest and youngest to burst out laughing with Mark yelling at Johnny for throwing him under the bus like that. “Man, I’m never telling you anything anymore.”

#jiho.writings #nct 24th member #nct addition #nct fluff #nct scenarios #nct reactions #nct imagines #nct female member #nct extra member #nct additional member #nct taeil imagines #kpop!addition #kpop!oc

[pikemoreno]

lucky

pairing: marcus moreno x gn!reader

request: from @chibi-liz05​ “Can I request a Marcus Moreno fic (or ficlet, or drabble) where either Marcus or reader gets hurt (not seriously hurt) and end up in a med bay, kinda woozy from pain meds and they have a funny and/or cute conversation when the other one goes to check on the one hurt? Please.”

warnings: mentions of blood, injuries, death. it starts out pretty darn angsty, but gets silly and fluffy i promise. these two are hella married.

word count: 2.7k

a/n: honestly this is nothing like you asked for until the end? but this lil drabble idea inspired this whole one shot so i hope you enjoy what you helped my brain create? i loved this, needless to say.

i love this himbo and i’m so happy to write for him.

And thank you for the medical advice to @disgruntledspacedad! Thanks for helping me choose the right drug! 😆

wanna join a taglist? | masterlist

This was Marcus’s least favorite part of his job. 

As the newly deemed Director of the Heroics, he was the one to decide who went out on what mission when and with who. Normally it wasn’t too tall of an order. After all, he was chosen as director for good reason. He was perfect for the job. He was smart, organized, resourceful, and tried in everything to understand people-- whether that be in their personal habits or in their superpowered strengths. He was often commended for his ability to form the perfect teams for whatever job arose; and it came pretty naturally, it really did. 

That is, until emotion got involved, until personal bias compromised his decision making.

He was determined to not let you go on the mission, absolutely not. The band of powered individuals the team was going after were incredibly dangerous and unpredictable.They’d been a problem for months and this mission was all or nothing. The high stakes and vulnerable position made him incredibly reluctant to make you a part of the team that was heading out under the cover of night to apprehend them. When he didn’t name you among them, he was immediately countered by the rest of the heroes in the room about the choice. 

By all the accounts they were right. Given the tactics of the mission at hand, your teleportation abilities were perfect for the job. And if he was being even a little more honest, he’d agree with Miracle Guy that not sending you with them was a “disservice to the team.” It was and he knew it. In a very un-Marcus Moreno move, he was making the completely wrong choice and he wasn’t going to let the sound judgement of anyone else change his mind.

“Psion is not going and that is final,” he boomed. The room became deathly silent. “Now, go get ready. You leave in 20.” But no one moved, no one could. They were glued to the floor, watching their unflappable leader become uncharacteristically flapped. 

Marcus was the one to stomp out of the room first and you followed him without hesitation.

“Marcus,” you called, nearly running to keep up with long strides. “Marcus!” 

He didn’t even deign to turn around.

In a blink you were now in front of Marcus, hands out to stop him from continuing on without talking to you.

“No teleporting outside of work, Psion” he snapped lowly, but he still obliged your silent request and remained in front of you. You blinked at the small outburst.

“Mind losing the ‘tude so we can talk like adults?” You countered. Marcus lowered his head and whispered an apology. At that you stepped closer to him, your hands coming to rest on his tense shoulders in a soothing manner. “What’s bothering you, love? You know you can talk to me. This isn’t like you at all.”

When his eyes met yours again they were pained.

“It’s too dangerous,” was all he could get out at the moment. His exhale was unsteady as he leaned in, his forehead meeting yours in a much more “Marcus” gesture that brought you both back down to earth.

You sighed, fingers carding through the short hairs at the nape of his neck. “Of course it is. It always is.”

“Not like this,” he countered, biting his lip. “These guys are no joke.”

“Neither am I,” you grinned, tapping his nose with your own before pulling back to look at his face in full. He laughed a little, but it wasn’t whole-hearted, you saw it in his eyes.

“And I trust you. I do. I know you’re capable. I just--”

“Worry?” 

“Yeah, that.” His eyebrows were furrowed. You softly ran a thumb across the harsh lines it made, smoothing them and making him smile.

“I’m not going to lie to you and say nothing is going to happen. Because it might.” He winced at the words, not wanting to think too hard on what “it” could be. “But I’m prepared and so is the rest of the team. We’re gonna watch each other’s backs like we always do and getting everyone out safely is going to be our priority over completing the mission. It’s going to be business as usual and it’s going to be OK. I’m going to be OK. You’ve gotta let me go. They need me out there tonight.”

“I know,” he sighed. “Just… Be careful. Be ready in 10.” You sighed in relief.

“Thank you, Marcus.” You kissed him. “It’s gonna be fine.” He kissed you. “We’ve got ‘em this time. I know it.” One last kiss, strong and lingering. You tilted your head, an invitation-- no, a plead-- for a deeper kiss, which he obliged before being the one to break it. 

“Go,” he murmured, “Or you won’t make it before they leave.” You nodded, taking a deep breath. “Be careful. I love you.”

“I love you too.” You smiled through the sudden onset of nerves before turning and walking down the hallway to join up with the rest of the team.

***

That had been hours ago. Now Marcus was in command with a skeleton crew, the late hours of the assignment sending most of the support and technical team home. He quickly decided that was probably for the best. The sweet little interns did not need to see their mentor so stressed and antsy. No, he had to be “on” for them, he had to be the Marcus Moreno. And he couldn’t be that right now. Right now he was an anxious husband and teammate. 

“Where are they now, Connie?” he asked the poor woman at the comms desk behind him for the upteenth time that hour.

“Trackers say they’re still in the hanger, sir. Last update was that they had the grunts and were waiting for the ring leader to respond to their distress call.”

He wasn’t responding. It’d been two hours. And that was a major cause for concern.

“Tell them to just bring who they have back here and we’ll keep searching for him. This is still a win as far as I’m concerned.”

The man who was on comms moved to press the talk button to speak to the team, but the comm crackled to life before he had the opportunity. 

“It’s an ambush!” Miracle Guy yelled from the other side, “We’re sitting ducks out here!”

Marcus’ heart dropped into his stomach. 

“Go! Go! Get back to the-” He heard your panicked voice call out, the sentence interrupted by a cry of pain. 

The room spun. Marcus knew he was yelling but he couldn’t hear a word of what he said. It all just sounded like white noise now, mixing with the jumbled thoughts in his head and the ringing in his ears. He must’ve said something right though, because everyone was working. One was arranging a rescue, one was calling out the vitals of the team via the trackers on their wrists-- everything seemed fine by the tone of voice, but Marcus couldn’t be sure. He couldn’t grasp a word that was said to him. He was totally on autopilot, only able to respond in vague nods of yes or no. 

“Hey,” one voice next to him cut through the fog and he looked up to Lucas, the man who ran comms, “They’re going to be ok.”

Marcus’s response was non-committal, not wanting to pull the young man down to share his current state of mind, but not allowing himself to share in his confident optimism either.

The next hour went by in a whirlwind and the next thing he knew, Marcus was downstairs in the medical wing waiting on you and your team to arrive. He’d been in this position before and the thought of it made his throat close up. The images flashed through his mind of a gurney and too much blood and a confused little girl and black clothing on a rainy day in April. 

He closed his eyes harder as if to block it all out. 

No, it couldn’t be like last time.

It was then that he heard the distinct sound of the sliding doors opening and the murmur of a small group of people. His eyes shot open and, though he stood to his feet, he felt that he could collapse in relief. There was no gurney. Minimal blood-- just a couple of cuts on your face. You were hobbling in, arm around Miracle Guy as he helped you keep pressure off of your left leg. Your face was pained, which probably should have concerned him more, but he was just too happy to see you upright… Breathing. As long as he had that, you could get through anything else together. 

He watched as the medical team surrounded all of you, asking questions, prodding delicately at injuries. Marcus could vaguely hear your voice cutting in and out through it all. 

“Super strength… Kicked… Broken.” 

They had asked you a couple more unheard questions that you responded to in a simple yes or no and then they were leading you to sit on one of the beds. He watched as you went, noticing the way you were looking around for… Something.

Oh.

He smiled.

You were looking for him.

In all his panic and then relief, it hadn’t occurred to him that you would want to see him just as badly in your current state. His heart warmed at the way your tired eyes lit up when they met his. He all but ran to you. 

“Hey baby,” he cooed, leaning in to capture your lips in a deep kiss. He’d never been more in awe of you, that you were real, that way you were his, that he could kiss you freely. When he pulled away he observed your injuries closer. Head wounds were always scary amounts of bloody, but he could see that all of the cuts were minor. He brushed a strand of hair away from where sweat and blood had plastered it to your forehead. “What happened? How are you feeling?”

“I’ve been better,” you hissed as a stab of pain surged through your leg. He looked down to observe it. His immediate diagnosis wasn’t a good one. It was terribly hard to break a femur, but he was certain this was exactly what it would look and feel like. “Some super-strength asshole kicked me in the thigh to knock me down and--” You winced again. “They think she broke my femur, and I would have to agree.”

