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conceptsformyowner · 2 years

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Being left on the balcony, repeating a mantra, and getting aftercare.

This week, I was left out chained to the balcony, I wrote three tumblr posts with my index fingers, I repeated a mantra until my brain broke, I woke up to being restrained, I got a new rule, punishment, and task, and I safeworded “red” for the first time. Stay until the end!

Tuesday morning

On Tuesday morning, my Owner left to an appointment and left me chained up out in the balcony.

With me I had: some tasteless breakfast and lunch, a large blanket, my computer (to do some specific task I can’t recall right now), and the locked chain attaching my collar to the balcony handrailing.

It didn’t take me long to realize what my biggest problems were.

Comfort.

The chain attaching me to the railing didn’t leave me a lot of room to move away from that particular point, and barely allowed me to lie down.

The balcony is about a meter deep and 3 meters wide, so while I could lie down with quite a lot of room, the problem was sharing the space with my food, the large blanket, my oversized laptop with its oversized charger, a couple gardening supplies, and the tall wooden 5-panel hinged blinds.

2. Temperature and UV rays.

I have very thin skin that gets sunburnt very easily, so I’ve learned not to be under direct sunlight for more than a few minutes. This was a problem since…well…I was chained out on a north-facing balcony that received sunlight for pretty much the whole day.

The very interesting part was that I was actually very cold, like, the air itself was freezing, hence, the large blanket.

So I had to cover myself from the sun (with the blinds and the blanket), keep warm with the blanket but not so warm on the parts where the strong sun hit it, be in a position where I could use my computer, not knock over the food plate, and do all that with the limited motion that the chain allowed.

Eventually I spent most of the time sort of cross-legged with my laptop on my legs and cocooned by the blanket on all sides but the front, like a weirdly shaped tent with a chain coming out the back of it and a very white naked toy inside it both being cold and warm.

The temperature was intense enough to be uncomfortable but not as much as to make me actually suffer it. So it was perfectly bearable albeit annoying and dehumanizing.

It was amazing.

I loved being left outside, it made me feel immensely dehumanized and degraded in exactly the right ways. I loved seeing my Owner come back through the glass and knowing that I was theirs.

I spent 5 hours out there, and as of writing I still owe 10 more. I’m excited and scared, which is the best kind of excited.

Also, I saw both the blinds and the glass panels that separate the balcony from the inside of the appartment have small latches on the inside 👀

Tuesday night

Later that day, my Owner tightly locked a chain around my waist and to the back of a chair and then taped my hands into fists, leaving only both my index fingers out.

For the unaware, this has typically been the punishment for not delivering a concept on time (my posts tagged #ordered), which I must do every monday and thursday.

They then left to make dinner, and left me like that until I’d written two concepts and replied an ask I’d gotten. I quickly started writing, luckily I had a couple concepts in my back pocket ready to be written but one of them was longggg. Damn perfectionism wouldn’t let me just write a short one lol.

They gave me a time limit and told me that if I wasn’t done by then then they’d just go to bed and release me the next day.

Ah fuck. That’s hot. I got horny instantly. That’s the worst kind of threat because they are perfectly aware of how much I love that kind of fantasy, and we’re both perfectly aware that when we actually do it my excitement drops after a few hours, turning into just hopeless submissive masochistic suffering.

Luckily I did alright, within 2 hours I finished the first and second concept, and then answered the ask. All with 10 minutes left to spare! 😃

Wednesday

On Wednesday, they used me to jerk off while I resisted and tried to squirm away (or acted like it :P). At one point during it, they gave me an order, which I did not obey until they repeated a couple times.

This was not free.

A while after, I was punished for this. They chained my wrists behind my back to my ankles, and then everything pulled up to my collar, forcing me to keep that position if I didn’t want to choke. As if that didn’t get bad enough in time, they made me repeat a couple phrases over, and over, and over again non-stop.

“I’m being punished because I didn’t obey my Owner when they gave me an order. I’m also being punished because my Owner wants me to.”

After what felt like 15 or maybe 20 minutes, they pat me on the head and left to take a shower (within hearing distance). I think they lowered the flow of water every now and then to check that I was still repeating it over and over even if they weren’t there.

It was awful. I was exhausted after and so was my throat. But my mind…wow. At some point it did become more…sort of… automatic, but before that and even then, the effect it had on my brain was immense. I entered a sort of trance where I couldn’t really move my focus away from repeating those two phrases over and over and over and over without rest.

I don’t know if the phrases themselves had any effect. As in, I didn’t particularly feel like I was taking in that particular lesson as my brain melted, it just generally felt like my brain was turning to goo.

Of course, that in no way means I didn’t learn my lesson. I did. I know now that I can resist, I can try to get away, but that is a liberty I’m given very consciously by my Owner, and does in no way mean that I can disobey their orders even within those situations.

Thursday

On Thursday, I stuck my tongue out at my Owner playfully. I was immediatly pushed against the wall behind me, their hand squeezing my jaw, and was informed that I’d recieve extra spanks that night. Fuck.

That night I got 70 spanks.

Saturday morning

On Saturday, I woke up to my Owner cuddling me and attaching my wrists up directly to my collar. Hot. Aaaaaaaaaaa. Hot. They know very well that waking up confusingly more restrained than I was when I fell asleep is a huge fantasy of mine, and I love that they do this every now and then to feed that fantasy. I wanted them to also tighten the chain attaching my collar to the bedpost but failed to communicate it 🙈.

It was hot, and made me feel very loved.

Saturday afternoon

Yesterday we had our monthly negotiation day on our 5 month anniversary from when I became theirs. They want to add more and more rules every month, so that I become less and less free, and more their toy. Boiling frog. I love it, I want that too.

New rule: Toy Mode.

We established that whenever they snap their fingers, I must go in or out of Toy Mode.

When in toy mode:

I must obey every order given by my Owner or a VIP, without delay.

If I leave to fulfil an order, I must return to my Owner’s side ASAP and stay in that spot. Standing, looking down, and with hands behind my back.

I must not move or do anything without being ordered to.

I must not speak unless spoken to, and can only say: “Yes, Sir.”, “No, Sir.”, “Thank you, Sir.” and “Sorry, Sir.”

I may say “May you slap me, Sir?” if I wish to speak beyond my allowed phrases. If they slap me, I may speak freely while ending every sentence with “, Sir.” until they slap me again, signaling that I can no longer speak freely.

I only go out of toy mode if they snap their fingers again.

I’m very excited and very scared. I hope they don’t leave me like that for too long. but of course i hope they do awdiuawdiauwbd

New punishment: A punishment for my “Decisions” rule.

For the unaware, the “Decisions” rule dictates that if I’m on some social meetup without my Owner present, and I’m offered a decision (to choose what to eat, what to play, to watch, etc..), I must text my Owner and they will make the decision for me. If that’s not possible, I must use a random generator. If that’s also not possible, it’s preferable for me to simply not make decisions.

The new punishment, which I now owe, is to have a day filled with awful decisions. This means that throughout one day, I will be made to choose between awful options to make my life miserable that day.

It’s not entirely clear what this will look like but I’m already horrified. Stay tuned~

New task: Dom’s Digital Assistant.

I will now dedicate my mornings to setting up and coding a telegram bot that will keep track of my daily tasks and will notify my Owner if I’m behind and/or have earned a punishment.

This is great not only because it’s an exciting tech project for me, but also because this is something we struggle with given our combined troubles with schedules, routines and general adulting :s

New task: Think of a better daily restraint.

I think I’ve talked about it before; we’ve been trying to keep me chained up as often as possible, but it does get in the way of me helping around the house, which we still very much need me to be able to do. My Owner decided we needed to find a way to keep me restrained 24/7 when home, such that I have as little movement as possible, but I’m still able to help around particularly with washing dishes. Also, being able to hug them is something I’m glad they want me to be able to do uwu.

This is a hard task.

Saturday night

I had again gotten behind on my concepts. On Thursday, I hadn’t written anything. Having had written two concepts the day before confused me a lot and I didn’t even notice. As such, my Owner decided to change the punishment for when I missed the deadlines on my concepts.

As I finished showering, I came to the living room and found that on the dining table they had placed my computer and a large bowl of water and ice on top of a towel.

They chained me tightly to the chair by the waist, took away the keys, and explained.

“You’re going to dip your hands in the ice for one minute, which I’ll monitor myself with a timer on your phone, and then you’ll dry them and write the concept. When you feel heat coming back to your hands, you’ll dip them back in the water for a minute, and so on until you finish the concept you owe me.”

Okay. Didn’t really sound that bad.

“How’s that about feeling the heat coming back? Is it really a particular moment I’ll notice?”

“Yes. They used to do this with Geishas as a way to keep their hands numb enough to play an instrument that had painfully thin strings. Supposedly, you should feel a particular instant when the heat comes back.”

Ah. Alright. They’d done their homework and they’d thought about this a lot. I’ve learned to know that means I should be scared. Still, this really didn’t sound that bad.

“Alright, just in case, can we say maybe some time after which surely I have to dip them back?”

“Sure, I’ll keep track of time and after the minute of ice water, you’ll have two minutes to type before dipping them back.”

“When do I stop?”

“When you finish writing, you’ll dip them back and keep them there until I finish reading it.”

And so, we got the computer ready, I scooched the chair closer (which was hard…it being tightly attached to my waist and all), and started.

They signaled me and I dipped my hands in.

hOly fUCK

THAT’S SO BAD

i did NOT expect that

It might not have seemed like it before, or even when I was just starting, but damn it was really really painful. I whined and whined, trying not to overflow the bowl but keep my hands in. I felt my skin burning and freezing terribly. How??? How is it this bad??????

With great willpower I managed to finally make it through the 60 seconds of me asking the time over and over and them laughing hysterically.

I take out my hands and place them on the towel. They hurt a lot but actually…seem to be completely unharmed. My skin was totally fine.

I safeworded out, I felt like I couldn’t move my hands, I think I didn’t even make any motion towards drying them, I only kind of placed them on top of the towel.

Without taking a beat, they promptly unchained me and started caressing me and telling me nice things. They took me to the couch and tucked me in with my large blanket. My hands were already fine by now, I didn’t really feel anything and they looked as if nothing had happened, it was mostly emotional backlash and a bit of subdrop I was experiencing.

Still, I kept my hands in a warm place and enjoyed the hugs and the love I was receiving. I eventually did feel that moment of sudden heat they had told me about. Interesting.

When taking care of me, my Owner also experienced some domdrop, so we just stayed there taking care of each other, talking about what happened, and simply cuddling and resting until we were better. We decided that that was to be the punishment for a missed deadline. Every day, if I still owed a concept, I had to dip my hands in ice water for 60 seconds. It was effective, simple, easy to do, and incredible.

To finish the aftercare, they cooked and fed me while we watched a show and cuddled. It wa amazing.

Final words

I have a couple things written down for today, Sunday, but I’ll leave them for next week. I want to end on the note of that last story.

I consented to an activity, stopped it via safeword when I couldn’t continue and needed aftercare, they needed aftercare as a top specially because I safeworded (which very rarely happens), and we were both alright. We communicated our wants and needs and we both got what we wanted. We took care of each other and then agreed on how to move forwards.

This is my dynamic to me.

It’s doing what we want, trusting each other, communicating, agreeing, consenting, and then taking care of each other. Doing mutual aftercare by cuddling and watching a movie while eating delicious vegan food (ok yes this sentence is specific to us but still).

I love it.

#text #journal

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dranother-memory · 2 years

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About: Utsuro

Five children.

"Master Utsuro... I was the first of us all found. While I don't remember much of what happened prior.. There was a big building on fire, I lost everyone and everything. Then suddenly there was someone behind me. It was Master. He didn't seem to have any sort of reaction other then staring at the fire with me.. Eventually he picked me up and we began wondering around for awhile together. I've been loyal to him since then and don't plan on changing that at all."

"...Master Utsuro huh..? Well, believe it or not, I didn't exactly have the best of health growing up. Now don't you go taking that as a sign to be entirely lazy an not take care of yourself! I was fighting tons of things even back then you hear? I was originally out with the genie... A last wish, when Master Utsuro had found me and well.. while I was technically stolen from them, I don't have any regrets about it. I didn't want to accept that all that was left for me was death in the first place. Albeit I was in a wheel chair, Mikado had pushed my chair for me under the lead of Master Utsuro and we traveled together.. Overtime, I overcame my sickness an got better." He hated the feeling of calling Utsuro that, but it was a name they used in public either way and he wasn't about to be the one to step out of line to change it.

"Master... No. Just call him my father please. Long story short, I ran away from home... He took me in and while there were two other boys before me, he still cared for me deeply. Alongside his care, there was another lady... Miss Taira, She never really let us call her by her first name but truthfully me and the younger two sometimes do when talking to each other. She was more of a mother to me then anyone else. She taught me many things about girls that I wouldn't have gotten to know... and I've taught as much as I could to Iroha after their leave. All of us in one household while it is occasionally chaos, look out for each other and remain stable in the situation."

"While there's a lot of info that could be talked about... None of that is what I'm willing to exchange for so you're out of luck if you think you're going to learn about my past. After I was brought to the house they tried to treat me like the baby of the family though. Most of the time while I ignored them and just wrote things down as I observed... I guess I started to open up. Instead of speaking, for awhile I would just write notes to others and send them to their individual rooms like personal letters from myself. I didn't get one back most of the time... but they understood what I was doing none the less. The one thing that would constantly happen that I disliked though was Master Utsuro and Miss Taira would love to pat my head as they either passed by me or we were going to leave. Seriously... that gets annoying after awhile."

"You.. want to know about papa and mama..? Ah... W-well, when I first met them.. There was actually a break in going down at home.. I would've been locked in my room but.. they had guns and my parents instructed me to run away even with all the security guards that were constantly around me..! I don't really know what all went down that day... but I ran as far as I could before running into papa. I couldn't really see him at the time but he held me close.. It was the first time I've ever been hugged! I told him about home.. and he decided I should go with him and I moved in with papa, mama and the rest of my family! They were all really nice to me though even with my limited movement.. We didn't exactly have much.. but I didn't have much back home either... I say it's home but really.. its... it was more like a prison!"

#MS - Mikado Sannoji: (Real - SDRA2 : 🪄 )#HM - Hajime Makunouchi: (SDRA2 : 🥊 )#EM - Emma Magorobi: (SDRA2 : 🎞️ )#NY - Nikei Yomiuri: (SDRA2: 📰 )#IN - Iroha Nijiue: (SDRA2 : 🖌️ )#Lore #((Order of speaking is order of age

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lamppostss · 3 months

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"Paper Cranes and Coffee" (Disc)

The world of evil began right there. In the middle of our house. The overwhelming anxiety made my stomach drop as I awoke in my own room, its small, choking walls seemingly closing in on me every day. The irregular, baren walls, the lack of furniture, a single locked window, always seemingly out of reach. I got up from the floor and listened in, just like a sickly mouse listening for predators in the tall grass outside this city. Quiet. Using this moment, with quick and shaky footsteps, I moved through the hall, avoiding empty bottles and creaky floorboards, reaching for the exit door. A reprieve. It was a foggy, slightly chilly morning on an autumn day. People walked by. A faceless procession sloshing through the rainwater puddles, peacefully ignoring each other’s lowly existence. I could hear them greet each other, see them nod and bow, blink and breathe. Yet it all felt so lifeless, like everyone collectively has lost their lust for life. I escaped from the dark into the still. A world of apathy. As the rain was picking up again, I lowered my gaze, stuck my hands into my pockets and started walking. Submerged in warm rainwater and the gentle indifference of the world, I went on forward, passing all that this city district had to offer – cheap women, drunks, corrupt watchmen, tiny shops with dusty windows and bent signs. I tried to isolate myself from the gazes of the crowd, pretending to be someone else. Or nothing at all.

The neighboring districts met me with the same apathetic warmth as my own, albeit with a much neater wrapping paper. Muddy stone was seemingly cleaner, and both the people and the buildings seemed dandier and more proper. I slid into the back alley, trying my best to not retch at the horrible smells and sights. I scurried through the backdoor, entering “The Gilded Carafe”, a middle-of-the-road bathhouse brothel, where I quickly changed into my work clothes.

My job was to pour and serve drinks. Nothing more, nothing less. Wearing a simple off-white suit, with my hair tied in a ponytail, I was a simple callboy. They say to place the bottle – I place the bottle. They say to pour – I pour. More was not required of me. Some clients have attempted to make me join them in their acts, most often as an observer, yet I usually politely disappeared, unless another drink was ordered. This was what I did for most of my days, earning little money and sinking further into the grey abyss of dehumanization. However, it was still preferable to what was waiting for me back home. As I heard a quiet bell go off, I let out a barely noticeable sigh. This meant that it was time for my break. I slid behind the curtains in one of the rooms, entering the rooms reserved for the bathhouse workers. And there I would find the only thing in the entire world that would make me feel something resembling joy… A knock on the door and the subsequent opening of said door had yanked me away from my thoughts. The visage of the things long gone from my life was replaced with a murky window. The rain outside had died down and all I could see now was a reflection of my own pale and wary face. In my hands was a small book, so absorbing and gripping that I managed to completely forget about its existence and contents in less than five minutes. My robes and gloves were neatly folded next to me, alongside a heap of other books that I have kept with myself.

I could not help myself but let out a contained chuckle. It was on me. Should have specified my role from the start. - I was merely a bartender and a waiter. My services were different from what the woman downstairs had offered us. - Ooooh, I see. Well… She froze again, thinking. A naturally curious being, the rogue had struck gold. Her pensive excitement was rather… Cute. The movement of her eyes, the concerned, yet awed expression. I could feel the corner of my lips involuntarily warping into a half-smirk. - W-was it as bad as people say it is? Like with the… Well you know. - Well, it was not pleasant. But mixing drinks and watching drunken nobles stumble over themselves looking for another tit to grasp was better than what was waiting for me outside my work. And some of the workers there were surprisingly well spoken. Some of them even got me books to read. Or coffee. I lowered my head, awkwardly sticking my fingers into the waves of my bright hair. I felt… strange. Like an old wound was being torn open and cured with the most soothing of balsams at the same time. The dragonborn sat there, wide-eyed, thinking about what to ask about next. Caught there in the moment of personal weakness, I found myself entertaining someone in a way I had never done before. Despite the rather heavy subject of our discussion, I felt strange warmth emerge from within. A fleeting notion of comfort in sharing my own misery with someone else. I smirked again, realizing the absurdity of it all.

- Did they make you wear something revealing? - Not at all. It was a simple grey-ish white outfit. - And has someone ever tried to… hire you? I went quiet for a moment. - Yes. But I refused. This question stung for some reason. I could not point to “why” at the moment, so I just sighed. - And did you have any friends there? I could feel blood rush to the back of my head. The one beacon of light, the pearl in the sea of grey nothing, the only person I feel I could trust back in the day. I should’ve lied right there. Said I was a loner. Yet, for some reason, with a slightly shuddering voice, I answered truthfully, like something crawled out of my throat all by itself, without my control. - Y-yes. One of the courtesans my age. We used to spend our breaks together. We would read together sometimes. But most often we just made paper cranes and drank coffee. I could feel my breath flutter. It felt like I got stabbed and gutted, but not with any normal weapon. Like a cursed poison, slight shakes of long forgotten pains spread through my body.

And go outside we did. Her and I, shrouded by the warm winds and silvery moonlight. She took me to the small pond right behind the bathhouse. The water here was mostly likely as dirty as any lawyer’s soul, but neither of us had a plan to swim. As I stared into the still water, hearing the croaking of the frogs and the sounds of a party from the building behind us, the young rogue managed to pull out two whole bottles of mildly cheap wine from a bush nearby. - Swiped those earlier when no one was looking. Was going to keep them to myself buuuut… Yeah, here you go. She handed the bottle to me with a proud look on her face. The sight made me smirk once more. - Much appreciated. I was never the one for drinking. Being drunk by myself was a depressing experience, while being even mildly intoxicated around others made me feel on edge, expecting a cruel joke or an unfortunate rumor the morning after. Yet, for some reason, those worries vanished as I heard Vallarys uncork her bottle with a dagger and take a mighty swig. I quietly pushed the cork out from the inside, using a primitive force spell, before also pouring the alcohol into myself. The bitterness of it did offset the tangy aftertaste of the cookies we both had earlier. And the sudden jump of alcohol in my blood made me bowl my fist and take a deep breath, like I was just jolted by a tiny lightning. We have spent a short while skipping stones, childlishly proud each time one of us got further than the other. It was a mindless affair, yet I couldn’t help myself but to enjoy it, simply bonding with a soul, which, just like myself, had also been unrightfully caged since birth. - You know, I wish I could tell interesting stories about myself. About the places I visited or strange people I met, but instead… Instead I got some shite. She picked up a pebble and chucked it into the water. I could see some anger in her movements. - Having a life be quiet does not diminish its worth. - Is it even a life if you sit in a gilded cage all day long, with no soul paying attention to you, no matter what? I was a… A decoration. A pet at best. - I felt much the same as I lived with the nobles later in my life. I understand what pains you, but if I had to choose between being afraid to sleep in my own bed or existing in a void – I would probably choose the latter. - Fuck choosing like that. Someone says shit like this to me – I’ll kick ‘em in the nuts. Or whatever there will be between their legs. I couldn’t help my chuckle at such a statement. Nor could I disagree with such an outlook. - Actually, I change my mind. I like your option the most.

- Of course you do. It’s the only true way after all. We then stood there, quietly drinking and staring into the water. As it was starting to rain and as our bottles were emptied, I suddenly realized just how trivial all of this was. Drinking myself half to sleep, throwing rocks into some dirty, stale pond, giggling about the idea of kicking someone in the privates. All of my life had led to this single moment. Standing in the rain, drunk, feeling all emotions at once. I probably looked like a genuine cretin from the side. Maybe I even was one. I could not help myself. As the rainwater started slowly pouring down on us, I dropped the empty bottle to the ground and started snickering to myself. At first it was a contained chuckle, with my hand covering my mouth, but as my hand move over my eyes and my face looked up, it was actually a proper, albeit quiet, laugh. - What’s so funny? Right. Right. I was not there alone. And that fact, once again, had brought warmth to my insides. I could hear that the rogue was also snickering, most likely from the unexpected mood change from my side. I moved my hand away, looking at her. She stood there, smiling, with her shoulders relaxed and one hand on the curve of her hip. I felt a strange carnal desire to press my lips against hers, something I have never considered doing with anyone else. Such a simple, yet intimate act. I waved it away in my head. I would not ruin this moment by following the primitive whispers of my ego. I smiled again, cocking my head to the side. - Nothing, just… Feels strange, being alive, doesn’t it? - Oh, fuck me, you are drunk. What’cha gonna say next? That water is made up? That the sky is actually a painting, draped over us all? She was chuckling at her own hypotheticals, not less intoxicated than I. As the rain intensified, I found myself finally relaxed, after all those years. - I am happy I have met you, lady Ra’anir. - Likewise, Sol, likewise. We slowly stumbled back inside and upstairs. Our group was nowhere to be found, so we made a logical assumption that they had gone to sleep and decided to follow their example. As we were parting ways at the doorstep of her room, giggling to each other for no reason, I gently held her hand by the middle and ring fingers and planted a polite peck on it. - Thank you for the evening. Have a good night. I could see the surprise on her face. I wish I was not as intoxicated as not to be able to differentiate between pleasant amusement and shocked disgust, but judging by the fact that instead of a loud slap on the face I was rewarded with a playful smirk and a “Thank you too” – it went over rather well. After that was over with, I walked into my own room, closed the door and closed my eyes. I awoke next morning rather parched and with a mild headache pressing on the temples of my head. Part of me still felt the warmth of yesterday, while my brain was already explaining to me that it was all but a strange dream. As I raised my head, I spotted something on the windowsill something that had removed my doubts and made the warmth inside me burn with twice the fervor. A cup of white coffee and a small paper crane with a letter “V” scribbled onto its tiny wing. Here it was again. The thing that made me feel like my life was worth living. Paper cranes and coffee.

#writing #ocs #my ocs #my writing #dnd #dungeons and dragons #lampposts disc #fanfiction #original characters #oc writing #fantasy #writeblr

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voiceoffenrisulfr · 5 months

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Hail Hydra - Chapter 10 "On Wrongs Swift Vengeance Waits."

Bucky is sought out, and he receives a gift from his new captors. CW: Nightmares, blood, death of a whumper. Prompts met; '11. Unexpected Gift (Best/Worst)' - @deaddovedec; 'Alt 9. Begging' - @whumpcember; 'Be Careful What You Wish For (alternate)' and 'Showering in Victim's Shower' - @halloweenhorrorbingo; 'The Past does not Forget, Blood does not Forgive' - Five Nights At Freddy's Bingo (@seasonaldelightsbingo); '"Don't Try to Beg. It Won't Work."' - @anyfandomdarkbingo; 'Can't Go Home' - @badthingshappenbingo.

Check it out on AO3 here, or read the first section below the KR with the boards!

I was emotionless as I was shuttled along, guided by the doctor with a hand on my elbow. My decent into madness, cold and encompassing, was certainly complete; I couldn’t even find the energy to feel guilt for the blood cooling on my skin, smearing in the dust beneath my soles. “I’m proud of you, soldier.” I blinked in surprise, head turning minutely. “Sir?” “You’ve proven an invaluable asset. You will be rewarded for your obedience.” Distantly, I was aware of the ominousness of his words, but was too numbed by my actions to care what happened to me. “Thank you, Sir,” I muttered. I hesitated outside my cell automatically, but he continued to encourage me along, and I followed with a soft, accepting shrug. I’m never going to be free of my actions here. I don’t care what happens to me now. The door he stopped outside was, for once, an actual door – albeit with a large, thick window that allowed for surveillance and hatch for delivering food. “What is this place?” “This is your reward, Американский. You have proven your obedience to the Soviet Union.” He pushed the door open, and my eyes widened in shock. I’d almost forgotten what comfort looked like. My memories, as long-faded as they now felt, told me that this was not, by any means, the height of sophistication and luxury, but compared to the bare, freezing room I was used to, the metal bed with its thin mattress looked fit for a king. The doctor inclined his head, gesturing to a thinner, wooden door opposite. “There’s a bathroom through there. Toilet, shower, the works.” He smirked as my jaw dropped, offering me a victorious, vicious grin. “I told you, Американский. Obedience earns reward. Disobedience, well…” His gaze dropped to the scars marring my body, fading quickly but still evident. “We know how that ends.” I nodded once, eyes lowered, silent and cautious. A shower. I hadn’t had more than the occasional, frigid hosing since I got here several months ago; the promise of hot water was almost too good to be true. “This is the part where you say ‘thank you’,” he growled, a hand tangling in my hair to jerk my head back. “Th-thank you, Sir,” I stammered uncertainly, my watery gaze locked on the ceiling, stained and peeling, until he released me. “The war is over, Американский. But you… You cannot go home, just like the other Aмериканцы. You have seen too much here. You are also too valuable to us. You are a Soviet soldier now – or you will die, like your companions. Do you understand me?” I nodded again, my eyes on the floor. “Yes, Sir. I understand.” “Good. Now clean yourself off; you’re disgusting.”

I was left alone for three days, save for the meals pushed through the hatch in the door. I’d been upgraded to slightly more edible dishes – they actually somewhat resembled food I’d once eaten now – and spent the time moving between bed and shower, still entirely naked but far less frozen than I’d been in my cell. The ability to wrap myself in my blanket, thin as it was, and stare into the middle distance in my room that never turned dark, curled into a foetal position on a flat mattress, felt like a luxury. The hot water erasing months of grime, dried blood, and the residue of infections long healed from my skin was a blessing. “Bucky?” My head snapped up, wet hair dripping across my forehead, mouth working wordlessly for a moment. “… Aleksi?” The hatch opened, a serving tray being placed in the space, and I scrambled to my feet in a panic. “Aleksi – is that you? You’re- Are you okay?” “Why are you in here?” he whispered, pale eyes large and concerned through the window. “What happened to the other Sergeant?” “Dead,” I replied tonelessly. I still refused to think about it – the soldier falling to his knees, the blood pooling around my feet, his last breath being used to call me a traitor – but the images came for me at night, leaving me trembling and breathless in the eternal light of my room. “… This… This was his room? The American?” “Da,” he replied, nodding. “He and the younger both. What happened?” “I did,” I answered coldly, fingers curling around my tray. I’ve been sleeping in their bed. Using their shower. All as a reward for their deaths- their murders. I think I might be sick… “Why?” “I was told to.” He nodded softly, wincing. “Because of me.” “Because of a choice I let you make,” I corrected quietly. “I could have made you leave, but I let you comfort me. That was my choice.” He opened his mouth to interrupt, but I shook my head fiercely, taking the tray and backing away. “Get out of here, Aleksi. If you’re caught talking to me, we’ll both be punished.” “Buck-” “No. Go away, Russki. We’ll survive this if you leave me alone – so do us both a favour, and don’t talk to me again.” With a resigned sigh, he closed the hatch, his eyes burning a hole in the side of my head as I sat with my knees to my chest, the tray beside me. I’m benefitting for being a killer. What other choice do I have? Why does being rewarded for this suddenly feel worse than just going back to my cell?

I expected to go several more days before I was interacted with again, left to my own devices in this room that now felt more like a new kind of torture than a comfort. I’d wished for a modicum of humanity for so long, but now that I had it, it was as a curse. It was – as far as I could tell – still the same day when a cursory knock sounded at the door before it banged against the wall. I was startled out of my mindless staring by an unknown, stiff-backed soldier marching into the room, his steel-grey eyes scanning the space in a perfunctory manner before finding me. “Sergeant Barnes? Identification 32557038?” I haven’t heard those numbers in so long. My hand instinctively sought my tags despite their long absence, and I nodded slowly. “Th-that’s me.” “Get up. We’re leaving.” “I-” He reached out to grasp my hair in his hand, dragging me to my feet as I yelped in surprise and pain. “I expect you to do what you’re told, when you’re told, soldier. No arguments, and no complaints.” His gaze found my arm – or rather, the absence of it – and his lip curled. “What the hell did that butcher do to you?” “I lost my arm falling from a train,” I replied immediately, and he nodded once, releasing his grip at last. “The fall in the Alps.” “Yes, Sir.” “We were informed. We assumed you dead.” “‘We’, Sir?” I inquired tentatively, and he met my eye with a grin. “The War is over, soldier… But HYDRA is still very much alive.”

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xinnammonmisc · 1 year

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🔒 Locked 📱

OC insert

Fandom: Detroit become human

Synopsis: Something happens in your office, and you’re stuck with your phone, and a smidge of hope. (Post-Deviancy)

POV: SECOND PERSON

Disclaimer: THIS IS HEAVILY SELF INDULGENT. THATS WHY ITS AN OC INSERT!!!

♪───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ────♪

(Xin is the resident doctor of the DPD after having to give medical assistance to multiple coworkers multiple times. Having their own office becoming an improvised medbay)

“Ohhh gosh. Why me??” You groan in frustration. Gavin ‘accidentally’ locked you inside the airtight Office with 3 busted cans of Febreeze with the fan on full blast of all settings. “Is he trying to kill me? He jammed the door shut!” You give up trying to open the door after a while, realizing oxygen is limited, and you don’t currently have the strength to bust the door down in your current predicament. Might as well send out one last message. Through the DPD’s… group chat? Why they had one you had no idea. Jokingly typing out your message but still having a twinge of urgency.