“I have to say I’m thinking that too,” he sighed. “I’m so sorry.” He kissed your forehead in between the cuts.

“What are you sorry for? You’re the one that tried to keep me from going. I forced you to let me go.”

“I should’ve stood my ground and had you and the team be mad at me,” he said completely seriously. 

“You’re ridiculous.” You side-eyed him, but smiled through the words. One of the medical staff returned at that moment, bringing over supplies to clean your cuts and asking if you’d like something for the pain while they got prepped for surgery. You nodded eagerly. 

“I’ll take this over,” Marcus said, hands open to take the first aid kit, “If you want to go get that?”

“Oh, sir I couldn’t ask you to--” The young woman gawked, slightly unbelieving that her boss’s boss’s boss would volunteer to do her job.

“You’re not asking me, I’m asking you.”

“A-- Yes, right away.” She handed him the kit and seemed to flee his presence to get an IV ready. You sat in silence a few moments as he prepared everything. He seemed lost, even in this small task. It took him longer than it should’ve to get his ducks in a row.

“Someone’s a little edgy,” you prodded, watching as too-intense eyes focused on cleaning dried blood from your forehead. He shook his head, eyes softening, but maintaining their focus. The whole endeavor was very clearly an attempt at keeping his hands as busy as his mind was. 

“I’d thought I‘d lost you. I thought...” His jaw tightened-- and it wasn’t due to the effort of wiping up blood. You stopped his hand from continuing its ministrations, lacing your fingers together.

“That it was all happening again?” you whispered. 

“It was like deja vu, baby. Everything was just like before.” The last word almost came out like a whimper. 

“But it’s not. I’m right here. I’m ok.” You brought your forehead to meet his comfortingly. The cuts stung just a little at the touch, but you remained there with him, feeling a deep, grounding breath fan lightly across your face.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

You kissed his nose and pulled away as you heard the medic return with the Versed for the pain. Marcus stayed right by your side as you were put on the IV, a hand staying firmly on yours. Which more for him than for you if he was honest. It brought him back to reality and out of his head. He no longer had to imagine the worst, because the best had happened. You were really there. It wasn’t a repeat of the aching horror of seven years before, the day that still had you shaking him awake from unspoken nightmares. You’d made it home to him and Missy-- but he was going to be hard-pressed to go against his better judgment again, no matter how much the team needed you.

“Alright, you’ll start to feel it in just a few seconds. We’ll be back soon to take you into surgery, ok?” the medic explained to you as the IV was in place. You nodded. 

“In the meantime, let me keep working on this,” Marcus gestured to the bandages in the kit. As he got to work, he watched the look in your eyes totally change, the Versed taking effect. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, covering the cut that just barely grazed your right eyebrow.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you sighed dreamily in a total demeanor change. The whole room lit up in his eyes. Marcus grinned at the way your posture slumped just slightly in relaxation. “And how are you?” you winked. Oh, this was going to be fun. He really needed to keep you talking.

“I’m doing great. Happy to be here with you, sweetheart. Now, sit still while I take care of this last cut,” he cooed. 

“Ok,” you giggled. “What a charmer.” 

“I try my best, darling.” He played along, enjoying the way the Versed had turned you into a starstruck girl with a crush.

“Oh noooo,” you squeaked suddenly.Marcus panicked, checking you over quickly for further injury. 

“What is it? Are you ok?” 

But you only grabbed his left hand, holding it up.

“You’re married!” 

Marcus blinked. What was in that stuff they’d given you? You put your face in your hands and Marcus tried to contain his laughter at the way your voice was muffled by your fingers. “You’ve been so nice and caring! I wanted to ask you on a dateeee. I’m so sorry if I came on too strong.”

“Baby,” he called with a sweet lilt to his voice-- still trying to hold in a laugh. 

“You shouldn’t call me that,” you sighed sadly, pouting, “You’re married. We can’t be together.” 

“Of course I’m married,” he held your left hand up now, “I’m married to you, you goof.” You blinked at the silvery ring on your finger. 

“Oh!” you practically yelled, “That’s so cool!” Marcus’ heart warmed at the way your eyes lit up at the realization. Even drugged out of your mind you were excited to be with him. He couldn’t help but feel likewise.

“I agree,” he smiled, “It’s very cool.” He intertwined his fingers and yours. 

“I’m so lucky,” you grinned toothily in response. It was so unlike the smiles you usually gave him: too exaggerated and, in a word, dopey. But it held the same affection. 

“No, I’m definitely the lucky one,” he countered. Your grin faltered slightly as you grew sleepy-- another possible effect of the Versed, he guessed. “Now, go ahead and lay back for me ok? I’ll see you as soon as you’re out of surgery.” You nodded in agreement and then right off to sleep.

Oh, he could not wait for you to get out so he could tell you about just how “lucky” the two of you were.

#marcus moreno x reader #bri writes #marcus moreno

[maximoffcarter]

Bloody girl. 

Pairings: Wanda x reader

Warning: Mentions of blood. 

Summary: Y/n’s trauma was blood; she couldn’t see blood, she couldn’t feel blood, she could barely keep herself together at the mention of the word. She had struggled with this for so long after being an experiment and developing this unusual but not too weird fear. So what happened when Tony Start makes a special necklace for her but she keeps forgetting it? Only one person understood what she felt, only one person could help her out. 

A/n: This was specially requested by @mionemymind, again, another amazing request and was fun to write :)  I am back again! I take requests, I have other ships I can also do and if you have any idea you can either use the ask box or you can message me privately ;)

There are a lot of phobias around the world; some have phobia to spiders, to heights, to the ocean, etc. Y/n thought it was silly that they called her own a phobia, it wasn’t. They just didn’t understand what she had gone through back with HYDRA, they didn’t know how much she suffered for them to get her powers. They didn’t understand what she felt all those nights lonely in that dark and small room where she sometimes almost fainted for all the blood that she found on her or on the floor. It was an image that she couldn’t shake away, she’d try to look away and focus on the wall and the little marks she had done, counting down the days; waiting for her dead.

But even then, she hadn’t died. She got to escape that horrible place and that’s when Tony and Steve found her. They didn’t treat her right away, they didn’t trust her, judging by the clothes and her powers, they knew she had been another HYDRA toy. Maybe she could be worse than Wanda, or faster than Pietro was. They weren’t sure, they needed to keep her away. But they Wanda went to the basement where they kept you, in that small cell but somehow it was better that the dark room. She had stared at y/n and understood what she had gone through.

It took them 2 days to figure out who y/n really was, just like her phobia, as they called it, though they didn’t know how bad it was, just knew what the brunette had told them. Tony decided to help her out and create this necklace that she always had to use; the necklace included a small blue stone, it seemed to have something inside, but Tony had said ‘Do not ask, just use it and I’m sure it’ll help’ and she didn’t ask anymore.

The first time she trained, after 4 months, Steve had accidentally pushed her to hard and she had hit her forehead, drawing a little blood from it which made Steve panic because he thought she’d freak out, but apparently the necklace had helped, and she didn’t have a reaction to it. Steve had carried her to one of the rooms so they could check her and make sure she didn’t have any problem.

Y/n held a small bag of ice against her forehead as she waited for someone to come check her. She thought it was ridiculous to wait if nothing had happened, surprisingly, she didn’t see any blood, which was weird. She turned around when she heard a knock on the door and Wanda stood there smiling at her.

“Hey there.” Wanda smiled.

“Hi.” She offered a smile. “Are you going to be the one checking my forehead?”

Wanda chuckled softly and shook her head. “No, but I heard Steve freaking out, so I wanted to make sure you were okay.” She then made her way to y/n. “But I can take a look if you want me to. Not a professional but maybe I can make it better.”

Y/n swallowed a little as she noticed Wanda coming closer. She nodded and put the ice bag on the table in front of her. “Sure. Whatever helps to get me out of here.”

Wanda offered another smile before she walked closer to her, standing between y/n’s legs, and placing her hands carefully on y/n’s cheeks to take a better look. This only made y/n tremble a little, as she felt the warm hands on her cheeks; she wasn’t used to this kind of contact, so Wanda touching her was strange but…also sweet. And it wasn’t the first time, Wanda had taken her hand before and had hugged her occasionally, and yet, it was surprising and sweet. She had started to like this.

“It’s not a deep cut, thankfully don’t need stitches.” Wanda smiled as she grabbed the first aid kit to clean the cut.

“Well good. Apparently, Tony’s necklace did work.” Y/n smiled as she looked up at Wanda as she cleaned the cut, how careful and soft she was, she tried to not hurt y/n. She now had totally forgotten about what was happening, thinking how Wanda was so close to her, she could easily wrap her arms around her waist to pull her closer.

“It did work, and I’m glad. Wouldn’t want to see how you react.” Wanda joked as she blew a little on the cut. She smiled at her work. “I won’t cover it today so we let it breath but if it bothers you, maybe we could do it later.”