DrXinnieWinnie: Yo so Gavin just locked me in my office with 3 exploded cans of Febreeze, I'm probably suffocating. Please help.

The groupchat is practically dead considering the time. It was 11:02 PM. You got stuck in here.. An hour ago?!!

You sigh and put your phone down. ‘I swear once I get out of here I’m gonna beat his dumbass and lock him in here myself!’ Now that you think about it, didn’t your office have oxygen masks? You search your cabinets to find at least one, to no avail. You feel slightly dizzy. Maybe its the pure Febreeze seeping into your lungs. You sit down and pick up your phone.

2 Notifications

They’re from.. Connor? Isn’t he supposed to be offline right now?

Your vision is a bit messed up from the dizziness. You can only make it out just enough to comprehend what he’s trying to say.

Cnono:r Docotr? Is teh door lcoked? Aer yuo arlihgt?

oCnnro: Dn’ot wrroy I’m on ym ywa! Sti tgiht!

Everything is jumbled up, perhaps the dizziness is getting to you. You try to type out in readable format but you feel lightheaded.

rDiXneiniWnien: aGvin jamemd teh doro suht so ‘im trpaped nad i cnat bretahe

Your message should be readable to him, despite you not being able to see properly.

At this point you’ve accepted your demise and had already given up, so when you were about to surrender yourself to the gas filled room you heard a loud thunk coming from the door.

“…Connor..? is that you?”

“Yes, doctor, I’m here to get you out!” He yells from the other side of the door

He rams his body against the door and successfully breaks it off of its hinges. He rushes towards you, helping you up.

“Thanks.. It felt like I was going to die..”

“How are you feeling, Doctor?” He queries.

“..Lightheaded…” and then you fell to the ground.

“Doctor? Doctor, wake up!!…” Everything around you faded to darkness.

…

You open your eyes, in… the break room?

"Ah! Doctor Xin, you're awake! I thought I would have to take you to the nearest hospital, despite your dislike for them." A familiar android's voice rang out.

"Connor? Is that you?" You ask.

"Yes, it's me. I need to take you home, it's late." He spoke.

"Okay, sure. I'll go home." You said.

"No, no, I said I need to take you home. Lend me your car keys." He pushed.

You sighed and handed him your key ring, filled with your keys and a cute charm attached.

"Thats a good doctor, let's go now." He teased slightly.

As he drove you home you thought about if you hadn't messaged the group chat, you might've been in some serious hot shit. Thankfully, you did. But, why was Connor still online? Wasn't he supposed to be on sleep mode?

"We're here, do you want me to walk you inside?" The devilishly cute android asked.

"No, I can walk by myself." You said as you climbed out of your car, albeit a little wobbly.

You took a few steps towards your front door and tripped. Luckily, Connor was quick to catch you before you hit the ground.

"You need to rely on people more." The android said, concerned.

"That's boring." You pouted, playfully.

"Xin, no."

He walked you the rest of the way into your house and put you to bed.

"Goodnight, doctor."

"Goodnight, Connor."

As he left your house, he started calculating the best way to deal with a certain someone tomorrow.

ε=ε=ε=ε=ε=ε=┌(;￣◇￣)┘

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thearchivistsjournal · 2 years

Text

Day 74,

The air was actually cool when we woke this morning. Looks like we’ve been slowly but steadily climbing in altitude since undocking from that island the other day. We’re still moving generally north but starting to veer back toward the east. I think we might be heading for Cloud Tower. Is this how people get in there?

Cass and Lin seem a bit put off by the altitude-induced chill, but Maiko seems surprisingly at ease with it, energized even. She said something about this being the most comfortable she’s felt in a long time.

*******

We found the key to those locked second floor rooms. It was in the room the tree was growing through. Turns out that room wasn’t actually locked, it just had a branch pushing the door shut. Hard to tell what that room was originally used for, overgrown and exposed to the elements as it was. The key was on the floor near a small table that had been knocked over. Why lock all the doors but then just leave the key sitting out like that? Was there something in this room that Priscilla had wanted whoever came here to see before going into the other rooms? Or would it have been her friends that came up after her disappearance that left it out? Either way, if there was anything else in that room, it’s gone now.

As for those other second floor rooms, they appeared to be additional bedrooms, although one had been converted to a storage closet for stacks of paintings. Dozens of canvases piled one on top of the other as they were set to lean against the walls or lay on top of the bed. Most looked to be landscapes and still lifes, but there were some portraits mixed in. Some of them didn’t look like anything I’d expect to find in the Village or its surrounding islands yet felt achingly familiar. Deserts, mountains, snowy fields, pine forests, buildings of glass and metal. Were these drawn from Priscila’s outsider memories? Stories? Pure flights of fancy? If they were outsider recollections, did Priscilla paint them, or just describe them to her husband?

The other bedroom looked to be the one the house’s departed owners actually used. There were still clothes in the wardrobe and knickknacks and mementos scattered atop the dressers. Hanging on the wall directly across from the bed where it might be one of the first things seen upon waking was a painting of a beach. I think I might actually recognize the spot from my walk with Pat a few weeks ago. It’s not where I woke up, but it’s not far from it either.

Among the mementos was a finely crafted doll, albeit one that had seen better days, with its faded red clothing ragged at the edges. Nibbled at by insects over the years perhaps? It seemed out of place in a house that had never known children. Did Priscila wash up young and keep a comforting plaything with her out of sentimentality? Or was it intended for the child she was never able to have? Whatever its origin, Cass seemed intent on bringing it back with us. Said it might be nice for the kids that show up at the archive during the rainy season for their lessons. I suspect she just likes it but wants to act like she’s too old for dolls herself.

We also tried going up into the attic today since the trapdoor to that was in the painting storage room. Unfortunately, I don’t think there’s much of anything salvageable up there. What isn’t rotten and water damaged is covered in plants and I honestly don’t trust the floor up there to not give way under us if we were to do more extensive investigation to find something otherwise. As it was, only Cass actually walked out any distance from the ladder and neither Lin nor I were thrilled about her doing that.

The rest of the day we’re spending cleaning out the ground floor. If we’re ever going to come back here, we need to make this place a proper shelter and home to be safe from any shade that might show up. Maiko’s been going back and forth between helping us and island watching.

I’m taking a break from that myself at the moment. Going to go back to it soon. Hard sweeping and scrubbing chicken dropping when all your brushes and brooms have their bristles disintegrate if you push too hard.

*******

While we gathered for dinner this evening I addressed something that had been on my mind for a while and asked the others if they’d heard the story about the girl from the forest who wanted to see the sea. Lin and Cass had. Maiko hadn’t. Cass said that pretty much everyone hears that story as a kid, although it seems that every family has their own versions of it. When I asked if they thought it was odd that it wasn’t written down in the archive anywhere, they asked why write down something everyone already knows, especially when changing parts of the story is part of the fun.

While the beginnings and endings are always the same, the worlds the girl visits in between change from teller to teller, to the point where it’s something of a tradition for people to make up their own when telling it. Lin admitted that she herself used to daydream about the girl making her way through other stories she’d read or heard and meeting the other characters there. Two points always seem to persist though. One, that at some point the girl loses her mother’s sword and then (usually) goes on an adventure to get it back, often enlisting the help of others she meets along the way. And two, at some point she encounters a deep, dark wood, the nightmare to the dream she was born in.

We wound up spending the night taking turns telling the story to Maiko. Afterwards I asked them what they all made of the ending, with the girl climbing the tallest highest tree. Maiko was frustrated that it just ended there without resolution. Cass said that she liked to think the girl wound up in yet another world and kept on having adventures until one day her parents finally caught up with her and joined her on travels like they said they would “One Day.” Lin said that she used to think something similar. Then as she got older she started to think it was more likely that the girl would have failed to climb that impossible tree, but that was no fun as a story. These days she figures that the point of the ending, the story’s final lesson, is that there simply aren’t answers to some things, and that’s okay.

When they turned the question around and asked me what I thought of the ending, I had to say I honestly wasn’t sure yet. That was part of the reason I asked them. Still, while I didn’t say it, what Lin said about some things simply being without answers didn’t sit right with me. Then again, just because something has an answer that doesn’t mean we always have a way of learning it, and is it worth the frustration of constantly hurling yourself against a mystery like that instead of just making peace with it?

That said, there was one final question of the night, if Maiko had any stories like that to tell. She said her mother had told her a few, but it had been a long time so her memory of them was a bit fuzzy. Not to mention that she was uncomfortable with telling a story to a crowd, even if it was just the three of us. We didn’t push her for it.

Still, I am curious.

<==Previous Next==>

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prettyboypucey · 3 years

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Weird ~ G.W.

Summary: George is gorgeous. Charlie is a meddler. The snow is cold. (this summary sucks...just read it)

Pairing: George Weasley x Y/N

Word Count: 2,404 (who do I think I am?)

Warnings: mentions of bullying. mentions of food/eating. george is unknowingly triggering? reader cries. idk? let me know if i missed something.

A/N: part 2? maybe? translations are for romanian via google translate. do not come for me if they are hella wrong.

Translations: draga - darling; dragoste - love; tampit - stupid

I had never been normal. From the time I was a toddler I had stars in my eyes and dirt on my knees. While the other kids in my grade were playing with dolls and dressing respectably, I was riding imaginary dragons and wearing mismatched socks with dungarees and a butterfly headband. Normalcy evaded me even further when at 11 years old, I got a letter declaring me a witch.

When I first came to Hogwarts I spent the majority of my time alone. It appeared that even children who could wave a stick around and makes things fly wanted nothing to do with the colorful little girl. Meeting Luna Lovegood in my second year was the best thing that had ever happened to me. Here was a girl who allowed me to be exactly who I was with no judgments. And then she introduced me to Neville Longbottom and Ginny Weasley, and suddenly that little girl who thought her only friends would always be the rocks she painted faces on, had found her people.

Of course, being friends with Ginny Weasley meant knowing her many brothers. So after graduation when I went off to Romania to work with dragons it made me feel slightly better knowing Charlie Weasley would be there. He quickly took me under his wing and became the older brother figure I had never had. After working together for three years, and electing to stay at the sanctuary for the last two over the holidays, he had finally convinced me to come home with him. I was reluctant to leave the sanctuary - the one place I truly feel safe (despite the massive fire breathing creatures).

Charlie had warned me that being with one or two of the Weasleys was very different from being with the entire Weasley clan. Obviously I knew Charlie and Ginny, Ron had always been nice to me, and I had met Molly a handful of times in passing. However, Bill was known to be quite intimidating, Percy was supposedly very no-nonsense, and the twins (albeit never cruel) had a reputation of being hell-raisers.

Apparating to the edge of a marsh with Charlie by my side I could see the rising structure haphazardly balanced slightly ahead.

Pausing, I glanced at the back of the familiar red covered head, “I don’t know Charles, maybe I should just go back. I really don’t want to be a burden.”

Charlie very quickly rounded behind me to continue guiding me towards his home, “No, no, no, no, no. No. You’re not a burden to anyone draga. Keep your head up and if any of them give you grief - remind them of the giant, winged beasts you can feed them to.”

Quickly placing a kiss to the side of my head Charlie bounded ahead again to open the door and announce your arrival. Before I could toe off the first boot to leave next to the dozen other pairs in the entryway, a pair of arms had flung around my neck.

“Y/N! I missed you so much!”, Ginny pulled back, keeping her grip on my shoulders, to inspect for any major injuries.

I held onto her elbows, keeping her close, “Hi Gin, I missed you too. A lot. I’m loving this new look by the way.”

She reached up to brush the now short locks behind her ears. A grin on her face as the two of us looked the other over for the first time in months. Ginny was wrapped in a pretty baby pink sweater with shades of red and white running through it. The material was soft against my palm as I hooked it around her crooked elbow to follow her into the living area.

“You know”, she started, “I was starting to think maybe Charlie had let you get eaten or burnt to a crisp in the land of dragons. It’s been so long since you’ve come to see me or left the sanctuary.”

“I’m sorry Ginny. It’s just that after everything, I had to keep myself busy.”

Ginny’s smile softened into one of understanding. The war had taken a part of all of us. Although Fred had recovered after many months, that fear of almost losing such a vital part of their family had rocked the entire Weasley family to its core.

“I get it, I do, but I worry about you. I just want you to know you’re not alone Y/N.”

I pulled the girl into another tight hug, “I know.”

Ginny pulled away first, clearing her throat, “Okay! Now that’s out of the way - it’s time to introduce the one and only Y/N L/N to the Weasley’s.”

I hummed, “Hmmm and which of us should be more scared?”

“Oh definitely the Weasleys.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Meeting the Weasley family had gone much better than expected.

Molly had opened her arms and home to me as if I was one of her own children. By the time the night was over she had me stuffed full of warm food and drink and donning my very own coveted Weasley sweater, the lavender initial in the middle marking it as my own. Arthur had been very interested in my muggle parents and upbringing, questioning me about the functions of a rubber duck. Bill and his wife Fleur were the most stunning couple I have ever seen, and not nearly as intimidating as people portrayed them. Fleur was pleased when she found out I spoke a bit of conversational French and promised to have me over to Shell Cottage (apparently they have an amazing collection of wind chimes that I am dying to see). Percy was a bit more refined. Completely polite and friendly but he seemed reserved. Ginny had explained in one of her letters how much guilt Percy carried after the Battle of Hogwarts over how he had behaved in the years leading up to that day.

The twins were much different than I remembered them being from the few times we were around each other in school. The physical differences were clear - George’s missing ear and Fred’s dragging limp were both signs of the prices they paid in the war. More than that however, they had matured greatly. They were still happy and made sure to pull at least two pranks over the night, poor Molly nearly lost her voice after they blew up the turkey. However, there was something in their eyes that had been dimmed. Especially in George.

His twin almost died that night, and it reflected in George’s eyes each time he looked at his older brother. It was clear that he was still afraid because whenever Fred left a room George followed, never letting his brother out of his sight, and if he happened to lose track of him a panic began to swirl in his brown orbs.

I was in the middle of watching as George yet again made his way to Fred’s side, clapping a large hand on his twins shoulder and throwing his head back in laughter.

“So which one are you staring at dragoste?”, Charlie whispered as he appeared out of nowhere.

I ignored the burning in my cheeks as I looked away from the scene in front of me.

“I am not staring at either of them tampit.”

“Mhmm, sure, absolutely, I believe you.”, after a quick pause he said, “It’s George isn’t it?”

I turned and scoffed at him, “No!… How did you know?”

Charlie let out a chuckle, “Because I know you my little dragon. I also know my brother, and just between us, he definitely likes you as well.”

At this I let out an incredulous laugh and glanced back to where George was now telling a story, his hands moving animatedly. There was no way that George Weasley had even a remote attraction to me. He was kind, strong, clever, and so bloody gorgeous it truly was a privilege to look at him. And I am…me. Nothing special. Just a girl who had more dragon friends than human ones and whose hands were covered in scars and callouses and whose socks never matched and had never even kissed a man before. So no, there was no way that George Weasley would ever like me.

“Hey. I know that look Y/N. Stop those thoughts right this bloody second.”

“Charles it really is annoying when you read me like that.”

Throwing his arm over my shoulder he began to lead me towards the twins, “Yes I know and I am sorry in advance but this needs to be done. Fred!”

Charlie’s voice had gone from a rushed whisper to a jovial shout when we reached George, Fred, and Ron by the fireplace. George’s smile as he turned to look at us sent a million butterflies off in my tummy.

“So Freddy, I was hoping you could help me out with a top secret project tomorrow for mum and maybe show me around the joke shop. I heard you added some new displays that I want to check out.”

“Sure Charlie”, Fred glanced at George as he spoke, “I’m sure we can make some time for our favorite brother.”

Ignoring Rons protest, Charlie gripped my shoulders and pushed me in front of him, “Actually George I was thinking you could stay here and show Y/N around the area. She mentioned wanting to talk a walk tomorrow and I would hate to disappoint her on her first Christmas out of the sanctuary.”