Y/n nodded. “Thank you.” She smiled again as she cleared her throat and laughed a little. “Uh…no, you wouldn’t want to see that. It’s not pretty. No one has really seen it or like…they have but…they didn’t care.” She tried to sound normal about it, trying to cover the pain she felt as she confessed that, looking down at the floor.

Wanda tilted her head and placed one of her hands on her cheek, stroking it softly. “Hey…” she made y/n look up at her and smiled softly. “We care. We would care. We are here to protect you. I am here to protect you.”

Y/n’s eyes softened at her words, building up enough courage to wrap her arms around Wanda, pulling her into a hug. “Thank you.” She whispered softly.

____________________

Y/n made a mental note to never forget the necklace. She normally didn’t sleep with jewelry unless she was really tired and she fell asleep, but this time she swore she would never forget it because it was the only think that kept her sane and didn’t make her faint because of the blood. But a mission at 2 am in the morning wasn’t very helpful for her to remember she had put it in the nightstand beside her bed. She hadn’t really noticed even in the way to the location, she was tired, but they had specifically asked for her to go, along with Wanda, Steve, and Natasha.

Everything was good, they were fighting the bad guys, and everything seemed to be cool. Until y/n had to fight with one of the soldiers and she had apparently broken his nose. She froze in place when she noticed the blood coming from his nose, she couldn’t hear anything around her anymore, she felt her heartbeat raising as she backed away. Shit…the necklace. She kept her hand close to her chest as she tried to find it but knew there was no point, remembering that she had left it back in her room.

So the next move the soldier made, y/n didn’t see it coming. She only felt a sharp pain in her cheek, and she fell to the floor. If it wasn’t enough to have seen the blood in his face, it was now enough as she touched her face and saw the blood in her hand. She breathed heavily and felt herself already dizzy as she looked up and saw the same soldier looking down at her, ready to end her. But in that same moment, she felt something pulling her away from him; the last thing she saw was Wanda looking down at her and then she closed her eyes.

____________________

Y/n opened her eyes and groaned at the bright light hitting right in her eyes. She looked around as she tried to figure out where she was. She turned to finally find Tony standing right beside her, apparently checking something as he hadn’t notice she had woken up.

“What happened?” Y/n asked in a whisper as she tried to sit down.

“Calm down there, bloody girl. You got yourself a good punch in the face. And also…” He turned to look at her. “You forgot your necklace. I didn’t waste my time for you to keep it here.”

Y/n sighed. “I know, I’m sorry.”

Tony shook his head. “It’s good, now we know what happens to you. I wasn’t there but judging by the cut on your cheek and you coming back asleep, I figured it by now.” He looked down at her and sighed. “There’s someone outside waiting for you, she has been waiting all night.” He said before he left the room and a redhead walked in, closing the door behind her.

“Wanda.” Y/n smiled softly.

“Hey you.” Wanda smiled as she walked to the bed. “How are you feeling?”

Y/n shrugged. “Better, I guess.” She then stared at her for a few seconds as she smiled. “You saved me. I remember seeing you before I passed out.”

Wanda nodded. “I couldn’t let you get more hurt when you were unconscious.”

Y/n nodded. “Yeah well…now everyone knows what happens to me.” She shrugged. “But…thank you. I just…I don’t know.” She chuckled softly.

“No problem.” Wanda smiled. “So…what happens now? Do you need a follow up or anything? Or-“

“No. I mean…I’ll try not to forget the necklace again which I know it’s gonna happen again if they keep calling us at 2 am in the morning.” She chuckled.

Wanda chuckled. “Well…I won’t mind saving your ass again.”

Y/n stare at Wanda without saying a word, not sure what she could exactly say after that. What did that mean? Though, she wouldn’t mind either if she got to be in her arms and- “Well then. I’ll hold you to that.”

____________________

And y/n wasn’t lying, she did forget about the necklace one in a while, when Natasha or Steve would suddenly wake her up in the middle of the night. Y/n made them promise that they wouldn’t say a thing to Tony because it was enough with the long talks they had gone through all this time. Steve said something about Tony trying to protect her, even thinking about doing a suit for her to help her out but y/n was okay with her own suit, didn’t need to be another Iron Man. But what really caught her attention, and really everyone’s attention in these accidents, was that Wanda never missed a mission with her, even if they hadn’t asked her to go, she would join them and she would always make sure y/n was okay, of course she would check if she had the necklace and if she hadn’t, she would make sure to protect her, forgetting there were other people to protect too.

Then, it started to becoming a routine to take y/n’s necklace for her or remind y/n about it, making a joke or just being serious with her, threatening that she would tell Tony about it. But how could she even care about it if Wanda was always there? They had grown close together and she felt bad to putting the necklace excuse just so Wanda could be there. But she also didn’t do in purpose.

After the training, y/n sat on the floor as she took deep breaths, trying to relax her body. It had been a while since she had joined the team and she felt that she was getting much better at fighting, she tried to put her focus on pushing away the thoughts and the trauma that still haunted her at times. She hadn’t noticed that Natasha had been looking at her the whole time, she waited for the right time to come to go and talk to her.

“Are you going to be like Steve that you’ll need like 10 punch bags?” Natasha asked as she walked to y/n and sat with her on the floor.

Y/n jumped a little as she looked at Natasha, chuckling softly. “Don’t have that strength but…wouldn’t be bad.” She smiled as she looked down at her hands.

“How’s the necklace thing going?”

“Better. Wanda won’t let me take it off anymore so I’m learning to sleep with it.” She took off the bandages from her hand and sighed. “If not, I’m gonna turn into Iron Woman if I don’t wear it anymore, sooner or later, Tony would find out.”

“Maybe so. Steve can’t keep a secret for long.” Natasha grinned. “Wanda has been behind your back for a while now, hasn’t she?”

“Yeah, she has. I know she’s…protecting me.” Y/n smiled at the memories and looked back at Natasha, furrowing her brows. “Why you ask?”

Natasha shrugged. “Oh…I don’t know. It’s new.” She said as she found a better position to sit. “Wanda didn’t really open up to just anyone. It took time before she started letting herself be with us. But the moment you came…she looked out for you. Maybe the age, maybe the similarities you both have…” She turned to look at her again. “I don’t know, but I’m glad.”

Y/n took a deep breath. “Can I tell you something?”

“Anything.”

Y/n looked back down. “I like her…I did…I did notice that somehow we connected, or we just got along but…I don’t know if she feels the same way.” She chuckled nervously.

“You could easily find out.” Natasha smiled. “Just tell her, bloody girl, there’s nothing to lose.”

“Okay. You know what?” Y/n turned to look at Natasha. “It is annoying of you all calling me that. It is not my fault that I can’t handle blood.” She laughed along with Natasha. Natasha knew she was trying to avoid the truth, but she wouldn’t be the one to push.

____________________

The next few weeks, y/n never forgot her necklace, Wanda made sure of it. And even if she had her necklace with her, Wanda was always there to protect her and not let anyone hurt her. There was a moment where Steve decided she would let both of them rest a bit and they wouldn’t do missions, just a small break. Wanda was scared that maybe then y/n wouldn’t want her by her side anymore until they got back to missions, but that wasn’t it. They had spent day and night together, getting to know each other better and just enjoying time.

Wanda had offered a movie night with y/n in her room, to which y/n excitedly said yes. She had thought about what Natasha had said, she wouldn’t lose anything, or maybe even Wanda already knew about this, but she had decided to not say anything. She wasn’t really sure, but the only thing she knew is that she couldn’t lose Wanda, not now, not ever.

Y/n focused on the movie as she laid down with Wanda, both of them had somehow ended up in each other’s arms but they hadn’t minded a bit. There was a moment were Wanda looked up at her and couldn’t keep her eyes away. Y/n noticed this but enjoyed it for a little more as she thought it was cute and also it made her feel nervous, but mostly cute.

“I allow you to take a picture if you want to.” Y/n teased as she looked down at Wanda.

Wanda chuckled at this, not even ashamed that she had been caught. “Might take the chance then.” She smiled and bit her lip; but then the moment was ruined with Wanda’s phone ringing and a text from Natasha saying she needed them both to go on a mission. “I guess we have to go. Bucky and Peter are nowhere to be found.”

Y/n groaned but stood up with Wanda. “I guess we are the best on the team so they can’t leave us alone.”

Wanda chuckled and nodded. “Maybe so.” She turned to look at y/n. “Necklace?”

“Got it with me.” She showed it before they both left the room.

Both of them were quiet in the way to their destination, Nat kept staring at y/n, almost as if she wanted to talk with her eyes. Y/n just kept shocking her head and staring back at Wanda every now and then, not being able to bring any words up. Maybe after the mission it would be good to talk to her and tell her the truth.

As soon as they got there, they were informed that they needed to get a suitcase from inside, there were probably assassins around and they had to be careful. Wanda kept staring at y/n, not wanting to leave her side but knowing she had to follow Steve orders. Everything seemed to be alright at first, they had gotten in, no one around, seemed pretty easy which meant something was about to happen. And they were right; in a blink of a second, they had over 20 or more people attacking them. Wanda tried to stay as close to y/n as possible, but she then had to leave her side for a second and that’s when it got even worse.

Y/n hadn’t noticed there was someone behind her who kicked her right in the back of her knee, making her scream from the pain and falling to the ground. When y/n turned around, her eyes widened with fear, trying to crawl back and get away from the person in front of her.

“Oh, sweet y/n…why are you so afraid?” The women in black asked as she kept walking closer to y/n, a wicked smile plastered in her face. “Didn’t you miss me?” She kicked y/n again, causing y/n to fall back, she felt the blood streaming from her nose again as she stared up. “Oh…I see. You’re not weak anymore? Why would that be?”

“G-Get away.” Y/n whispered in terror as she tried to crawl back, but the woman’s heel was right in her abdomen, making her unable to move for the pain.

“I don’t really want to.” She leaned down and took y/n necklace and stared at it. “This little toy keeps you from being weak? How pathetic.” She crashed it in her hands and punched y/n right in the face, not having any mercy on her.

As soon as Wanda helped Steve, she turned around and freaked out when she didn’t see y/n, until she heard the screams, filling her head as she looked around scared. “Steve…is y/n.” She turned to look at him.

“Go!” He yelled as he ran inside with Nat.

Wanda ran as fast as she could and gasped for the scene in front of her eyes. With one movement, she sent the woman flying against a wall, not caring about what happened to her. Wanda pulled y/n and knelt down until y/n was in her lap.

“Y/n? P-Please, say something.” She had tears in her eyes as she placed her hand on her cheek. She could feel how she was in pain and her mind was slowly clouding with nothing but darkness. She could feel how scared she was, the fear filling her whole body.

“I…the…t-the n-neckla-“ she coughed blood as she stared up at Wanda.

“I know. I’m sorry I wasn’t here.” Wanda cried as she moved y/n to her side. “You’ll be okay.” She nodded rapidly. “Steve, Natasha, tell me you have it, we need to go, y/n is hurt, badly.”

“Take her to the Quinjet, we are meeting you there.”

Wanda looked down at y/n. “Please, stay with me, you can’t just…look at me.”

Y/n looked up at her. “’m sorry…” she closed her eyes slowly.

“Y/n!”

____________________

“You’re saying they crashed the necklace?” Tony asked as she stood beside Wanda.

“Apparently, but…it wasn’t the blood anymore. It was…she was scared. She was in pain.” Wanda sighed as she looked at Tony.

“Well, I got some news for you, witchy.” He turned to look at her. “Y/n lost the necklace 2 months ago. I noticed because the one she was wearing, was fake one. She tried to fool us, but she couldn’t fool me.” He looked back at y/n through the glass and shrugged. “She found something or someone else to help her.”

Wanda stared at him for a while until he left, and left Wanda thinking what he had said. She stared at her through the glass as she tried to get her thoughts in order and figure out what he had really meant. She noticed y/n moving and she decided to go in and check on her. Y/n looked at Wanda and smiled.

“Hey, sleepy head.” Wanda smiled. Y/n moved a little to leave some space for Wanda to sit, groaning a little. “Hey, try not to move too much. You were hurt pretty badly.”

“I know.” She groaned as she laid her head back. She turned to look at Wanda and smiled. “Thank you.”

Wanda only nodded as she looked down at her hands. “I’m sorry about your necklace.”

Y/n shrugged. “Steve said he would give me a break from missions so. He better be telling the truth now.” She chuckled quietly, her hand going to her abdomen.

“Maybe if you told the truth, he would too.” Wanda said quietly almost to herself.

Y/n furrowed her brows. “What does that mean?”

“Why didn’t you tell me about the necklace?” Wanda looked back at y/n. “It was fake, you lost it. Why would you lie about that? What if something really bad happened to you?”

“Wanda-“

“Don’t. This was proof of what can happen if you don’t have the necklace. She couldn’t have broken the necklace that easily, but I cared more about you than what happened to that. Why didn’t you tell me?” Wanda now had tears in her eyes, remembering how badly injured she had ended up.

Y/n shrugged. “I lost it, it’s true. I…I didn’t want anyone to get mad at me, so I got one that looked just the same. I couldn’t have you worrying or Tony yelling at me for it.”

“But look what happened. You could’ve…you-“

“Wanda, nothing happened to me cause you were there.”

It was Wanda’s turn to furrow her brows. “What?”

“You…” y/n sighed. “it’s you. You have been helping me all of these months. The necklace have been lost for 5 months now. I didn’t even have it with me for not even two months.” She tilted her head. “You are my necklace. You helped me in someway to not freak out or slowly get this fear away. It’s not gone, I still get dizzy, but you being there, holding my hand, holding me…” she smiled. “it’s what keeps me okay.”

Wanda shook her head in disbelief. “But how…I just-“

Y/n shrugged. “I don’t think I can explain it in any other way, I just know that… you being by my side makes all fear go. I know I was scared last night, I know I was filled with fear because I didn’t know what she was going to do next. And it wasn’t for me, it wasn’t for the blood…I was scared that you would get hurt.”

Wanda’s face softened at her words, bringing her hand up to y/n’s cheeks. “You still could’ve told me this.”

“I was a coward, I didn’t know what to say.” She chuckled.

“You could’ve said that you liked me. Easy as that.” Wanda teased as she smiled.

“I do.”

Wanda tilted her head. “What? I was…I was joking.”

“I’m not.” Y/n smiled. “I…I like you, Wanda. More than I should. And I am sorry if this ruins the moment and everything but…it’s true. I like you. Maybe that’s another reason of why you help me.”

Wanda smiled softly at this and shook her head. “It doesn’t ruin it.” She leaned down and stopped just a few inches away from her face. “Not at all.” She whispered against her lips before she tangled y/n into a loving kiss.

Y/n smiled against her lips. “So, you’re not mad anymore?” She whispered.

Wanda shook her head. “No, if you promise you won’t keep anything from me anymore.”

“I promise.” Y/n smiled as she looked right into her eyes.

“But there is someone else that might be mad at you. And you do not mention the 5 months. He thinks it’s been 2 months.” Wanda shrugged as she laughed.

Y/n laughed. “Okay, that’s between us and us only.” She grinned.

Wanda smiled. “I won’t let anyone hurt you anymore. Not even a drop of blood.”

Y/n giggled. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“That’s a promise, bloody girl.” She smirked as she pecked her lips.

“Don’t you dare, not you too!” Y/n exclaimed as Wanda laughed uncontrollably, knowing it would annoy her. But y/n wouldn’t care anymore if it meant Wanda would laugh again.

#wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wanda x you #marvel #one shot #tony stark #Steve Rogers #natasha romanoff #I take requests #wanda maximoff fic #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff/you #wanda maximoff x reader

[cornacopicimagines]

after hours│t.h

pairing: professor!tom holland x reader 

words: 6.9k (hehe nice)

warnings: swearing, PURE FILTH, sir kink, rough sex, masturbation (male & female), exhibition kink if you squint, spanking & sort of public sex.

summary:  It's wrong, y/n tells herself. She can't help it though. She can't help fantasising about him. At the other end of the class, Tom tells himself to stop staring at her. It's creepy, he thinks. Neither one knows of the mutual pining that is until tension bubbles over. 

a/n: I’m back bitches! I'm still a fucking sinner and this is such a cliche, I'm so so sorry

masterlist

━━★✼☆｡

y/n sat at the desk. Her eyes never left Mr. Holland. Her attention never left the way the veins in his arms bulged when he picked up the massive textbook, never left his perfectly gelled hair and how it sat atop his head like it was crafted to from the day he was born. Perhaps I should start typing the notes that were on the board, she scowled to herself.

She feels dirty, almost ashamed of her crush on him. She hates herself for falling into a stupid cliché that had been so easy to avoid all these tireless years. y/n doesn't know why she has gone back to a love-sick teenage girl fantasising about a boy who she'll never even get to touch. A boy that so out of her league, he wouldn't even had the faintest idea that she exists. That doesn't stop them though. y/n still finger fucks herself to an orgasm that no boy has been able to give her in her 24 years of life, all the while wishing it was his cock instead of her fingers. If Mr. Holland knew what she did to herself under the influence of him and his stupidly handsome face, he would be disgusted. This she knows for a fact.

This isn't what she thought she would be doing, in all honesty. She is a semester away from graduating and she never wanted to be stuck in a perpetual state of wanting someone so unattainable it's not uneasy, it's borderline unethical. She truly believed she would have ancient married professor that sound like their legs deep in their coffin. Instead she got a literal Greek God as her Psych professor.

She knows that she's not the only one of course. y/n has met 10 other girls in her class that probably write god awful poetry about Mr. Holland's liquid bronze eyes. She can't blame them, if she could write shitty poetry about him, she 100% would. y/n not angry either, she knows out of the 120 students (110 of whom are girls), are probably all in the same predicament. She sometimes gets dirty looks from them when Mr. Holland address her by her first name.

Perhaps that's something she should consider; he calls her y/n not Miss y/l/n or just simply Miss. It's different, it's endearing and when he has a raspy voice, it's so fucking hot.