“Um-”

I interrupted the rejection coming from George, “No please, I would hate to be a bother and make you be stuck with me all day. I’m sure Ginny can take me.”

George smiled and shook his head, “No it’s completely fine Y/N. I would be happy to show you around.”

“Okay great! It’s settled then!”, Charlie looked rather too pleased with himself and obviously missed the look exchanged by his identical younger brothers.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning the Burrow was a flurry of movement as everyone began their day. Apparently Charlie and Fred weren’t the only ones on their way out. The others still had some last minute gift shopping to do and Ron was spending the day with Hermione’s muggle family. After breakfast, a quick wink from Charlie, and a slam of the front door - George and I were alone in the house.

The two of us stood facing one another in the living room for a few awkward moments before George spoke, “Well, um, did you want to head out as well?”

“Oh sure! Yes, let me just grab my boots really quickly.”

George led me out the door and onto the snow covered path towards the small, iced over river. Nothing was said for a while, the only sound was the crunch of snow under our boots and the occasional sniffle from one of our red noses. I was mentally imagining all the ways I was going to kick Charlie’s ass when he got back for suggesting a walk in the middle of winter when we came to the top of a hill and stopped.

Everything as far as the eye could see was blanketed in sheets of white. Stomping my boots down into the fresh snow, I couldn’t help the giggle that escaped as the snow gave way underfoot. Feeling a pair of eyes on me I remembered that I wasn’t alone and turned to see George watching me with an unidentifiable look on his face.

“Sorry, sorry. That was - I don’t know why I did that. I liked the feeling of the crunch of the snow I guess. Sorry.”

George grinned, “You don’t have to apologize. It was cute.”

I could feel my face flush at his words. His smile grew even wider at the sight of my heated face. My gaze dropped from his pretty face down to my boots. I could feel the thick socks I had on beginning to grow cold and wet from how long we’d been outside. Looking back up I could see George’s deep eyes glaze over. Assuming it was because he had been apart from Fred so long I glanced out at the view one last time before turning back the way we came.

“We should probably get back. We’ve been gone a while and my toes are getting wet. I feel bad enough that Charlie forced you to do this anyways without you getting frostbite or something. I’ve had frostbite, it’s not fun. And now I’m rambling. I’m sorry. Sorry”

George was shaking his head at me and said, “You are so weird.”

Ouch. My chest tightened and the small smile I had been wearing dropped from my face. If I had been able to see past the tears forming in my eyes that were making my sight blurry, I would have seen George’s face do the same. Unfortunately, all I could focus on was that word. Weird. Strange. Abnormal. Freak.

Weird weird weird.

The walk back was silent. A thick tension surrounded you both as thick snow flurries began to swirl down in the midmorning air. Just as thick was the lump forming in my throat as I fought back tears. I know I shouldn’t let his words affect me. He’s just some guy. But deep down I also know that he’s not just some guy. This is George fricking Weasley. With his stupid perfect face and gorgeous eyes and his loyalty to his family. I couldn’t help but be enamored with him from the moment I walked in the Weasley’s front door. So it hurt to hear the man I liked call me that nasty word that has haunted me my entire life.

When we finally reached the Burrow, George tried to reach for my arm but I pulled away and ran into the house. I could hear that some of the others had returned and really wanted to avoid a confrontation. Once again, luck wasn’t on my side. Charlie came walking out of the kitchen and saw me in the entryway. His face immediately became concerned at the sight of me and he lowered the sandwich he had from his mouth.

“Draga?”, Charlie’s voice followed me as I finally reached the stairs and launched upstairs.

As I reached the first landing I heard him speak again, his voice rough and hard.

“What did you do?”

#george weasley #george weasley imagine #george weasley x reader #george weasley angst #george weasley fluff #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter writing #harry potter imagine #hp imagine #charlie weasley #charlie weasley x platonic!reader #charlie weasley imagine #hp #harry potter

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honeytae · 3 years

Text

I liked your performance better.

happy wednesday, my loves! ooh do i have some filth for you...just take a peek at the warnings. in my defense, i wrote this based on Soowoozoo!Hoseok because…he really did something to me. i hope you all enjoy and as always, let me know your thots thoughts :)

tags: @ahgasearmyfan, @hoseokayy, @the1921-monsters

genre: smut, fluff

warnings: needy!reader x smug! hoseok, heavy petting and kissing, a slight mention of exhibitionism, fingering, unprotected sex (USE A CONDOM), penetrative sex in a public place, katoptronophilia (getting off on sex in front of a mirror), a brief blowjob, deepthroating & mouthfucking, hoseok is really vocal and might just get you into some trouble…

word count: 2.3k

Jung Hoseok was insane. He had to be.

Between his freshly bleached platinum hair, barely buttoned shirt, and tight shorts revealing built thighs and long legs that seemed to go on for days, by the boys ending ments you were absolutely ready to lose your mind, restless on the sofa he’d left you on to watch the performances off the television in his dressing room.

Fidgeting on the cushions, you sat up with a start when you heard the crowd of rowdy men approaching the hall, practically flying off the couch and running out into the corridor to briefly greet the group before running into your man’s arms.

Hoseok’s face lifted in a display of shocked amusement at your sudden launch at him, intercepting your frame with a chuckle as you wrapped your arms around his torso.

“I-hey! What’s up, angel?” He asked, eyebrows furrowed in slight confusion yet mouth spread in a wide smile at your greeting.

“Just proud of you, Sunshine.” You murmured, your boyfriend’s face softening at your words, squeezing you to him appreciatively.

“Thank you.” He whispered, you humming in response as the other men’s voices faded in the background, seemingly making their way down the hallway to the food awaiting them.

Staring at each other for a moment, you exhaled as Hoseok’s eyes flitted down to your lips, his own mouth quirking up when yours. Tipping his head to the side, he eagerly pressed his mouth to yours, leaving chaste kisses that faded in length each time.

Settling your hands on his shoulders, you gripped his biceps for some kind of balance, his mouth always having a dizzying effect on you no matter what the circumstances.

“You did amazing, Hobi.” You mumbled against him, wanting to drill that very fact into his mind to boost his confidence. As expected, the man blushed with a nervous giggle, making you smile at how easy it was to get him flustered.

“Yah, stop it.” He smiled, dipping down to press another kiss to your lips and pulling away, humming when you guided him back to you by his cheek.

“Babe- mm.”

This time, the kiss was much needier, tongue entering his mouth with a press of the muscle against his bottom lip as he moaned in surprise at the fervor you met him with.

Turning your bodies so that he could guide you back to his private dressing room, he gripped your hips as he walked forward, you following his lead and blindly going backwards as your lips melded with his over and over again.

Finally reaching the room, he reached behind you without disconnecting your mouths, shoving the door open and pushing you inside before hastily shutting it behind him, making sure to latch the lock.

Spreading your arms for him to walk into, you smiled as he followed along, wrapping his arms around your waist as he pressed his chest to yours.

“Didn’t know exhibitionism was a thing of yours.” He joked, leaning his forehead against your own with a grin as you laughed.

“Hm. Nobody was around, Sunshine. Not that I could hold myself back any longer, anyway.” You shrugged, the man’s cheeks heating instantly at your words and the tone you spoke them with.

“Is that right?” He asked, squeezing your love handles with his palms before letting his hands trail down to cup your ass.

His touch practically had you purring in delight, fingers sinking into your plush flesh with an appreciative hum that automatically had your heart pumping harder in your chest.

“Mhm. You try sitting back here and watching your sexy self perform. I mean, fuck, Hobi. I think you’re just out to get me.” You sighed, tipping your head to the side as Hoseok began trailing kisses down from your jaw to your neck, peppering his lips against the skin with a smile you could feel, but not see.

“I’m glad I have that effect on you, love.” He replied coolly, making you scoff under your breath as he tucked his finger beneath the neckline of your shirt, puckering his lips against your collarbone.

“You’re so modest.” You said, gasping when his teeth playfully bit down on your skin as he backed you toward the wrap around sofa in the center of his dressing room, bypassing the racks of clothing lined up for his precious performances.

“Hm, you have that effect on me. Just happy it’s mutual.” He murmured, wet purses of his lips along the skin of your neck interrupting his words, your fingers digging into his shoulders at both his actions and his words.

“Seokie,” you whined, “please fuck me.”

Eyes nearly popping out of his head at your urgent request, Hoseok did little to conceal the tent in his pants, pulling you flush to him as he raised his eyebrows at you.

“Here?” He asked, sounding genuinely surprised at how low your standards had become. He was sweaty and disgusting, and his dressing room wasn’t faring much better. It wasn’t exactly the most romantic or even remotely sexy of venues.

“Are you really turning me down right now?” You raised your own brows above your widened eyes, the man flicking his gaze over to the door as he sighed out a breath.

“Well-”

“Well?” You cut him off at the single word, pouting a bit at the rejection before Hoseok pinched at your bottom lip to stick it back into its original place. He leaned in to kiss you once more, soothingly stroking up and down your bicep as you continued to frown at him.

“Well, it’s not exactly the most romantic of locations-“

“Since when do you care about the amount of romance in a location? Didn’t we just have sex in a food closet last week? Or maybe I’m remembering wrong-”

Cutting you off with a heated kiss, one that stole your breath momentarily as his tongue immediately swept into your mouth in a hot and needy act, he stepped forward to guide your body backwards.

“Fine, I’m not gonna be one to argue this. Take your pants off.” He ordered breathily, an obvious strain in his voice from the torturous build-up between his legs, watching as you did as told with a happy pep in your moves.

The sight made his heart swell a bit, lifting his own shirt above his head before he reached for the hem of your own, dragging it up over your face to pull you flush to him again, chests touching each other as he leaned in to kiss you.

While still passionate, this kiss was albeit a bit subdued, more loving than needy and more passionate than the earlier greediness that was present from both sides. His velvety lips, slightly chapped from his day in the sun, worked over yours deliciously, your fingers grasping at his biceps to hold onto anything for the sake of your sanity.

Humming into his mouth as you felt his hand trail down your torso, you leaned further into him as he caressed your curves, squeezing at the flesh of your ass with one hand and letting his other slip between your thighs.

“Hoseok,” you gasped as his finger pad made contact with your clit, whine emanating from the back of your throat as he increased the pressure upon the swollen bud.

Swearing into your mouth, he moved his fingers down your slit, prodding two fingers into your entrance, humming at the slick dripping down the length of his fingers.

“Hobi.” You whimpered as he scissored his pointer and middle fingers inside of you, spreading you open with a hum as your fingernails pressed into his arm, crescent shapes embedding in his skin.

“Please, Hobi.” You begged, rocking your hips to the pace of his thrusts, chasing your orgasm as you desperately palmed over his hard length.

“Ugh, fuck.”

Yelping as your man suddenly spun you around in his arms, you giggled as he pressed your back to his front and bent you over the makeup counter, giving himself a few preparatory strokes between your legs.

“I wanted to touch you.” You pouted, Hoseok chuckling a bit before dipping down to press a kiss to the top of your spine.

“Next time, baby.”

Delicate fingers traced over your back as he settled your chest onto the table, sweeping your hair all over to one side as you laid your cheek down, spreading your feet wider apart on the ground in a beckon for Hoseok’s throbbing cock.

After a few moments of him not making any initiating moves, you looked back with a whine, the man coming down to chuckle in your ear and pucker his lips behind your lobe. Shivering as he took it between his teeth, your legs gave out when he unexpectedly began swiping the bulbous head of his cock through your folds, humming when it made circles around your clit.

“Fu-uck.” Hoseok breathed out as he plunged bare into your entrance, his voice catching in his throat as he felt your warm walls finally wrap around him, the feeling everything and more than what he was envisioning throughout the show.

You weren’t doing much better at keeping your composure for the sake of your surroundings, fingers grasping the table for stability as your boyfriend began rocking his hips into yours.

Glass bottles of makeup clashed against each other with each and every movement, Hoseok’s thrusts growing harsher as he tipped his head back with a groan.

“Babe, open your eyes.” He exhaled, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck before moaning against it as your walls clamped around his twitching cock.

Following instruction, you peeled your glazed over eyes open to meet his own dark pair in the mirror’s reflection, the sight nearly causing your eyes to roll back into your head.

His skin was glistening with sweat again just how it’d been while he was performing, but now he had a completely different look on his face. His eyes hooded, narrowed and completely taken over by lust, mouth parted to let moans freely spill out, pure ecstasy written into every feature.

“Fuck, baby. You see that? See how beautiful you are? How sexy?” He grunted, each question starting and ending with a rough thrust that had the mirror on the vanity banging into the wall behind it.

“H-hobi,” you moaned as you watched your wrecked selves in the mirror, closing your eyes when his thrusts picked up depth.

He slid in and out of your pussy with embarrassing ease, wet noises resulting from his thrusts making both of you groan collectively.

Soon the only sound in the room, and the near vicinity of the concert hall, was your moans and the slapping of skin against skin, your ass beginning to sting with the repetitive impact from Hoseok’s pelvis.

Your core was beginning to get that familiar fizzling feeling as the head of his cock bumped your cervix, whimpers increasing as your boyfriend leaned down to press kisses onto your neck.

“Sh-shit, I love you.” He breathed as your walls twitched around his length, oxygen stuttering in his throat at the feeling.

“Hoseok.” You whined, jaw dropping as his finger made connection with your neglected clit, rubbing it in concentrated circles to ensure your release.

Slamming your hand down on the table to grip onto the edge, you let many inaudible words slip out of your mouth as you suddenly released on Hoseok’s cock.

The man groaned at the feeling, slowing his pumps in an attempt at being careful to exclude any overstimulation.

The action only made you whine as you pushed your hips back on him, wanting to feel him lose everything as you just had even in your foggy state of mind.

When all you got was a “you okay?,” you just rolled your eyes, pulling away from the man to let his dick drop from your entrance and face him, immediately dropping to your knees before he could utter a word.

“Wh-what are you, oh fuck.” He moaned as you quickly took his throbbing cock into your mouth, watching you as you sunk down his throbbing length until he tapped at the back of your throat, initiating a small cough before you adjusted to the feeling.

He was definitely a tight fit in your mouth, as Hoseok was most likely about to blow his load with the size of him right now, but he fit snug in the back of your throat, sucking a hiss through his teeth as you swallowed around his cockhead.

“Baby, can I?” He asked, looking down at you with scrunched eyebrows and a curled lip, chest heaving as you swallowed around him again.

You nearly chuckled at the question, always asked out of consideration despite you both knowing it would always be an affirmative answer from you.

“Mhmm,” You hummed for his benefit, and the fact that your entire mouth was already occupied, the vibration making Hoseok let out another loud moan before slapping a hand over his mouth.

“You’re gonna get me in so much trouble.” He chuckled after a moment of silence outside the door, you humming again with a smirk as he repeated the loud sound you’d heard previously.

“Mm, shit.” He swore, letting his hands travel down to land on the back of your head, both supporting and controlling you as he began pumping his hips into your hot mouth, face scrunched in ecstasy.

You mostly let him do as he pleased, only making a move to lick at his slit when his mushroom head slipped from your tongue.

“Oh god.” He rolled his head back to look at the ceiling, sweaty neck fully visible as he put his last few strokes into your hollowed cheeks, increasingly weak before his cum painted your tongue, long, tangy ropes making it down your throat as well.

Popping off of his softening length in pride, you rose to a stand in front of the heavily breathing man, brushing his wet hair back from his forehead with a hand before reaching out for you with an exasperated laugh.

“I liked your performance better. You’re fucking unreal.”

Quirking a smile at his breathy words, you leaned forward to press a rather gentle kiss to his lips, resting your hand on his chest with a grin as he cemented you close to him with a hand on your spine.

“So are you. I’m so proud.” You said genuinely, tone softer than when you’d told him earlier, now without the fiending need to jump his bones.

The look in Hoseok’s eyes told you that was everything and more that he needed to hear, smiling wide before kissing your lips once again.

“Thank you, angel.”

A few peaceful moments passed before you suddenly pulled back from your man, widened eyes catching his attention as he rubbed his fingers over your forearm.

“What is it?” He asked, following your gaze as you looked over at the door of his dressing room.

“Do you think they heard us?” You asked fearfully, only remembering now that the backstage space wasn’t huge at this venue, and the other six guys along with all the staff were bound to have heard the noises resulting from your activities.

Hoseok was quiet for a moment, seemingly debating how to handle the situation before he turned to you with a sigh.

“I think we should sneak out the back door.”

235 notes · View notes

wkemeup · 4 years

Text

Honey and Chamomile

summary: Four cups of tea, four distinct moments in time, and each pulls you in closer beyond the walls surrounding Bucky’s heart pairing: bucky x reader word count: 5.8k warnings: lots of fluff, but also nightmares, and lots of tea because im a fanatic a/n: this was written for @coffee-with-bucky‘s 2k writing challenge and it’s a thousand years late, but I hope you enjoy it! My prompt was 🌟 tea 🌟

It starts late in the evening as the thunder rolls in, low breaks amongst the clouds in the distance, a flicker of lightening touching the night sky and illuminating the shadows cast by the city. Painted raindrops slide against on the windowsill, racing one another to the edge of the pane. It’s soothing as you close your eyes and lose yourself in the soft tap-tap-tap to the walls of the tower and the hums of thunder miles beyond the city. It’s better than the silence, anyway.

The whistle of a kettle sings by the stove and it pulls you gently from your stance at the window. Mug in hand, you grab a bag of peppermint tea from the small box to the right of the kettle; paintings of sunsets and starry nights along the wooden frame. You close the lid and tug the string of the bag so it lays over the lip of the mug. Hot water finds its home at the center and the air around you fills of candy canes and memories of nights wrapped in blankets by the fireplace.

You hear footsteps behind you as you set the kettle back on the stovetop, careful of the bright red rings of the burner, and slowly wrap your hands around the mug. There’s a shuffle at the edge of the kitchen as the warmth of the mug touches your palms, soothes right up into your arms, the liquid too hot to drink but the steam of it is comforting against your cheeks. Crisp and cool amongst burning heat.

“Didn’t think you were home,” you say quietly, back turned to the figure who takes in a sharp breath in response.

The team was out on a mission, one Cap insisted you stay clear of after your near fatal gunshot wound in Bratislava last month. You fought it tooth and nail, but what Cap says goes, and well, you didn’t.

“Steve says I need more time,” Bucky replies, voice barely a whisper and you can practically picture the way he digs his hands into the pockets of his plaid pajama pants, scrunching at the fabric from the inside as a way to ground himself.

“Steve’s a little overprotective, don’t you think?” you chuckle lightly, turning from the window where the raindrops cast down along the glass in full, sweeping lines to find Bucky standing just beyond the plane of the kitchen. Just close enough to make his presence known, far enough to escape. Always one foot in, one foot at the exit. Self-preservation is a hell of a drug to kick.

“He’s right, though. Hard to trust a teammate who doesn’t trust his own mind,” Bucky mumbles slowly, scratching at the nape of his neck.

The shine of silver catches your eye under the dim overhead lighting and he notices it almost instantly, the way your gaze draws to solid metal, how you study the lines and bolts in his joints, and he drops his arm. He holds it then behind his back, tries to play it off casually, but you see how he hides it from view, like he’s been caught with something he shouldn’t have. A weapon.

You sigh, setting the mug down on the counter, the whisper of peppermint on your lips. He sells himself short, gets locked up in the mindset of what Hydra conditioned him to be, struggles to come back to himself and trust that he can control his own mind again. You know how often he wonders when he’ll lose it again, when he’ll break to someone else’s will and be forced to commit terrible acts again. It’s never a matter of ‘if’, but ‘when.’

He wonders when he’ll hurt Steve, or Sam, or Nat, or you. He wonders when the final straw will break and the floor will be ripped out from under him, when he’ll take a life he can’t give back. He wonders when enough will be enough and you’ll decide he’s not worth the trouble.

“I trust you,” you say, and you do mean it, but Bucky only shrugs, eyes downcast.

He shuffles he feet again. It’s uncomfortable for him to hear, you realize. It's foreign in his body and he barely recognizes the kindness in it when he feels it, the certainty of it, because it has been so long since he knew anything but cruelty and manipulation.

So, you pull a second mug from the cabinet; the one behind the Captain America logo painted on the side and Tony’s Disney themed mug that reads ‘Greatest Place on Earth 2003’ down the handle. You grab onto the edge of the mug tucked far into the back; light blue in color, soft undertones along the bottom. It’s painted like the waves of the ocean. It reminds you of him.

Bucky doesn’t say anything as you grab a second teabag from your wooden box and drop it in the mug, or as you fill the cup with the steaming water. You set it at the edge of the counter, eyeing him carefully as he remains still in his stance. One foot in, one foot at the exit.

“There’s sugar and milk if you want some,” you offer but Bucky shakes his head.

“No, no, this is just fine,” he says, voice a little uneven, almost as if he’s surprised by the gesture.

He steps forward, out of the shadows of the hallway and lets the soft lights of the lamp at the couch’s end touch his skin. They illuminate over messy hair, a few strands out of place, creases in his cheeks from pillow cases, the way he sways side to side in his stance. Nervous energy for a man with precision behind a barrel unlike anyone you’d ever seen.

He takes the mug, testing the heat of the surface, before he pulls it between his hands. You busy yourself with your own tea, taking a sip as you watch him bring it the mug to his lips. He pauses, smelling the hot water and you’re almost certain you see his cheek twitch. Ever so slightly, gone in an instant, but a remnant of a smile remains.

“I’ll be at the gym by nine tomorrow morning if you want to join me,” you say as you head towards the hallway. “I’ve seen your left hook and I could use some help on my stance.”

Bucky swallows back scalding hot tea like it’s nothing, his shoulders pushing up by his ears, startled by your request and it makes you laugh a bit. He chokes out a short nod, flustered perhaps judging by the pink in his cheeks.

You smile back at him, pausing at the doorframe to look at him one last time as he leans against the kitchen sink.

The smell of peppermint lingers in your wake.

***

You sit on the couch in the living room with your feet kicked up on the ottoman, book resting in your lap and a warm cup of tea nestled in your right hand. Its leans onto your chest as the steam of a sweet, woody scent of green tea filters through the air.

Fresh off of a month-long surveillance mission in Chechnya, your body is sore from long nights in cramped cars and your mind a little disengaged from hours staring out at a single window through the short end of binoculars.

Natasha sits quietly at the kitchen table behind you, flipping through the files spread out amongst the surface in organized chaos. The soft hum of a playlist on the overhead speakers drown out the grunts of Steve and Sam sparring down the hall in the training room.

You smile as you hear the shuffle of footsteps at the edge of the room, feet dragging purposefully along the tile. You don’t have to look up to know who is it, but you do wonder when Bucky decided to start dragging his feet to alert you to his presence.

He used to be impossibly quiet in his steps, like he was hunting prey even with his defenses down as much as he would allow them. He's snuck up on you a few times before without meaning to, his voice in greeting startling you enough to drop a mug of scalding tea from your hands and onto your exposed thighs and the tile below. If you think hard enough about it, you’d realize it was that moment, as he scrambled to dry your skin of the hot water, frantic apologies under his breath, as he knelt into the broken shards of your mug, that his steps became louder when he approached.

He hasn’t been able to sneak up on you since.

“Hey,” he says quietly from the edge of the room.

You smile to yourself, eyes still on the lines of the novel though you haven’t looked up at him yet. “Hey.”

“Smells good.”

You nod, taking in a heavy whiff of the steeping tea. “Wanna try?”

Bucky sits down on the couch beside you, a full cushion as a barrier between, but you don’t mind. He’s slow to warm up, cautious with even the people he trusts most, and you have no interest in pushing him beyond his boundaries. He sits rigid on the couch, stiff, though you can tell he’s trying to relax. He's fighting with his muscles and arguing with his mind.

“Here,” you offer, extending the mug to him.

He stares at you, blue eyes flickering from the tea and back to your face suspiciously.

“I haven’t poisoned it, Bucky,” you tease, pulling it back to your lips and taking a sip in proof. You sigh as it passed down your chest, warming you from the inside. It doesn’t slip your notice that Bucky’s eyes linger on your lips long after you’ve extended the mug back to him.

“If it’s a germ thing, I can make you a fresh cup,” you offer, laughing a bit under your breath.

“No, uh, thank you,” Bucky musters out and slowly takes the mug from your hands.

You nod and quickly return to your book, though you keep an eye on him in the reflection of the television screen. He studies the mug for a moment, looking over the slightly uneven edges of the ceramic, the speckles of golden flakes mixed amongst the brush strokes.

“Did you make this?”

“Steeped it myself,” you chuckle. “Strenuous work.”

Bucky laughs at that, though it’s muffled a bit, restricted, but it’s still there, still light and airy and incredibly beautiful.

“The mug,” he clarifies as he holds it up. “Did you make the mug?”

“Hey, even an Avenger need a hobby, right?” you shrug, albeit a little embarrassed. The walls of the mug are uneven, the painting done under dim lighting after hours as the little ceramics shop would have been swarmed with fans if not for the kindness of the owner who let you stay late into the evening. “I know it’s not very good--”

“I like it.”

Bucky smiles softly as he nods at you, examining the mug further. He traces over the handle that’s slightly too small for his grip, the edges that sway up and down like waves, the dot of red paint at the bottom that accidentally made its way onto the surface.

He takes a sip and you watch as his whole body seems to sigh in response. Muscles easing, tension leaving him. It’s a respite.

When he hands the mug back to you, you expect him to leave. He doesn’t. Instead, he stays quietly with you, sitting contently as he picks up a newspaper from the end table and you resume your place in your book. Perfectly quiet. Comfortable.

***

“Will you just take the medicine... please?”

“I’m an Avenger, Bucky, I can fight off the common cold.”

“You can barely breathe on your own. I might call for an ambulance. It's starting to look dire. Life or death kind of situation.”

“Oh, shut up,” you laugh, swatting his hands away as you quickly move to cover your mouth as another coughing fit takes over. It burns deep into your lungs, aches hard in your chest, makes it quite hard to catch your breath again, but you feel a soft touch on your back; gentle, soothing circles of a flat hand pressed to your spine, and you manage to find air again.

You wipe your lips as he pulls back. “Thanks.”

“It’s nothing,” he says with a soft smile, waving you off.

“I could get you sick. You should’ve had me quarantined like everyone else.”

“Aren’t you dramatic today?” he chuckles, shaking his head. “I can't get sick with this serum running in my veins, you know that. Besides, no one’s quarantining you. They’re just--”

“--avoiding me like the plague?”

Bucky grimaces. “Yeah, maybe.”

You smile tiredly at him, heat a little fuzzy, vision a little tunneled, but you enjoy the way he smiles back at you. He has such a nice smile, pretty, to the point where it’s almost unfair. It curves up into his cheeks, creating lines around and under his eyes, bright and cheery and you almost forget he’s also a ghost story of an assassin with the sharpshooting range more precise than a drone.

Before you can realize what you’re doing, under the haze of a clouded mind, your hand reaches out and touches his cheek. He freezes under your touch, surprised more than anything else, and he watches with wide eyes as you dreamily trace the lines in his face, the curve of his jaw and the tip of his nose. Your head feels a little fuzzy and your eye lids flutter heavily, just as Bucky begins to smile again.

“Take the meds, doll,” Bucky asks again sweetly. He slowly pries your hand from his face and sets two red pills in your left hand, a glass of water in your right. He guides your hand with the medication up towards your mouth. “Please? I miss my training partner. Can’t spare with someone who’s half dead in the living room from a stuffy nose and I refuse to go back to Wilson.”

“Okay, okay,” you grumble playfully, quickly swallowing the medication and chasing it with the water.

The couch dips slightly as Bucky gets up, jogging over to the kitchen. The whistle of the kettle is muffled in your ears, like it’s distant and behind several walls and closed doors. You stretch your jaw, trying to pop away the barrier, but it’s of no use.

You watch silently as Bucky scrambles around the kitchen, a little flustered for his frame, and you can’t help the smile that pushes at your cheeks.

“Top right,” you tell him, pointing to the cabinet over his shoulder.

He sighs, shakes his head, and sure enough, the mugs are in the cabinet on his right. He pulls down two from the shelf. For you, the one with the tiny cartoon dinosaur on the front dressed in an Iron Man suit, and for himself, he grabs the one you made months prior, with the uneven edges and the red paint stain on the side.

Then, he starts in search of the wooden box and you give him a minute of pulling open every drawer he can find until you tell him, “behind the bread bin on the counter.”

"Oh, of course. Makes perfect sense,” Bucky teases and flips through the packets inside.

He purses his lips, narrowing his eyes, clearly in search of something specific. His whole face lights up as he grabs what he’s in search of and quickly rips open the packets and sets them inside the mugs. He pours the hot water and carefully blows on the surface of the mugs, the steam pushing out in front of him as he sighs.

“Careful, it’s hot,” he says as he makes his way back to you, setting the mug on the arm rest of the couch to give you enough leverage to grab the handle. You smile up at him appreciatively as he takes his seat next to you.

Bringing the mug to your lips, you take in a deep breath – or, as much as you able to give the swarm of congestion in your head.

Spiced and warm. Peppery sharp. Lemon and ginger.

“Bucky Barnes, did you use google for me?”

He chuckles nervously as his hand rakes through his hair, pushing it from his eyes only for it to fall back to place again. “It, uh, it said ginger tea is supposed to be good for you when you’re sick, so I thought, uh, it thought it would help.”

You struggle to contain your grin, hiding it behind the mug as you take a sip. You can already feel your sinuses beginning to clear.

“That’s very sweet of you. Thanks, Buck.”

He nods a little sheepishly, fluster burning warm in his cheeks, but he meets your eyes; the perfect wave of blues and greys, a gentle ocean amongst a sweeping current.

***

When you wake with a harsh gasp in your throat, a sharp yank of reality away from your dreams, the piercing sound of screams echoing down the hall, it’s not the first time.

You know the routine well by now, know that Steve will meet you in the hallway by Bucky's door where the screams only seem to get louder with every passing second and he’ll ask you gently to go back to your room, remind you that he’s got this and Bucky will be alright. He always is, Steve tells you, but it doesn’t lessen the heartbreak of hearing the cracks in Bucky’s voice, the sudden whimpers, the shattering silence that follows as he wakes.

The two of you will skirt around things in the morning as you always do. Bucky will stumble out of his room with dark circles under his eyes, a drag in his feet, shoulders slumped as he slides into a chair by the kitchen. He’ll sit silently as you pour him an herbal tea from your box, never something with caffeine because he’s got enough energy in his veins as they come out in tremors in his hand and bouncing in his knee. Sometimes you give him raspberry, sometimes apple caramel, sometimes peach, and he’ll nod without looking at you, pull the mug close to his face and hold the steam to his lips until it goes cold.

Those mornings frighten you because it takes him back to Bucky you knew in the beginning, before he’d learned to smile and laugh again, before he became a permanent fixture in your life, one you were unwilling to live without.

So as your feet carry you down the hall, skirting around the corner and chasing after the screams, you realize Steve won’t be there waiting. He’s out on a mission with Sam in Ukraine for the next few days. There’s no one else on this floor. It’s just you.

You, Bucky, and the monsters in his dreams.

You freeze at the edge of his door, hand gripped tight to the handle, but you can’t move.