"y/n," a voice called out, she shook herself out of her haze, "are you still with us?" Mr. Holland was no standing over her. His cologne surrounding her, intoxicating her. y/n gulped softly before turning her eyes to his.

"Yes, sorry sir," y/n replied quickly, trying her hardest not to stumble over her own words or even let the blush run to her cheeks.

Mr. Holland smiled warmly, "that's good, I need at least one of you listening," the class erupting in laughter, "I would prefer it to be one of the brightest." That though got them quiet. y/n sunk into her chair in embarrassment. The blush she had been fighting rose to the surface, making her even more adamant not to look up at him but alas she couldn't.

In that small fleeting moment, she caught something in his eyes. She couldn't define exactly what it was. Whatever it truly was, y/n knew teachers should not be looking at their students in such a way. It made her even more lightheaded with admiration.

The lesson continued on as normal for another hour. Mr. Holland described the outline for the next assignment, it seemed short and sweet. Write a 2-thousand-word essay on the effects of unintentional recreational drugs during early childhood. y/n had to laugh at the way Mr. Holland phrased it. It was as if he had never touch pot in his entire life, to be fair, y/n wouldn't be too surprised if he didn't. Most of the girls in his class groaned at the mere mention of actual work and not an hour and a half session of pure toe-curling orgasm material. Now that she thinks about it, that would be a wonderful way to spend her Wednesday mornings and Thursday afternoons.

Of course, y/n was in another word during the last minutes of the lesson. Unable to focus on anything other than the hint of a tattoo peeking through the underlining of his shirt. She was working so hard to distinguish what it was that she had completely missed the end of the lesson and the dozens of people walking out.

"y/n, what exactly are you doing?" Mr. Holland's voice asked above her. y/n almost jumped in her seat, but she stayed completely still. "This is the second time today, should I be worried?"

This though made her jump out of her seat. "No of course not sir!" She defended as she rushed to place her things away. "I was just off in wonderland today."

"Are you sure there is nothing distracting you?" He asked.

Yes.

"No," she replied hurriedly.

"You know you can tell me if something is," he reassured her.

Yes, of course. Let me just tell you about how you are distracting me by always wearing the hottest casual suits every lesson and giving me the wonderful fantasy of tearing it off you.

"I know that, it's just been my busy schedule," y/n lied through her teeth. She's a broke college student with hardly any friends or real other assignments. "I am just working really hard, you know?"

Yeah, working really hard to imagine you pounding me into next week!

With that last thought, y/n knew she needed to leave before she exploded with embarrassment and arousal right there in front of him.

"I just wanted to let you know that you are totally allowed to change the topic of the assignment if you feel like there is something that strikes a chord with you," Mr. Holland smiled brightly.

Fuck! Did he have to look so gorgeous even when he's trying to be dorky and supportive.

Mr. Holland noticed the shocked look upon y/n's face and immediately retracted his statement, "I promise I won't fail you, if that's what your thinking." He explained. "I really enjoy your work, you're a gifted woman with a real talent and I don't want to see it go to waste with my shitty assignment."

y/n turned her attitude around. He was stumbling over his words. It was kind of cute and endearing, like everything he does. She smiled warmly at his compliment.

"Sir," she spoke softly. It came out a lot mouseyer and somehow sexual than she would have liked but she refused to back out of her statement. "I can't wait."

She didn't say another word but simply slung her back over her shoulder and made her way out of the class. Tom followed her figure in complete and utter shock. He praised whatever god watched over him for the small mercy that was having y/n's back turned to him to witness his immediate blush cover his entire freckled face.

Tom never let his eyes leave her. He just watched her waltz right out of his classroom, he bit his lip at the sight of her perfectly cupped ass in her jeans. Through-out the entire lesson, all he could think about is how her tits would bounce as his dick thrusted up into her little cunt. Just the thought made his cock spring to life.

He stared up at the clock. He had to be in another lecture in 10 minutes, he had to teach another round of student without her pretty face in it in 10 bloody minutes. Sadly, it wasn't enough time to imagine cumming over her said face. He fidgeted until his painful erection was safely hidden.

God, you are such a fucking creep, Holland. He thought to himself.

━━★✼☆｡

y/n really didn't want to be doing this.

She really didn't want to have to walk to the library in a mini skirt she had when she went through her cringy hoe phase and a low-cut tank top she only really wore to bed at 8 at night. Luckily before she left, her roommate gave her a full can of pepper spray and a pocketknife. A handle tool for when you looked like a prostitute.

She had no choice. It was laundry night and she had to get her assignment out of the way, or she would never finish it in time. She wanted to kick herself for letting laundry night fall on the only night the library stayed open until midnight. It was a perk for sure but not when you had nothing to wear but pink neon rags.

y/n pushed open the library door and relieved herself of the anxiety of being abducted by the greeting of Harry. He looked familiar but she couldn't pinpoint where she had seen his face before.

"What cha doing here?" he shouted. Quite contradictory for a librarian. y/n grinned when she saw his dorky face at the counter. That is until he caught wind of her outfit, or lack thereof. "Got a late shift at the strip-club after this?" Her face fell.

"I hate you," she played along, her arms slumping on the cold desk. y/n looked around the library. It was basically empty, with the exception of the middle-aged teacher grading a stack full of papers. Poor bastard, y/n thought. "Got one for me?"

"You're going to get me fired if I do this again," Harry huffed, he banged his head against the keyboard in frustration.

"This is the last time," y/n explained, "I pinkie promise." She lifted her hand over the counter and waved her pinkie finger in Harry's face. He stared up her than move his eyeline to her finger now just touching the tip of his nose. He groaned loudly as he took her finger in his.

"There is a ton of empty booths, choose one and don't make a sound," Harry told her angrily, y/n simply clapped her hands in celebration and skipped off. She chooses the booth in range of Harry, in hopes that maybe he will distracted her and she won't have to do her work because she's too busy goofing off.

y/n dropped her stuff in a huff. Her back slumped into the curve of the chair and the desk covered her body happily. She placed her earphones in and played her favourite study music. She was in absolute heaven.

The assignment was kicking her ass, but she was determined to do it. Mr. Holland seemed genuinely excited for what she would write about if she did decide to change the topic. Now though she's regretting not letting Mr. Holland's hopes down.

She could find hardly anything online and even if she did it was by some random SJW on Tumblr. That's what lead her here tonight. In hopes that maybe some privileged white asshole with a degree would have some sources sighted to help her. Unfortunately, she was having trouble with that too.

It was now 11:30pm. She had been at this god forsaken table for two and a half hours now in an endless pursuit of bullshit. y/n had half a mind to give up and just suck his dick for the grade like other girls would in this situation. y/n had to remind herself though, she is a gifted woman with a real talent that should not be wasted on something shitty to please the masses. Did she just quote Mr. Holland?

She caught eyes with Harry in her block, who had two pencils stuck up his nose in an attempt to cheer her up. It did for the most part. y/n wanted to play along but it had seemed someone else had walked through the door at that very moment and Harry threw the pencils out. Harry's face lit up with red upon the arrival of this mystery person. y/n was interested in who this mystery person was. That is until she saw his face.

Mr. Holland walked up to the library desk in a fit of laughter. His hands smacking the counter and his face contorted in a wide smile. y/n instantly ducked under the table. She could faintly hear their conversation. It just sounded like muffled words until her name popped up.

Jesus Christ. Not now. Not tonight. Why of all night to run into his must it have to be tonight. Maybe I should make a run for it now, bust out of the wind-

"I know you're under there y/n," Mr. Holland's voice sung above her. It was too late now. Any escape plan that her mind frantically tried to rationalise was long gone by this point. Slowly, y/n retreated from her hiding spot to face him. He had his normal outfit of a tight t-shirt paired with a decorative tie and slightly lose pants. This time though he had a long burgundy coat draped over his shoulders. He looked like a painting. y/n smiled sheepishly.

"Hi," she said simply. Regaining her seat from before and fully appearing in front of him. "I had no idea you would be here this late," she tried with conversation.

"Harry's my brother, I have to drive him home before leaving myself and he just wanted to work the late shift tonight," Tom laughed to himself and he turned around and waved at Harry. His brother waved back guiltily. "You know, I could say this same to you," he smirked at her.

"I am working on your assignment, sir," y/n responded quietly. Tom's eyes lit up at that and he rushed to snatch the papers off her desk and into his hands. Much to the disapproval of y/n.

"Oh good, you've decided to change it," Tom sounded almost relieved as if he trusted her judgement more than his own. Worse of it all, he decided to sit down next to her. Even taking off his coat, making his biceps bulge through his shirt. His eyes flicked through what she currently has. His eyebrows raised in shock, "I have to say, I was not expected you to decide to do something about the female orgasm and its effect on the psyche," his voice was an octave deeper than usual. y/n could feel her arousal building.

y/n couldn't decide if he was just being friendly or if he was trying to send a deeper message. Either way, she decided to take action. "Well, with the number of women being unsatisfied I thought it was an appropriate topic," she snatched the papers out of his hands, "but you wouldn't know anything about women being unsatisfied would you sir?"