You’re made of marble and stone because even though you and Bucky had come miles since he first came to the tower, you’ve never seen him like this; scared, begging to invisible forces, voice breaking, crying. You haven’t seen him at his lowest and you don’t know if he’ll resent you opening this door, if he’ll be angry with you for breaking that wall of trust, for intruding on something so vulnerable he doesn’t share with anyone but Steve.

But when a scream leaves his lips again, one so broken and distorted it jars itself straight through to your heart like the serrated edge of a blade, you shove your way inside, pushing consequences to the morning.

Bucky lays amongst a mess of sheets, damp with sweat as his hands curl into the fabric, teeth gritted, chest heavy with labored breaths. His eyes are closed shut, painfully so, and you try to ignore the drip of sweat down his exposed chest, how it falls along the lines of his muscles, because he’s thrashing in his sleep like something is holding him down, chocking him, and there’s tears in your eyes as you rush forward.

“Bucky,” you call far too gently. “Bucky, wake up.”

You don’t know what to do. Steve is the one who usually wakes him and you don’t have the kind of strength he does. You don’t know what laying a hand to Bucky’s shoulder will do, if the touch will ground him or shock him to a dream like state, pull him from his nightmares or throw him back to the clutches of the soldier.

But you have to try.

You can’t listen to him beg through bated breaths, “stop, stop please-- don’t! Please, someone help--”

“I’ve got you,” you say a little louder. “You’re okay, Buck. You’re not alone. You’re safe, alright? But you’ve gotta wake up now. Please, Bucky. Wake up.”

You set a hand on his forearm and he jolts up in an instant. You stumble back a few paces in shock, heart beating like thunder in your chest as you hit the sharp edge of his dress to your spine. Hands clutched tight to your chest, afraid you might have to fight him to bring him back, but Bucky remains still. He’s panting, chest heaving as hair falls down into his eyes.

You decide to test the waters.

“Bucky?”

He flinches violently, a sharp intake of breath, though he doesn’t turn to look at you. His hands dig deeper into the sheets in search of a respite he will not find and it nearly breaks your heart in two.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, voice rough and used. He can’t bear to look at you. “I thought it was under control. I—I told Steve it was okay for him to go. You shouldn’t-- You shouldn’t have to--”

“Do you want some tea?”

The words tumble out faster than you can process them. It feels like the wrong thing to say, especially with that look on his face, the guilt and shame seeping through beautifully soft and kind features, but you know his heart is racing a hundred miles a minute. Judging by the tension in his back, he’s stiff as a board, too.

You step forward as he slowly turns to look at you. There's confusion mixed in with the undeserving shame, but it’s a start at least, you think. A couple cautious more steps closer to the bed and you’re standing right next to him, hovering above him as he bends his legs and wipes his brow of sweat with the edge of the sheet.

“It usually helps me calm down at night,” you offer slowly, as gently as you can manage. “I, uh, I get nightmares, too, sometimes. Not quite as loud as yours but...”

Bucky nods in understanding. He’s heard you pacing in your room in the dead of night when sleep evades him as it often does. He’s seen when you trudge out from your room in the early hours of the morning with the kind of look in your eye that reminds him too much of himself.

“It’ll only take a second,” you say, nodding to yourself as you try to calculate the time it would take to boil the water and ready the mugs. “I’ll be right back.”

You move to take a step back but there’s a tug on your wrist. You pause, glancing down to find Bucky’s hand circling at your arm, holding you steady, though his stare remains glued to the sheets.

“Don’t go.”

It comes out in a whimper, a low break in his voice, and your heart plummets down to your stomach.

“I’ll come right back. I promise,” you ease him, stepping closer again, though you notice he doesn’t release your hand. It’s not painful, but it’s firm. He’s holding on for dear life.

“Please,” he whispers and this time, as he looks up with you, you’re met with tears in the blue of his eyes. It cracks your resolve in an instant.

“Okay. Will you come with me?”

Bucky swallows thickly, holding your gaze for a moment before he eventually nods. The sheets are thrown from his legs and you realize he sleeps only in his boxers. The realization seems to hit him just as quick.

“S-sorry,” he mumbles, “just, um, just let me--”

You step back as he releases your hand and slowly stands at the edge of the bed. He grabs his pajama pants from the floor and quickly step into them with a heated blush on his cheeks. It makes you painfully aware of the mess of an old, ratted t-shirt and shorts you sleep in, though you push it aside quickly because Bucky’s eyes have fallen to the ground and you don’t want him to retreat within himself. Not again.

“Come on.”

You extend your hand for him, waiting patiently as he stares at it for a moment. It’s an intimate gesture, more contact than you’ve had with him, but you know despite his aversion to touch, he craves it unlike anything else. He’s vulnerable right now and you hope he’ll take the anchor as you throw it to him.

When his hand does mold to yours, it fits perfectly, exactly where he’s supposed to be and you can’t help but wonder if he’ll ever let you do this again. You squeeze his hand softly as he finds an even pace at your side and you lead him to the kitchen.

He lets go of your hand to give you enough space to prepare the water, but he’s never far from reach. When you glance back at him, you find a strange mixture of fear and something you can't quite place in his eyes. It isn’t until you catch him surveying the room, the adjoining hallways, the flinches at the slightest settling of the tower, that you realize he’s on guard. It’s like he’s protecting you.

“Take a seat, Buck,” you ask of him gently, nodding to the chair at the kitchen table. “Try and relax for me. Deep breaths, okay?”

He follows your gaze, hesitantly glancing over the area, always on alert, before he turns back to you. There’s a resistance in his movement as he takes his first steps away from you, but he holds your gaze, holds the softness of your smile as long as he can, while he slumps down into the chair. It’s too far away from you, but he manages.

The kettle boils quickly and you slip two bags of tea into the mugs. Hot water in next, you drizzle an ounce of thick amber on top, swirling it around with the heal of a spoon. The smell of earthy apples and sweet nectar.

Honey and chamomile.

When you make your way over to the table to join him, Bucky is slouched down in his seat, dark circles heavy under his eyes, though he forces out a strained smile as you slide in next to him. You drag a chair up as close to his as you can, your shoulders bumping somewhat as you set the mug in front of him.

“Drink,” you tell him. “It will help you fall back asleep.”

“I can’t go back to sleep after that. I never do after... you know,” he mumbles, shaking his head, though he does take in a heavy inhale of the sweet aroma of steam.

“You’re telling me my teas won’t cure all of life’s problems?” you scoff playfully. “Blasphemy.”

It steals a smile from his lips, curving up ever so slightly into his cheeks though you can see his body fighting against it. You set a hand on his forearm, one that comes in comfort by stark contrast of the way he used to flinch out of your touch. With a slight squeeze, you draw his attention back to you, the blue of his eyes overcast into deep navy, lids falling heavy with sleep despite the race of his heart.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” you say slowly. “You don’t have to say a thing. Just let me help you, alright? Drink the tea, Bucky. I’m not going anywhere until you do.”

He nods, a slight ghost of a laugh in his exhale. “Okay.”

You smile triumphantly as you pull your own mug to your hands, warmth spreading into your palms and you take a sip. It stings on your tongue a bit, too hot, but it feels nice as it travels down into your chest, warms you from the inside out.

The two of you sit in silence for a while, the only sounds between you coming from the muffled purr of the furnace and the contented sighs as the tea touches your lips. Bucky’s shoulders start to relax as he his mug nears empty, his body swaying in his seat and you can practically see the exhaustion nestled in his bones.

You swig back the last sip in your own mug and set it on the table, a task you’ll deal with in the morning as you slowly push Bucky’s mug out of his reach.

“Come on, Buck. Let’s get you back to bed.”

He comes easily as you offer your hand, guiding him away from the sanctuary of the kitchen and back to the room that holds his monsters. The grip on your hand tightens with every step and you rub your free hand down his forearm soothingly, trying to pull the tension away. You can feel the anxiety rushing through his veins, the panic reemerging back to the surface as you cross the threshold into his room.

You know he won’t ask. He won’t dare because he can so often get wrapped up in his own mind, the chamber of burden and isolation, of guilt and shame, and he often forgets how much of yourself you’re willing to give to him.

So, you don’t say a word as you lead him slowly to the bed, releasing his hand as he slides back under the covers. His body is rigid as ice and you can feel his eyes on you, trying to memorize your face for when the darkness takes over and he prepares for you to leave.

It surprises him when your hand slips over his forehead, brushes up into his hair, and you lean down to kiss his temple. The gasp that it pulls from him is muffled, impossibly sweet, and you linger there a moment longer before you pull away.

Bucky stays silent though you can see the question burning behind the blue of his eyes.

Stay. Stay. Stay.

There isn’t an ounce of hesitancy as you slowly make your way around to the other side of the bed and pull back the covers. The mattress is firmer on this side in its lack of use as your knee dips onto the surface. Bucky is watching you cautiously, stunned, but his muscles start to relax as you settle in next to him.

“This okay?” you ask, just to be sure.

He nods quickly. “Y-yes.”

“Try to get some sleep, alright? I’ll be right here.”

He doesn't say anything, but there’s relief slipping through the tension in his body, pushing out the stones with the gentle flow of a calming stream. You smile at him as you turn onto your side, one hand gently resting on his shoulder, grounding him to the earth, to you.

You close your eyes and hope that he will feel safe enough to follow.

***

“Y/n?”

“Yeah?” Your voice is muffled by the pillow and you turn to find stars still littering the night sky. You don’t know how much time has passed, how long he’s been lying there in the prolonged silence, churning thoughts racing through his mind, so you turn onto your stomach, prop yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at him.

“You wanna go to the tea shop in Brooklyn with me tomorrow?”

You narrow your eyes, confused why he’s asking you near – you check the clock by his bedside – three in the morning. His stare is trained up at the ceiling for a moment before he turns to look at you, ocean blue littered with nerves, a new kind of vulnerability you haven’t seen in him before.

“Of course, Buck. Whatever you--”

“As a date, I mean.”

It catches you off guard, wakes you quickly. Tongue tied and throat dry.

Bucky swallows nervously and you can tell that he’s been working himself up to asking you in the hour or so that he’s been lying here awake as you curled up next to him. There are dozens of excuses brewing in the back of his mind, ways to play this off as a joke or anything but what he wants it to be in a way to preserve the friendship between you, but before he can start the waterfall of backtracking, a smile curves up along your lips.

“That sounds really nice.”

He smiles back at you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Okay, good.” He nods to himself, settling back into the mattress with the widest grin you’d seen on him in ages. It wrinkles up into his eyes, brightens across his face bright and cheery, sits in startling contrast to the way you’d found him just hours before. You like seeing him this happy. You like being the cause of it even more.

“Will you go to sleep now?” you tease him, nudging at his shoulder enough to pull a laugh from his chest.

“Yeah, I can do that.”

“Good. Don’t want you half asleep on our date.” It twists pleasantly in your stomach as you say it, butterflies and goosebumps and you bite back the smile pushing high up into your cheeks.

“Can’t have that,” he replies, chuckling to himself and it doesn’t slip your notice how his smile seems to widen as you say the word, too. Date.

You slide back down onto the mattress, trying to find your comfortable position again when Bucky extends his arm. There’s a short pause as he waits, staring up at the ceiling, and you realize what he’s offering. Without a second thought, like you’re coming home, you scoot your body closer to him, rest your head on his shoulder as his arm curls around your back, holding you securely against him.

The soft thumping of his heart beats gently under your ear, your hand resting against his ribs, tracing lines that leave shivers in their wake. He traces patterns onto your back, his eyes slowly fluttering shut until the movement stops and he falls into the warm embrace of sleep.

You sigh, content in his even breaths, the slow pace of his heart, the muffles snores. Hugging him close, holding him in your arms where he’s always belonged. You fall asleep wrapped in the scent of honey and chamomile.

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #lyn2k

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falcor-thee-luck-dragon · 3 years

Text

Let Chaos Reign

Chapter 3- Don’t Provoke The Bear

Summary: After getting your shit rocked by the Avengers, you now wake up in a strange new place even more pissed off then you already were. Also that one pretty looking dark haired guy won’t leave you alone.

Warning: reader being chaotic, Bucky trying his best

Masterlist - Chapter 2

Eyes still closed you can feel a soft pressure holding you up, slowly parting your eyelids, you’re soon greeted by the sight of bright lights circling you overhead, though they remain unmoving. On further inspection, once you force yourself into a seated position, you take notice that you’re in some kind of flat spherical glass holding cell.

Blinking groggily, you look down to find your clothes are all still on your body, suddenly a pang of fear hits you at the thought of your mothers necklace. Reaching for it, you’re relieved to feel it’s still with you. Thanking whoever will listen for that bit of good fortune in this otherwise adverse predicament.

Shifting your gaze back to the current situation of the room, you’re able to see around to some sort of large cavernous lab area with a multitude of that armored man from earlier, though you can tell there is no vital life that stirs within them. Guards maybe? Decoys? You have no idea.

Suddenly your eyes catch movement from the left door, a dark skinned man in black clothing and a single patch over his left eye appears. “Good morning. I’m Director Fury.” He smiles with a friendly nod, arms clasped behind his back while he walks over to you, “Or should I say afternoon?”

Getting off the elevated bed, you wander towards the thick glass keeping you from him, “Where am I?”

Fury nods, “Better question you should be asking is how long you’ve been out for, cause damn, you can sleep.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

He chuckles knowingly, “I almost couldn’t believe it myself when the team told me. But wow, holding back both Vision and Wanda for as long as you did. I’m thoroughly impressed.” He boasts for you, genuinely fascinated by your daring feat.

Right, those two.

You frown, gaze hard set and intimidating, “Where the fuck am I?”

“Well for one, you’ve been out for a whole 15 hours since they found you unconscious but alive after getting blasted by Vision and Wanda. Weren’t sure if you were gonna make it, seems the universe has yet to take you out.”

Pursing your lips together in irritation, you glare through the glass at him, “Well I’m not exactly from here so....doesn’t matter. Tell me what this place is and where the fuck I am!”

He holds up his hands, “Alright no need to get heated.” Before clasping them behind his back as he begins pacing slowly back and forth in front of you, “You’ve created quit the stir since arriving in Ireland. My intelligence first received a message indicating a storm greater then a category four hurricane, which by our standards is pretty damn massive. Soon a fun little video of you throwing some busses around like rag dolls peaked my interest. And give or take a couple days, here you are.”

Giving him a deadpanned stare, you cross your arms, “The mystery of the century. Where am I?”

“Alright fine I won’t leave you in suspense, you’re in New York State. In a very secure and safe facility home to the Avengers. Nice place huh?” He smiles, dark eyes looking elsewhere as he gives a little once over of the room.

“I’m in a cell.”

“Yes. But it’s a clean cell.”

Suddenly you slam your left fist against the thick glass causing him to flinch, “You have no right to hold me here! Release me. Now.” You growl darkly, golden irises appearing to almost glow with your building vexation.

“Can’t do that.”

“Alright then, if that’s how it’s going to be. Then I’ll do it myself.”

A second later he’s genuinely startled as you cock your arm back before slamming it into the clear thick glass. With the power of bending the material and your people’s strength, the glass cracks into a fist sized area. Satisfied with this, you do it again and again before a voice startles you.

[Miss, please refrain from breaking that. Mr. Stark has requested that you stop immediately.]

“Agreed.” Says Fury as he hustles over to the far wall, bringing his arm up to his mouth, he speaks but you can’t tell what he’s saying. What nonsense is he even doing?

Ignoring both of them, you punch the glass a fourth time before the voice interrupts again. [Miss. Please suspend your advances. Mr. Stark is on his way.]

Halting your fist from punching a fifth time, you take a step back and bring yourself to the center. Positioning yourself in a fighters stance, legs slightly bent, arms held about 90 degrees; you thrust them forward causing the metal contraption to creak and whine in protest.

Holding your arms close to your body now, you make two tight fists before violently punching at the air; the metal holding in the glass slams forcefully against the far wall. Destroying a couple of those stoic armored sentinels in the process.