Tom sat there in astonishment. His cock stiffened against the restraints of his jeans, he has only been in her vicinity for 5 minutes and already she has him hard as a rock. It was times like these that he wished he could just leave all his determination to fuck her over this very desk at the door. Regrettably, he couldn't.

"Well, that just ruins the surprise," y/n sighed delicately. Her fingers flicking through the pages of her useless book. "Either way, the resources are complete shit," this time her sadness was real, and Tom snapped out of his lust-ridden haze.

"Did you really expect a man to know mostly everything of something that is so cardinally female?" Tom smirked as he closed the book on her and pointed to the photo of a wrinkled old man. He was the author of a stupid book and to be fair, he looked like he would write this type of book as well.

"Damn, I knew I was doing something wrong," y/n hissed. She had been spending her entire night trying to piece together information from a man who can only give her half the story.

"The book on the top shelf is one on the chemical effects of orgasming in females by a female," Tom leaned in and whispered in her ear. His hot breath wafted of her skin; it was enough to send goose bumps over her entire body. y/n turned her head to face him, their lips inches away from each other. If they didn't have Harry watching them like a hawk, they probably would be out of breath from lip-locking. Instead, y/n nodded and got up out of her seat, making sure to give him a stunning view of her tits through her tank top. He wanted to audibly gasp but kept in inside. It didn't help with his situation downstairs any more than the last few minutes have.

Slowly, she walked over to the bookcase. Her eyes scanning the endless rows and she made sure Tom had enough time to enjoy the deep red thong underneath her skirt. Finally, her fingers coiled around the book and brought it down to her. Tom couldn't believe his own eyes. He was so under her spell. The way her top hugged her curved and let his eyes completely drink in her breasts. How her skirt was pulled up to her waist, allowing the flushed skin of her ass to be visible to him. He wonders how a woman like her even exists and yet she takes a seat next to him, absolutely unaware of his throbbing manhood. Begging to be touched by her, to be taken by her, by anything to do with her.

"Thank you, sir," she almost purrs to him, Tom's struggling to keep it together. He afraid the next thing to slip out of her flawless mouth, he'll cum straight into his pants when he would rather cum into her.

"Anytime," he responds just a dark before getting up. Hiding his clearly hard cock behind his briefcase. "I'll see you in class?" He already knows the answer, but he just wants the last bit of assurance from her.

"Of course," she smiled warmly. With that Tom basically books it, he's frantically making sure he's well-hidden as he quickly bends over the counter.

"I'll come back to pick you up in 30, I forgot some paper work back in my office," it's so fast, Harry almost doesn't have time to translate it before Tom's out the door and rushing down the hall.

At one point, he basically running to get to his office. Feet tapping against the concrete as he continues to see nothing but flashing images of y/n. It blurs his vision and he's so desperate. He considers using a spare supply closet but know he will only get complete privacy in his own office.

He finally gets there, after what seems like an eternity of running. He checks the hallways before entering. He drops all of his things at the foot of the door. He even has the decency to hang his coat upon the rack. Tom slowly walks over to his chair. It's a rough leather material and usually he would refuse to do what he's about to do in here, it will be stained with the memory but at this point. He got no fucks left to give.

He crashes down. His back hitting the material he hates so much. He doesn't think he's got time, but he still does it slowly. His belt drops next to his and he undoes the zip slowly and the cold air hits his dick. He hisses at the feeling but proceeds anyways. Tom pulls the rest of his jeans and boxers down his legs and kicks them across the room. His hand takes his dick, slowly rubbing the head. Imaging y/n's fingers dancing over it, spreading the precum over. He uses his palm to envision her own stroking up and down in an even motion. He can't help but moan. He can't help but softly call out her name.

He so entranced that he doesn't recognize the following light footsteps approaching. He's so into her non-existent touch that he doesn't hear the door peacefully squeak open. He's so in love with the feeling he doesn't feel y/n walk around the room to get on her knees in front of him.

She's in glory of his movements. Watching him stroke his much bigger cock than her masturbation version has her in a hurry to get her own panties off her body and across the floor. She's sure she's dripping onto the wood below but she does have single care in the world. Tom has his head thrown back in ecstasy as his hand starts to speed up, that's when y/n decides to go for the kill. She licks a long strip up his shaft. Her hands stabilizing him by placing them atop his bare thighs.

Tom almost jumps out of his chair. He had no idea she caught him in the middle of something so vile and wrong. Better yet, she had caught him with the tip of his dick around her perfectly glossed lips. He doesn't get to say another word before y/n's hands begin massaging the bottom of his manhood. It's slow to begin with, it's almost if she's easing him into it. Her cheeks hollow out to allow his length into her warm mouth. It's incredible. Tom can't help but buck his hips up into her throat causing her to gag slightly. It's a sound he wants more of.

His hands ball her hair into his fist. With the faster her movements become, the harder he fucks into her mouth. They sync up almost instantly. One of y/n's hands leave his cock to fuck herself. Tom's mesmerised by the way her fingers act as a replacement for his dick. He's certain he's not going to last much longer.

"I should be d-doing that," he whispers through grunts. y/n lifts her head to smile at him, still letting her free hand jerk and pull bringing him closer the edge.

"I know," she responds, just as quiet. Her mouth reconnects but Tom quickly snaps his hips up into her. Her muffled moaning vibrated against his cock as he fucks her mouth. It's the hottest thing he's ever done. He tugs and pulls at her hair, y/n's edging him on. She's exquisite, it's like she's mastered this and has allowed him to chance to feel how fucking beautiful her little mouth can be.

Like it's effortless, he comes. Without any warning, he is shooting hot stream of cum into her mouth, filling it up. Tom swears he's seeing stars but can't bring him to call out her name but instead bites down on his hand so hard he's afraid he's drawn blood.

y/n releases him from her mouth and is from an actual porn Tom spent his teenage years watching, his cum leaks from her lips and falls down on the curves of her tits. It's a sight he was to remember forever. He wants to grab his phone and click so he will get to look at her covered in his cum for the rest of his life but alas, he's still regaining his bearings.

"Tastes better than I would have expected," y/n giggles as she brings the liquid back up to her lips and swallows. There is no way this woman gets better; he thinks to himself.

"Sweetheart-," he begins but she beats him to it, her gets back on her feet and plants a sweet kiss upon his lips. He can taste himself on her lips, it's addictive.

"I wanted this," it's almost as if she read his mind. He doesn't respond but he simply looks at her, his hand coming up to twirl a strand of hair that has fallen in front of her face.

y/n pulls away from him, walking over the pile of discarded clothes and bend to pick up her soaked underwear. She gives Tom a look, he's so close he can smell her juices from his seat. Her pussy look like a paradise waiting to be exploded by him, but he keeps his hands to himself. y/n paced herself over to the coat hanger, her folded panties in hand. She places them in the left pocket with a devilish smile upon her face. Tom had now place their rest of his clothes back on and had joined her.

"I'll get them back next lesson," y/n grins. Tom nods quickly, their feet fumbling under her back hits his office door. She's trapped in between him, he smells of pure sex but she's committed to her idea. He bends down to capture her lips in his with a forceful kiss. It's hungry and needy. She wants it so badly to give but she pulls away. "My roommate is waiting for me outside."

"We'll finish this," Tom whispers as he opens the door for her. It sends shivers down y/n's spine. It's not a promise, it's an order.

She grabs the rest of her things and heads off. Almost in a sick turn of events, Tom watches her bare ass strut away from him. Just like the last lesson, except this time all he can do is imagine him face fucking her. It's a beautiful sight.

━━★✼☆｡

The three days leading up to class where probably the slowest 72 hours both of them had ever experienced. A constant detail of pleasure from the night before. So when the fated day arrived, both parties didn't know what to do. Tom debated just staying home, though he couldn't deny he so desperately want just another taste. He thought, if he didn't show up, all his guilty conscience of a student giving him the best head he's ever had in his life would simply disappear and he would go back to being a normal teacher. y/n, too, thought of skipping this class for a completely different reason. Perhaps she had got a surge of confidence after hearing her professor call out her name while he touched himself or it could just be the pure scandalous nature of it all. Either way, she wanted to stay cooped up with a blanket while she watched him unravelled. No matter the psyche from the both of them, they went.

y/n stood outside the classroom for a good 20 minutes, unsure of what she should do. Should she go in now and fuck him in the small window or wait and play with his emotions? She hadn't realised how fast the time had went until she saw other student's start entering. It was now or never and unfortunately it was going to be now.

The room was smaller than y/n remember when she stepped in. It seemed more wide the last time she came in here. Of course, the last time she came in her, she hadn't sucked Mr. Holland's cock.

Her eyes landed on him in a matter of seconds. His back was turned to her as he wrote on the massive blackboard in front of him. y/n could see his muscles flex as he tried to reach for the duster above the board. She bit her lip as she thought of her nails digging into his back as he fucked her. It was a fantasy she had to push to the side.

Tom could practically smell her once she walked in. It was her normal perfume that had been intensified 10 fold. He refuses to turn around, afraid that if he did all his good heart nature would go out the window. Tom could hear the faint clinking of the heels of her shoes walk up the stairs. He so desperately wanted them to come right back down.

"Okay, as you know, you're assignment is due in 2 weeks and this is going to be the only time I will answer your questions," Tom's voice boomed. He hadn't got a lot of sleep since that night and he didn't particularly want to do this but he considered himself a kind professor, so he had too.

He turned around and saw the entire class' hands go straight up in the air. Including y/n, though hers was a little lower. Her eyebrow raised and a small smirk painted on her lips. There was no way in hell he was answer whatever question came out of those pretty lips. She looked even more exquisite than when he last saw her. A tight t-shit that had a stained 50's logo on it and a pair of tight black jeans, he knew as soon as he spoke to her, he would loose all control on himself.

So he never did, constantly dodging her. Answering every single question, even if half of them were if he was married or worse if he was free Friday night. He will admit, seeing y/n get frustrated every time he passed her to talk to another young female student made him just that tad bit excited.

It was an hour and a half of pure tension. Sure, no one else in the class could feel it but they 100% could. She never felt more out of control and for some reason, she despised it. He kept ignoring her, kept refusing her, kept defying her. It was infuriating, that she wanted to take fate by the hair.

She waited, until every single soul had walked out of the door. She waited until the last gaggle of girls had finished their blabbering to Tom before she starting to strut down the stairs. Tom refused to meet her eyes even when he knew that's all she did. Glare at him as she stomped past him desk to the classroom door. He heard it lock.

"I wanted to ask you a question," she almost spat, "sir."

Tom straightened himself before swivelled around to meet her. She was so livid with him but he knew deep down that all she wanted from him was to have the white chalk from the board rubbed up her back from him pinning her down.

"Fire away," he responded exactly the same. She stared at him for a moment before strolling towards him. She made sure to swing her hips every other time. She noticed his eyes on her, finally she was getting somewhere.

y/n pressed her chest upon his heaving one. Her face lifting to meet his. They stayed like that for a good minute, just pondering. They listened to each other's heats thumping against their rib cages. They both desperately needed this.

Never taking her eyes off him, y/n snaked her hand around the side of pocket of her coat, smiling once she found what she left. Her soaked red thong, it was a sight for sore eyes.

"I wanted to ask if I was every going to get payback?" she giggled softly. Tom knew she was playing a game but he had no idea which one it was.

"I don't think I understand," he stammered, she strutted away from him until she met the edge of his stainless desk. Her fingers gliding over the wood ever so slightly. She turned her head to look at him. She had a rawness in her eyes; lustful, a sinner's stare. It would be a look Tom was never forget for the rest of his life.

y/n suddenly jumped on the desk. Her ass moving the papers to the side as she slowly started to unbutton her tight jeans. "I think you do," it was almost a hiss but he only heard the desperation in her voice. "I want you to make me feel all the things you did that night."

Tom almost fainted just with that until she dropped her jeans the floor. She had come to class without any underwear on and her wetness was dripping onto the desk. Tom was sure was in heaven but he didn't want to believe it.

He got on his knees. His hands palming at her soft thighs. Tom didn't need another incentive, he didn't need another spur-on. Tom licked a single strip up her folds, y/n bit a moan back. It was like tasting ambrosia or doing cocaine for the first time. He needed more, so he went back in again, this time it was rougher. His fingers gripping at her ass, pulling her closer to his mouth as he devoured as if he hadn't eaten in weeks. Her hands tangle themselves in his floppy curls, she tugs harshly on his scalp as he adds a finger into her warm entrance.

Tom's never felt like this before but he doesn't care. He's sure people can hear her soft but frantic moaning from outside, but he doesn't care. He'll never look at his desk the same way but like everything else, he doesn't fucking care. Tom curls his fingers in the perfect spot inside of her.

"Just like that," y/n calls out, her hair now sprawled out on the desk. "I'm going to cum sir."

Tom feels her walls contract around his fingers as he pulsing faster, her back arches and she trying so hard to force her cries back into her throat. It's a sight he wants to from above, it's a feeling he wants to feel inside of her. So, at the last minute, he retracts everything. His tongue leaves her throbbing clit and his finger, which are glistening with her slick, slid out of her.

y/n can't hold back to whine that leaves her left from the loss of his god-like tongue and fingers. "What the fuck Tom?!" she's angry with him, she wants to tell him off but before she can do it. One of his hands captures her wrist and slams them against the desk below her, pinning her to it. She whimpers at the sting of pain.

He's right above her but she can't see a single thing below her. "Look at me," he tells her sternly, she does what's she is told instantly. "You can't talk to me like that sweetness," y/n knows there is a venom behind his words even if she speaks in a melody. "I'm not your fucking boyfriend, you don't call me that."

Without any warning at all, he pounds right up into her. y/n almost spasms out of Tom's grip from the wave of pleasure. Tom doesn't move at all, he stays nuzzled inside her. It's agonising, almost painful for y/n. Having his perfect cock not jamming into her tight cunt. It's torture.

"You understand that?" he peppers kissed against the nape of her neck, she's about to cry out, she'll do anything. She nods her head frantically, hoping it's enough. It isn't. He keeps his hips locked tightly against hers. "Words, sweetness."

"Yes," she responds. She can feel him frown against her skin. He pulls right out of her and rams right back in, causing y/n to scream out in pleasure. "Y-yes sir," she corrects herself and with that, Tom starts a pace. It's slow and tantalising, he watches amazed at how her pretty folds swallow him up with every thrust. It's magnificent.

He wants to savour this moment forever. He wants to fuck her brains out for every waking moment of his existence.

"Sir, go harder," she moans below him. Her wrists bruised from his gripped, but the pain just only contributes in her overwhelming amount of pleasure. His thick cock is so much better than her fingers, no matter how many she adds.

Tom obliges and starts to really pound into her cunt. It's raw and ruthless, he's calling out her name now. "Fuck sweetness, you so bloody tight," he purrs, y/n can't respond through her chant of curses. "You're little cunt was made for me, it was made for me to stretch it out."

The dirty talk elevates her, y/n's not sure how much longer she'll last. His filling ever last inch of her. She can feel her tits bounce every time their skin collides. Her wrists are finally let free as he begins to clutch at her naked hips. It's an experience she's never felt. The sound of skin slapping and their combined gasping and cursing are the only thing she can perceive to hear. If there was a knock at the door, y/n knows she would have no idea about it.

Perhaps, it's the pure excitement and morality of this whole situation that makes them both feel like they're on cloud nine. Her arms snake around his waist, her hands move with every rough thrust into her. She's gripping onto his back through the material of his tight shirt. Her nails clasping on the contracting muscles. She would have left his back red and sore if he didn't have the damned t-shirt on to protect him.

"Fuck," she curses as he started to hit an area inside of her, she never knew existed. "Just like that sir, I am going to cum," she moans, her forehead against his. They lock eyes again, this time though there is no linger feeling of want or romance. It's just sex. Dirty, hot, intense fucking.

She's the first to come undone. The fire now transformed into a raging wildfire spreading across her entire abdomen. y/n throws her head back in ecstasy, her whole vision goes black and she has to bit down against her hand to stop and inevitable pornographic scream to jump out of her mouth. Her other hand clutches his neck, pulling him closer to her.

Tom follows shortly after, his thrusts become sloppy and erratic but never easing up. His cock twitches inside of her before he shots the hot white liquid all inside of her cunt. He pressed his lips against her as his attempt to stop his moan as well but he continues to call out her angelic name against her lips. Once, Tom pulls out of her, he watches in awe. The mixture leaks out of her hole and then pools on his desk. He's so in love with this woman it hurts.

"I have never cum that hard in my entire fucking life," she giggles, pulling her top down her flushed tits. As he too, starts to redress himself, he simply stares at her. Watches her retrieve her jeans from the floor and slip them up her bare ass. He spots her shove her panties back into his back pocket, not before she scribbles something down on a torn piece of paper.

"What are you doing?" he asked gently, wrapping his arms around her waist. She nuzzles her face in the crook of her.

"I'm giving you a reason to come make me dinner and then fuck me again," she explains, "I put my address in there, so hopefully you can't get lost."

"You sure about this," Tom asked hesitantly, y/n now swivelled around to face him. Her warm palm caressed his face.

"I wouldn't have just done that if I wasn't," she places a soft, tender kiss to his cheek. "Make it a Thursday though, my roommate will be out on those nights," she told him as he grabbed the last of her things and unlocked the door. Tom grins warmly as she makes herself presentable for the last time. "I would clean that up if I were you," y/n laughed, pointing at the obvious mess all over his desk before quickly exiting.

As she wobbled back to her dorm, she wondered what article of clothing she should leave out on their next escapade.