“What the fuck?!” Yelps Fury in surprise as he falls to the floor from the force of the impact, “Hey! You better stay right the fuck over there!” He warns while cowering in the corner, nothing to really threaten you with but his voice. That is until he pulls out a stunted black gun, like the ones you have seen on the Norwegian police. You ignore his threats anyways.

Taking your first steps out of the desolated cell feels almost euphoric, your body embraces how strong and dangerous you feel among this place and what has presented itself to you within her walls. A man and his words, a disembodied voice telling you to stop fighting your way to freedom. Ridiculous, they have no idea who you are.

You take a single step left when the man, Fury, shouts loudly, “Stay right there!” Your eyes find the gun held tightly within his grasp, “I will shoot!”

You don’t care for this shallow warning, there are things in this universe more important then a mortal mans fearful intimidation. Opening up your palm, the gun flies out of his hands while he gasps with a start, eyes wide and panicked as you turn the short nosed barrel towards him. Closing your fist, the gun combusts to nothing more then destroyed metal and hard plastic as it clatters to the floor.

He watches in disbelief as you then turn to your left before taking the first door that reads exit above it; you wander past a long hallway until you come across a door leading to a long flight of stairs to some floor with a sign reading - Parking Area - the door is obviously closed.

This is too easy, you think suspiciously, somethings not right.

Opening up the door, you’re greeted by a large cavernous glass and metal room holding a large black aircraft on the far end, a couple more vehicles parked in various areas spread about the place. And not a soul in sight.

Hustling along into the room, you’re able to reach the door on the other side, opening it, you cautiously stick your head out. Ahead of you is a large green yard stretching all the way back to a tree line with trees placed neatly along a road leading up to the facilities main entrance area.

To your far left is a large river, but still, you have no idea where New York is. This is all unfamiliar territory to you, so finding the Ancient One is going to be a tough fucking job.

Not seeing anyone, you take your first couple steps into the open. Soon you’ve made it halfway across the grass headed for the tree line before the sound of gravel crunching causes you to pause and turn around to face the intruder.

So close. The woods are right there.

Clenching your fists, you keep a defensive stance as you stare him down, this man is undoubtedly familiar. He’s dressed in boots, jeans, a pair of cloves for some reason, and a faded grey t-shirt that’s mostly covered by his forest green jacket, while his long dark hair is washed and sits handsomely around his face. Blue eyes staring at you apprehensively, “We’re not here to harm you.” Cautiously says the man in a soft tone of voice, hoping not to provoke you again.

“Then why was I just locked in a cell?”

He pauses for a moment, “Uh, okay, yeah that looks bad.”

“Precisely.

You turn to leave, yet his voice makes you stay, “You don’t have to be on your own you know. I don’t know what you’re looking for, or who....but doing it alone will only take longer. We could help you, if you want.” He suggests with the tiniest hint of a smile. You don’t trust him.

You look towards the lake before finding his gaze yet again, your golden eyes admittedly sadder as you softly answer him, “No one can help me.”

He takes a step forward, face softening, “I felt the same way once. Alone and confused, not sure where to go, no one to trust. Believe me, it sucked......so, I’m just hoping you’ll listen. That’s it.”

“Well, I don’t particularly like any of you. And so far you’ve all gotten in my way and fought me....I have no reason to trust a thing you say.”

He purses his lips together and nods, you’ve got him there, but nonetheless he takes another step forward, “Sorry about that.” He mutters while rubbing the back of his neck, “Uh, let me try and start over....I’m Bucky. And I am definitely not here to fight you. Promise.”

Eyeing him up suspiciously, you take a step back, “Y/N Lavpranthus..of Vanaheim.” You finally reveal, albeit with a smidge of apprehension, however you are not one to hold back your own name if someone is to speak freely theirs.

Bucky nods, incredibly grateful for your calm demeanor for the moment and this first bout of information given willingly by you, though he has not a single clue where Vanaheim is, this is progress. Good progress; perhaps the team was right to send him out first as their guinea pig against the big bad wolf.

Stupid in retrospect, but so far it’s appeared an effective strategy instead of Tony’s idea which was to have Vision and Wanda knock you out again. Not an efficient way to make friends who can throw busses around like its nothing but a bag of grapes...and all without even touching them.

Bucky reveals the flash of a smile as you slowly calm your once defensive stance, though you’re still wary of his true intentions, “Y/N.” Repeats Bucky with a genuine grin as he tests out your name on his tongue, “Never heard that one before, it’s beautiful.

Taken aback by his kindness and sincere compliment to your name, you finally let your guard down, “My mother gave that to me, it was her sisters name, though she died before I met her. Guess it doesn’t matter now...” He frowns as you share a dismal look with the ground, remembering the events that brought you here in the first place.

Family.

Soon your anger rises once more as you think of your brother, that conniving piece of shit, “Bucky....I-I can’t stay here. I have to go, you wouldn’t understand. And I don’t want you to be involved....fuck....he probably already has scouts hunting for me.”

Bucky’s brows furrow in confusion, who would you be talking about he has no idea, “Y/N, no one could hurt you here, alright. This place is pretty damn guarded. I mean, we are the Avengers.”

Shaking your head you take a step backwards, “No, none of you understand how dangerous he is, I’m lucky he didn’t kill me when he had the chance.”

“Who tried to kill you?”

Finding his worried gaze once more, you back closer towards the woods, a knowingly loathsome look crossing your features as you frown, “My brother.” And with that do you make a swift exit into the trees, out of sight in an instant.

Bucky takes a hasty step forward before looking back at the base where all of the Avengers are watching from the windows, they collectively make a go-get-her motion with their hands, indicating that Y/N is now his problem.

Fantastic, he thinks sarcastically, half the team can fly and I’m going after a demigod with family problems.

——

Jumping over fallen trees and ragged roots alike, you’re swifter then a young leopard under the treetops, it’s admittedly incredibly freeing that you almost get lost in the rush of it all as your boots pound against the leafy ground.

Arms pumping you quickly along while you run deeper into the woods, you can’t remember the last time you’ve felt so free, though your fun soon comes to an abrupt halt when something hard latches onto both of your legs, instantly you begin falling towards the quickly approaching earth.

With lightening reflexes, your hands are thrusted outwards while you emit a blast of air that saves you from suffering brain damage or a bruised face. The wind aids your body in stabilizing itself once again; now standing with your lower legs tied collectively by some metal clasp, you quickly clap your hands together before focusing your release.

The metal clamps rip apart from off of your legs, freeing you in an instant, “What the fuck was that about?” You mutter to yourself when what would you know it, there’s Bucky standing not even twenty feet from you, an apologetic look on his annoyingly handsome face.

He raises his gloved hands into the air, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know how else to stop you...”

Shaking your head in disappointment, you take a step in his direction, “Bucky, you’re going to really wish you didn’t just do that.”

“Uh.” Is all he’s able to mutter before you send him flying backwards with the force of a small windstorm, you watch in amusement as he breaks some branches on his way to the ground.

“You really don’t like following orders now do you?” He hears you chuckle, “I like that. You’ve got a brave heart I’ll admit.” He watches as you walk into view, a knowing smirk adorning your beautiful otherworldly features, “Courage, it’s good. Even after what I did to you a couple days ago, you still came to speak with me when no one else dared, it’s valiant. You would be a noble warrior in my homeland.”

Bucky could have blushed if not for the stick poking uncomfortably into his back, “Thanks....you seem like...uh....an experienced...woman.” Mutters Bucky, mentally cringing at how unbelievably stupid that just sounded in comparison with how gloriously divine you are.

You snort, “Easy on the eyes and a skilled fighter. Guess conversation is too adept for even the likes of you.”

Bucky shows you a cheeky grin as he jumps to his feet, “Well....uh...you don’t really know me that well yet.”

You laugh at his weak flirting skills, “Too bad I’ve got elsewhere to be. I bet you’re fine company.”

“Right...right, yeah...” Mumbles Bucky with a nod, not really confident he’s gonna be able to sway you completely to his side, he just needs you to come back with him to the base. That’s it, well, in a calmly manner. “Uh...do you even know where you are?”

You open your mouth to speak but pause as you actually have not a single clue where you really are, brows furrowed you answer, “Upstate New York.” Your accent dripping strong with a tinge of uncertainty that greatly annoys you.

Bucky smiles, “Do you know where that is?”

“Well.....not completely but I’m willing to find out, elsewhere. I don’t need help, believe me.”

Bucky throws his hands up, “I believe you. It’s just....I don’t think you’re gonna find your brother without a little guidance here...”

“Don’t patronize me!” You snap angrily, eyes practically glowing gold as you fill with irritation; he’s trying to distract you from your goal, you don’t need any help from anyone. Your brother would never dare ask for such a thing if he was in your place, he probably would have killed this man in the facility yard without a second thought. “You’re all just prying little bastards, I have no business with any of you when my personal quandary is concerned!”

Clearly noticing he’s struck some kind of nerve, and remembering he’s been tasked with gathering as much information about you as possible while striving for the end goal of a truce. Bucky stupidly pressures you further, “Your brother can’t be that terrible, I mean.....what did he do?” Asks Bucky with a casual shrug, a sudden pang of fear flashing through his eyes as you send him a nasty glare.

You don’t even give him a moment to react before his forest green jacket is ablaze from your quick thrust of flame out of your fist, Bucky instantly yelps in surprise before swiftly throwing the burning fabric off of him before he catches fire himself. The jacket falls to a flaming heap on the forest floor, “What the hell?!” Yells Bucky, eyes wide at your incredibly abrupt act of hostility.

Whoosh!

And Bucky’s flat on his back with you right on top of him, kneeling down to meet his startled gaze, his breath hitches as you forcefully grab his stubbled jaw. Your eyes two golden coins of tempered rage, “You have no idea what he has done to me or my realm, you’re lucky I’m not like him or you’d be a burnt corpse adding to the ash of the universe. Pray you never meet him.” Your lip quivers in angered emotion as you lightly squeeze his jaw, “And if we meet again, I assure you someone will die.”

Bucky keeps still as stone as you finally release him from your admittedly powerful grasp, soon you rise to your full height, giving him one last conflicted look before sauntering off into the bushes.

He lets out a breath he didn’t know he had, chest rising heavily as the adrenaline rush of the fire and you touching him brings him back to reality. He’s on the ground in the woods and you’re absolutely no where to be seen. Soon he jumps to his feet and jogs in your direction until he reaches a gravel road leading back to the Avengers Facility.

You’re gone, just like a phantom in the shadows, gone.

Shaking his head in frustration, Bucky treks back to the base where Steve, Tony, and Natasha are waiting for him outside, all equally curious as to what the hell happened.

“Looks like you were unsuccessful, Barnes.” Quips Tony as Bucky throws him a dirty look.

“She’s...just.....complicated.” Mutters the tired Winter Soldier with a frown as they follow him to the front doors.

——

Bucky slouches comfortably into the back of the lounging rooms giant plush couch, a heating pad seated blissfully against his bruised back from all the times you knocked his ass to the ground today. Sam, Tony, Steve, and Natasha seated in various areas around the lounging room as they give him a break to rest.

Though the peace is soon broken by the sound of Tony’s irritating voice, “You at least get a name to hold against that psycho?”

Bucky throws him an annoyed glance, “She’s not a psycho, and her name is Y/N....I can’t remember her last name. It was something Middle Earth-like I don’t know.”

“Y/N?” Repeats Steve, “That’s different.”

Bucky’s face shifts to concentrated puzzlement, “Yeah, I know....it’s just, she said Y/N of Vanaheim or whatever that means....not sure but she’s definitely not from around here.”

“Really? What drew you to that final conclusion.” Jokes Sam as Bucky mutters an incomprehensible fuck off while the Falcon chuckles.

Natasha’s voice suddenly enters the conversation, “So she’s after her brother?”

Bucky nods, “Yep.”

“And doesn’t appear to know her way around this world either?”

“Yep.”

Natasha hums in thought as Sam speaks, “Damn. I wonder what happened to her before she got dumped into our world...”

Bucky suddenly sits up, “It’s just....she said some people are probably already after her, uh....her brothers guardsman I think?”

Steve takes a step forward, eye brows raised in interest, “Guardsmen?”

Tony nods, “Or are these some type of glorified assassins? I’m just putting this out there, but we really need to get this shit under control before she ends up destroying a building next. Or these, whoever is after her, decide to...oh I don’t know...kill some civilians while they’re at it.”

Bucky’s face shifts to puzzlement, “Dammit. It’s kinda my fault she ran off.” They all give him a varying amount of intrigued expressions as he sighs, “I was just trying to get more info out of her and then I talked about her brother and she set my jacket on fire, before throwing me to the ground and roughly grabbing my face to threaten me, she was really mad too.”

Sam smirks, “Did you enjoy it. Getting manhandled by a pretty lady in the woods?”

“Sam.” Mutters Steve like a disappointed father reprimanding his son.

“Come on Buck, it’s okay, you can tell us. Was it nice?”

Bucky throws him a deadly glare, “Actually it was, I felt very loved and comforted.” He quips, voice dripping in sarcasm before a more thoughtful expression crosses his features, “But she didn’t actually hurt me. I don’t know, she almost looked conflicted to leave....I don’t know it happened so fast.” He mumbles, closing his eyes as he falls back into the comfort of the couch.

“Well as much as I’m enjoying this time together with all of you...” Says Natasha, “We now have a person from an unknown world on the loose with incredible power and the means to use it as she wants. We all know where that can lead us.”

“With more collateral damage then what Ultron gave us.” Adds Tony, “Fortunately this time it won’t be my fault...like that makes a big difference I know. Still, she’s the Avengers newest problem now and we don’t have a damn clue where Miss. Anger Management is.”

“Uh, not exactly.” Starts Bucky as they all turn to look at him. Sam raises an intrigued brow, “What do you mean, not exactly?”

“I, well uh-when she was threatening me, well one of the times she was threatening me...I was able to plant a tracker on the inside of her one pocket. Then she pushed me into the grass and ran off into the woods, I couldn’t keep up even if I tried. She was just gone, but at least I was able to do that. It’s something.”

“Barnes.” Says Tony slowly, “And you’re just telling us this now? When we could have been sending some intelligence or agents or even ourselves out to find her.”

“Sorry but I was recovering from getting beaten up by a beautiful demigod to remember so soon,” Sasses Bucky, “but yeah, that aside, she’s got a tracker on her so all I’d need to do is pull it up on my phone and I’m good to go. Well, as long as she hasn’t found it yet.”

“If it’s just like that, you’re sharing with the rest of the class.” Says Tony while he wanders over to the television mounted upon the wall, “I’m gonna have you link with the tv, I don’t wanna miss a second.”

With a dramatic sigh does the Winter Soldier lean over to grab the thin metal device from off of the coffee table in front of him while Tony flicks on the large tv screen. Once all is set correctly and synched up, the others watch on in curiosity as he scrolls around a bit before finding the app and clicking on it, a couple passwords are sent in and accepted when the screen then shows one option labeled -Unite_1P - between two white bars within a sea of black.

He taps the label and the screen changes to a view of North America resembling that of google maps, but the screen soon shifts to zoom in on a moving pin point in red that’s traveling a couple miles far northeast of the Bronx, where it appears that Y/N happens to be trekking through some forest heading downwards towards that designated part of New York City.

Steve’s eyes trail over the red pin point, “So that’s where Y/N is going?”

“Seems like it. And she hasn’t a damn clue where she’s actually going either.”

Sam keeps his gaze locked onto the map as well, “And what does she want exactly?”

“She said something about finding her brother but that’s honestly it, I tried to help her but it was almost pointless. She’s on her own mission now, and no ones going to get in her way.”

Steve sighs, “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“What?”

“Y/N. Someone getting in her way, someone just trying to lend a hand and she takes it the wrong way and then...”