━━★✼☆｡

a/n: this is gonna flop, i just fuckin know it 🥴 anways i hope you enjoyed my fic that has ended my hiatus. see you (hopefully) soon 🥺

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagines #tom holland imagine #tom holland au #tom holland smut #professor!tom #professor!tom holland #professor!au #tom holland x you #peter parker #peter parker smut #peter parker x reader #peter parker angst #marvel imagines #actor #actor smut #actor imagines #actor x you

[hanibalistic]

#8A4961 | BANG CHAN.

genre | werewolf au, questionable fluff

word count | 2016

warning | mention of injury, mention of poison

the pocket knife in your hand was bloodied with the werewolf hunter's blood, but all you could do as you run the opposite direction from where you were once walking toward was to pray that the wounded hunter, and his friends, did not catch a glimpse of your face.

chan has shifted to his wolf form shortly after the bullet poked through his chest. despite his strong resistance to losing control, whenever emergencies arise, such as being exposed by hunters in a local bar during a quiet drink, even a mighty alpha like him would take precaution and howl to the moon for strength.

chan had no idea where those men came from. he has never seen the likes of them, and he thought he knew all of his enemies already. were those new people? if they were, why have there not been any words spread between packs about this? this is no ordinary matter, this is about a hunting group, a common enemy—he would know if someone new came along.

you made a lucky stab to the closest man when you found out they meant harm, then you jumped off the wooden stool and raced out the bar with chan, who bolted the door to the bar with the heavy, decorative logs placed just outside as a waiting area.

you two did not make it far before a whimper left chan. you paused immediately at the pitiful noise and you turned around to find him barely standing on four paws, wheezing and whimpering with slow, heavy breaths.

widening your eyes when he fell to the side, you rushed toward him, sliding across the snow in the process. you knelt next to him. your weak hands were unable to lift his body when you wanted to examine his wounds, so you resulted in shifting through his furs carefully to find the bullet hole.

you knew there was nothing you could do, there was nothing you knew how to do. staying with seungmin, a beta your age who specializes in herbs and medicine, has taught you nothing about dealing with injuries. but if you could just take a look, you could access how severe it is and plan from there.

"ah–found it!" you brightened up when you found a trace of veins, but as quickly as your smile came, as quickly as it went. that was not the bullet wound, those strong veins were the aftermath of it—the aftermath of a poisoned bullet.

to kill an alpha, a simple bullet would never be enough, not even when he takes it to the heart.

even though you never understood why the killing was not necessary; people are so afraid of potential threats, it is almost stupid, especially when dealing with it causes more loss than letting it be.

"okay, it's okay, let's just... let's find a place to hide and rest," you huffed out quietly, looking around the foggy, snowy forest with furrowed brows, trying to find a way out.

your heart dropped when you found lanterns flashing at a distance.

the hunters were already here.

you saw chan's eyes shift downward, his ears flapping gently. he must have heard the sound of footsteps, or he sniffed out their malicious scent from all the way over there. either way, he was not happy with their approach, and he showed it by letting out a tantrum-like huff.

"it's going to be fine," you told him, but you were more so trying to comfort yourself when you realized chan may soon lose the complete ability to stay conscious and you would be left alone in a foreign tree maze. you slid your hands under his body and struggled to tuck him upwards. "come on, just try to stand, please."

chan complied with your request. he moved slowly, his legs bending and his feet anchored on the ground. he whimpered again when he added pressure to stand, and he fell almost immediately after his attempt. you barely caught him, and your yelp turned the lantern lights toward you.

he gruffed out when he heard the footsteps quicken toward you. he could hear their conversations: talking about your whereabouts, talking about the werewolf in a man's disguise, talking about his faceless companion who could be a potential liability, talking about taking the alpha's weakness.

his gaze sharpened. evidence kept being added to his theory. the fact that he has never seen nor heard of these hunters only proved that they could be sent through a rival pack who deliberately hid the information from them. now, with all this weakness talk? it only reinforced his theory.

chan looked away from the lantern lights to you. your frightened expression made his heart clench—the same expression you held when he found you hiding in your small closet after you got chased down the block and had your apartment door kicked open. the fact that he has to see it again made him fume with anger, and he couldn't think of much else but this: nobody takes you. absolutely nobody takes you, no matter what.

he already killed those who tried once, he will not hesitate to do it again.

"i am so sorry, but please just endure it a little more," you said, mistaking the nudging of his leg as a sign of pain spreading. turning to the approaching light, your breath quickened and you cursed.

think fast, think fast! do something!

you had refused to train to learn how to fight better, and you were unable to participate in meetings of private pack matters. you knew nothing about farming, or hunting for food, or cooking and knitting. you were practically useless, to be harsh, but because of chan, you still have a spot in the pack, a home.

you still stayed with chan's pack despite being traditionally unwelcomed as a human. for what reason, you never knew. some suspected that you may be the alpha's mate, or because chan was just being more generous than usual.

either way, everyone has treated you politely at best, some friendlier and more docile than others. you still have a place to sleep and food to eat. you were still alive right now. and it was all because of chan. he doesn't seem to like you, but he kept you safe nonetheless.

the least you could do was think of a plan. you owe it to him to not panic.

"i–i got something! just move a little for me, chan, please?" you said as you tugged at his torso and attempted to drag him with you. "just to the tree here, really close, please?"

he huffed questioningly but complied. he didn't stand to walk, he wasn't able to. his heightened senses could feel the silver poison spreading through his veins, burning and burning to weaken his system.

all he could do was dig his claws into the ground and drag his body as you pull onto him. it took three big strides for you two to arrive at a snow-covered tree. when you two were there, you immediately took off your jacket and draped it over him.

chan grumbled in protest when you pulled him toward your chest. you snuggled him against you, covering his wound and making it appear as if you were just someone sitting under a tree with a sleeping wolf.

"this is going to work," you muttered to yourself, "we are going to be okay."

the swaying of the lantern sounded—the noise of a door creaking, the sound of a high-pitched rusty gear. the circle light expanded until they were blinding your eyes. it moved away with a creak of the rusty lantern and standing before you was the hunter you remember you nicked with your blade, holding a shotgun in his hand.

"hello? did you need some help?" you asked first, attempting to establish an upper hand in the situation.

it was possible that your face was not discovered at the bar, and there was also a possibility that chan was only known in his human form. you could pass off as a normal residence in this area who is friends with a wolf, that was all.

"this forest is pretty big, it is very easy to get lost," you said with a laugh. "i learned it the hard way."

the hunter raised his brow, suspicious but not backing down yet. he tilted his head, nudging it to the side. "really? i suppose you know how to navigate through it, then?"

you shook your head calmly, a hand sifting through chan's fur. "no, but my friend here does."

"a friend?" he questioned, glaring to the side when his friends snickered under their breath in disbelief. "a wolf is hardly a friend."

"only if you fail to domesticate it."

chan deadpanned quietly. he knew better than to protest loudly at such a thin-ice situation. but please, him? an alpha? being domesticated? what a joke!

"what are you doing here?" ignoring your remark, the hunter asked, to which you sneered gently and sighed.

"i asked you first," you said. "do you need help? this is a big forest."

chan twitched beneath your jacket. you spared him no glance but ran a hand through his fur to soothe him. tilting your head, you flashed an impatient look, urging someone to talk.

"we are... we are looking for two people. one of them a man with–"

"didn't see them. i was sleeping," you interrupted.

"uhm, we followed a trail of footprints and they lead us right to you," he said, gesturing toward the ground where the footprints stopped right at where you two left off.

you raised a brow then, your heart palpitating strongly. but you took a short look at the snowy ground and you relaxed. pulling chan's warm body against you, you slumped closer to the ground and faked a yawn.

"look at the prints, sir," you muttered, "do they look like they came from two people, or one person and one wolf?"

"you guys walked into the wrong forest, sir," you said after a plop of silence. "there are only me and the wolves here."

the man lightly dropped his hand. you raised a fair point, unfortunately for them. despite his suspicion, capturing you both on the spot would be a bad look for them. not to mention, this area is known to have normal wolves littering around befriending humans—more people would believe in your faux innocence than their werewolf story.

"alright then," he voiced, deciding to call the hunt off now. "still, you should be cautious around wolves. they are loyal only to their own, and you are not their own, if you understand what i mean."

chan eyed up at the men. there was a low growl in his throat, the hostility spreading through his instinct to protect your rightful place in the pack, as well as to protest their assumption that you will ever be hurt by his hands.

you kept silent as they took their leave. your mind lingered at the hunter's words, realizing that a part of you knew you thought of what he said before he told you. you could not possibly be considered as their own, after all.

"chan..." you called, "when will i outgrow my welcome in the pack...?"

he shifted, a whimper leaving his lips. his healing ability is ultimately weaker in his human form, but he felt that if he stayed in his wolf form to maintain as much health as he could, he would miss an opportunity to make you feel better. sometimes words do speak louder than action, especially when the action is unclear and ambiguous to the receiver.

“no...” 

steam flowed upwards when chan shifted back to his human form. his clothes were long gone since they got torn apart after his shift. pressing his head to your shoulder to mask the pain in his chest, he huffed, “no.”

that was not a yes or no question, but you understood.

“okay,” you said. “let’s get you home now.”

chan nodded weakly. however you planned to do that, he has no idea.

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