“I know man, but I don’t think she’d do that to some innocent person. At least I don’t think she would.” Worries Bucky while everyone takes a moment to process and stare at the screen, red pin point still moving slowly towards New York City. The creak of wood is suddenly heard and all five Avengers turn their heads towards the abrupt noise of Director Fury who’s found himself a spot to stand in the large room.

“Unfortunately we don’t know that. And as the worlds mightiest heroes. It’s your collective duty to always assume the worst. She’s strong, has a goal, and appears able to get it if she tries hard enough. It’s admirable, and yes she’s no Loki...but she is a danger to Earth the less we know about her true intentions and the longer she’s out of our reach.” Explains Fury, “Barnes you’ve done incredibly well. But our apparent need for you has increased as well, so I suggest you smack on a band-aid because we’re going to have a nice civil conversation with her whether she wants it or not.”

“Me?”

“Yes you. You’re the only person she hasn’t tried to send a chunk of metal at, you got close, you got the information. We need you to do it again.”

Steve looks to Fury, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. What if she...”

“I’ll do it.....” They all give Bucky a collective array of questionable facial expressions as he shrugs, “What? I think she’ll listen, maybe, okay I’m not one hundred percent sure if Y/N will hear me out. But I gotta try right? She’s conflicted inside, she’s hurt and alone....if I just have a moment, another moment, I think I could get to her. I think she’ll listen.”

Fury smiles as Steve lowers his gaze, “That’s what I like to hear Mr. Barnes. And don’t none of you worry alright. We’ll be close, at a safer distance of course, but close in case anything goes south. Now the day is still young and we have a demigod to find, I assume you all know what to do.”

Steve looks to the array of assembled heroes, “Suite up..well actually...just Bucky.”

The designated man of the hour rolls his eyes, “Yeah, yeah, I’m going.”

Tagged: @buckylokisimp @diegos-butt @minigranger @bibliophilewednesday @holyhumorliteraturelight @lilacs-lavender @a-girl-who-loves-disney @bizarrebibitch @starkssnarks @vikingqueen28 @jmstz @thehornytitties @staygoldsquatchling02 @cleverzonkwombatsludge @mischiefmanaged71 @noragracebrewer @atomicpersonacheesecake @thescarlettvvitch @shawnartmendes

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes #the winter soldier x you #the winter soldier x y/n #the winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier #avengers imagine #marvel x reader #marvel x y/n #marvel x you #bucky barnes series #fanfiction #fanfic #series

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where-dreamers-go · 3 years

Note

Heyo! May I have Eragon's reaction to reader saying "I've loved you from the very start! I love you, but you don't love me! So why am I even confessing?" because I love drama and I do need a lot of fluff rn.

“The Many Questions And A Confession” Eragon x Modern!Reader

(A/N: How about a continuation to the one Modern!Reader slipping and telling Eragon how they know about him telling Arya about his true name?? I shall give the drama this day. It shall be a journey towards the fluff. Looks like this turned into an insert reader type deal. Needs a title now? Oops?

Drama time! Because Reader is really frustrated with Eragon in this one. Woo! How’s Eragon handle it? Spoiler: He doesn’t stop talking.

Continuation of this one: https://where-dreamers-go.tumblr.com/post/647030131496534016/if-modernreader-has-read-the-books-and-knows

Warnings: Angst! Fluff. Mild language.

Word Count: 1,703 words)

Hiding in your room’s bathroom, you remained silent. It was not so much that Eragon could not find you, it was that you did not want to be seen at least. So what if you had locked doors and were sitting in a dry tub? The worst that could happen would be if he decided to invade your mind.

“(Y/N)?” Eragon’s voice echoed throughout the chamber as the door to your room opened.

Of course he opened it. At least I didn’t barricade it, you thought. Can’t have thirty seconds to myself.

“Are you going to talk to me?” He asked quietly from the other side of the bathroom door. Apparently locating you was not an issue.

You narrowed your eyes at the door as you sunk further into the empty tub.

A barely audible sigh reached your ears.

“I’m not angry with you for knowing,” he said. “I just don’t understand why you’re running off.”

You glanced up to the ceiling. Did you forget your last guess?

“Then…you do have feelings for me?” Eragon asked. “Or you think I’m foolish for having feelings for Arya.” His voice softened, more speaking to himself than asking you another question.

You sighed and muttered, “Not so much that your feelings were foolish….just some of your actions.”

“You still haven’t answered my questions.”

“Because…wait for it….I don’t have to.”

“(Y/N),” Eragon’s tone lowered. “You’ve been avoiding me for weeks and it could not be for you knowing what I’ve done. If that were true…then you would have avoided me much sooner.”

“Brave of you to assume that I wasn’t avoiding you then.”

“We spoke more often then.”

“You asked me at least twenty questions a day. It’s hard to avoid that kind of persistence.” Kind of like now.

“Then why didn’t you?”

“Because I had just met you! I’m not trying to hurt your feelings. I would never do that.”

“So please stop avoiding me. I promise to be less foolish if that will help.”

“It won’t.”

“Why not?”

“Stop asking so many darn questions.”

“No. Just tell me.”

“No.”

“Why—?”

“I’ve loved you from the very start! I love you, but you don’t love me! So why am I even confessing?” You threw your hands out in a wide gesture. “Why do I bother? What does it even matter? …why am I even still talking?” You huffed. “Are we finished now?”

Silence.

You heard nothing else. Nothing in the bathroom you were hiding in nor anything out in the bedroom.

He has to be still out there. You thought. But I swear to all that is good, if he so much as tries to enter my mind, I will loose it. I’ll probably scream, cry, or…whatever. You crossed your arms and tried to ignore the uncomfortable position you were in. Physically, emotionally, and mentally.

The lock on the door clicked and the door opened. Walking in with an unreadable expression, Eragon made his way to you.

“No.” You said shortly, but he made no move of stopping. “What are you—?”

Eragon stepped into the dry tub.

“What are you doing?” You sat up straight as he sat down in front of you.

Settling in, Eragon folded his hands in his lap.

You shook your head at him.

What in the world? If someone thought he couldn’t get stranger…he did.

“What the blazes are you doing?” You asked, too bewildered to kick him as the opportunity was brought up in your mind.

“I’m sitting.”

You rolled your eyes so far that you were staring at the ceiling. If there was one place you did not want to look, it was straight ahead.

Wanting to hit someone upside the head and still wanting to kiss their face can not be good right now, you thought.

“Why are you even in here?” You asked through clenched teeth.

“You have been avoiding me and I haven’t seen you,” Eragon said simply before his voice softened. “I’ve missed you.”

Keeping your gaze up or up to the side, you avoided eye contact.

“Can we skip to the part where you say ‘I’m sorry, but you’re right, I don’t feel the same way about you’?” You asked. “Not going to lie…right now…you’re kind of making this worse.”

“I’m sorry.” His voice was a murmur that tore through your heart.

“Alright.” Finally tearing your sights away from the ceiling, you hoisted yourself up and out of the tub.

“Where—I wasn’t finished.”

“Save your pity. I want to be alone.” You walked out of the bathroom and headed straight for your bed. There was an extremely low probability that he would follow you there too. Some lines weren’t crossed.

“I know you want to be alone.” Eragon was trailing after you.

I’m going to die from being not surprised, you thought of a quote.

“Please let me speak.”

“You’ve been speaking this whole time.” You yanked off your shoes. “What possibly could you have to say now?”

“I never said that I still loved Arya.”

You paused for a moment before saying, “Well…you don’t really need to. I’d be really surprised if you didn’t.” Tossing a pillow towards the middle of the bed, you kept your back to him.

“I don’t love her.”

Face scrunched up in confusion, you took a glance over your shoulder.

“Bull crap.”

His eyebrows pulled together. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m calling you out for lying.” You explained and crossed your arms under your chest.

“I’m not lying.” A smile slowly spread across the Rider’s face.

You rose your eyebrows, challenging him.

“Sure. And what changed your strong feelings for Arya? Cold soup?”

“You.”

“What?” The word hardly reached your own ears.

Eragon walked up to you, albeit cautiously, with a full smile on his lips. His brown eyes were lit with a happiness you were not comprehending.

“What are you talking about?” You whispered. “Why are you smiling like that?”

A chuckle rang out into the room as he stopped to stand in front of you. “How am I suppose to keep a stoic face after you confessed that you love me?” His smile only stayed on his lips when he did not receive any verbal response from you, locked into his happy moment. “I know you would never lie about your feelings. Not something as strong as love.”

You watched on, cautious.

What is he trying to say, that he likes the idea of me loving him? Uh. Is this normal? You thought.

“Perhaps I should have stated my feelings for you much earlier. Clearly you have been worn down with your heart and for that I apologize.”

“Feelings?”

“Yes,” he wet his lips briefly and straightened his posture. “I do care for you deeply, (Y/N). My feelings were already growing before I even recognized them.” His smile turned sheepish, but he persisted onwards. “I didn’t think I could have those feelings for anyone else, but….it’s different somehow. I’m not sure how to explain it. I feel better when I’m around you. We’re honest with each other and you’ve taught me so much already. I’ll make this as much like home as I can for you. I really want you in my life.”

It took a moment before you breathed in a small breath.

You knew that you were probably looking at him as if he had lost his ever-loving mind. Who could blame you at that point? You were in a completely different world. And one you knew of, mind you. It was bound time for a round of unpredictability.

Eyes the color of enriched soil underneath the blooming flowers in light of a summer sky watched you with surging hope.

Were you hallucinating? Lucid dreaming? No, you couldn’t be. There were far too many moments that would have had a timeskip or objects from back home. The only way you would have this much time with Eragon would be if it was real.

He’s serious? He’s serious.

Your chest tightened and somewhere inside all of your tension released. In its place there was a warmth that brought tears to your eyes.

Frustration rapidly melting away, you carefully turned to sit on the edge of the bed to compose yourself.

“Are you alright?” Eragon asked, kneeling down to look upon your face.

“I’m…,” you swallowed. “I’m still processing what you said.”

“Processing?”

“Just…uh… Can you give me a second?” You waved a gentle hand in his direction.

“Take as much time as you need,” Eragon said as he delicately took your hand in his own.

You internally groaned at how sweet he was even after you verbally rampaged him about leaving you alone.

Seeing as you did not retract your hand, the Rider held your hand against his chest. The position allowed you the rare opportunity to feel his heartbeat. A rapid beating of his heart as he awaited any sort of verbal response from you. Anything that would tell him if he should indeed pursue the strong feelings he had.

You snuck a peek at his face; clear of any imperfections of the sun and brown eyes lit up in hope.

“You’ve been interested in me this whole time?” You asked. “And I didn’t know it?”

After reviewing your choice in words, Eragon nodded.

“What the actually hell?” You laughed. “You develop feelings quick, sir.”

A lopsided smile appeared on his face. Your light teasing of his actions always did surprise him in the most satisfying ways.

“You’re not upset with me?” He asked. “About earlier.”

“A little.”

His smile dropped a fraction.

“But I’ll find it in myself to forgive you.” You smirked.

“Then I should be grateful.” Eragon held his head high. “I would rather face your affections than your wrath.”

“Alright,” you rolled your eyes. “That was smooth, but cutting it close.” You tugged on his hands. “Get over here.”

Before Eragon could stand, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders in a tight embrace.

“You’re a bit of an odd one, you know that?”

Eragon nudged his head against your own. “I will gladly be odd if it means I can be with you.”

~~~

(If you love my writings and want to support me, I have a Ko-Fi where you can buy me a coffee. I would be eternally grateful.

Best wishes and happy reading.)

~~~~~

DreamerDragon Tags: @cubedtriangle

Inheritance Cycle Tags: @shewhobreathesfire @emburbaguette

**Let me know if you would like to be tagged in insert readers, either through replies, ask, or message.**

#Eragon reaction #Eragon x Reader #Eragon x Modern! Reader #Modern!Reader #Erica answers #where dreamers go #inheritance cycle #I finally finished it! I did it!#Eragon being a little sassy #Eragon fluff

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char-lotteral · 3 years

Text

Ticket Booth

Great. Just what she needed.

Amity being stood up on her blind date.

Again.

"This is just ridiculous." She sighs to herself, impatiently alternating between checking her phone and the watch on her wrist just to avoid human confrontation from any passersby on the street.

I mean, is she surprised? Not really. Did she hope it would turn out different? Kinda

Not like this was the first time Ed and Em had set her up on another blind date. You should head out more! Meet new people, get a change of environment!

New people, my ass. If ever she gets a chance to meet these said new people, that is.

Amity checks her phone again with a big bright 8:10 PM, humiliating her at every passing second. Tick, tick, tick. There's that sound of that unnecessarily large wall clock hung in front of the movie theaters, more people arriving in front of the ticket booth, hands interlaced and smiles all warm and happy, and goddammit; her date was supposed to be here 10 minutes ago!

The wind's gotten colder, the theaters getting overcrowded, her feet hurt from standing too much, and in attempt to hide herself from the sad, despicable, cynical reality of it all, she huddles herself inside her massive winter cloak, tendrils of bubblegum hair sticking out from the side of her hoodie.

Why God, why did she agree to go to this?!

"Are you waiting for someone?"

Snapping out of her thoughts, Amity whips her attention towards the (cute) lady behind the ticket booth. Not one for initiating conversations, she coughs to suppress her shyness and answers, "Uh y-yeah. I have a um, a date. I'm waiting for them."

The lady behind the ticket booth smiles this really cute smile of hers and suddenly Amity has forgotten her name altogether. "You know, I don't wanna sound rude or anything, but the movie starts at exactly 8:15. And I don't think you'll be able to see it if you're gonna be out here, freezing in the cold."

She laughs tucking a hair behind her ear. "Yeah well, this isn't my first time being stood up so I guess I'm used to it at this point."

"Wait, you're being stood up?"

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Now she thinks you're some hopeless romantic.

Shaking her head frantically, she manages to salvage herself from this stranger that she has a sudden urge to impress all of a sudden. "W-What? No! I meant my date was um busy and they texted me too late, so I guess I am kinda freezing my ass off outside the movie theater. But not because I was waiting for them the entire evening! I-I have better things to do than um..."

Being stood up by my blind date who hasn't even met me! Crap, maybe I am the problem?

"Better things to do like stand outside in the freezing cold?"

Her eyes dart towards the ticket lady who no doubt is feeling sympathetic for her pathetic ass and as she does, there's still that smile of hers etched on her face, looking down at her with some sympathy but she doesn't mind, she likes how she's looking at her. Had she already mentioned she thought she was cute?

"O-Or that." Amity answers pathetically, chuckling at the absurdity of it all.

"Tell you what," The lady in the booth begins. "Maybe I can refund you for the tickets? I won't tell my boss or anything, they'll be fine with it."

Ticket lady was being awfully nice to her, which was strange because most strangers usually had a fight or flight response whenever they saw Amity talking to them, probably because of her intimidating aura, which she doesn't really blame them for. This cute ticket lady on the other hand, was a whole different story.

"Oh no, my sister's already paid for the tickets online, plus I don't think these two tickets are refundable so um, I guess I'll just have to watch this movie alone or maybe sell my ticket to someone who actually has a date." She giggles again, internally sorry for her own situation.

The cute ticket lady pauses for a second, attention a bit distant and elbows perched above her desk. Amity debates with herself whether or not she should just say fuck it and watch the movies alone, at least until ticket lady finally looks up and meets her eye to eye. And woah, she never knew eyes could look that brown.

"Hey, how about I watch it with ya?"

... What?

"What?" She parrots her thoughts. I'm sorry did she hear that right?

The lady smiles even wider, eyes pinched from the apples of her cheeks and a smile so bright, it could rival the stars above them. "You heard me. I wanna watch it with you!"

"You wanna... watch it with me?"

" 'Course I would. That is, if you'll allow me? I promise I'll pay for the tickets, I'm not scamming you or something."

"Oh um, can I ask why?"

The lady laughs again, oblivious to the damage she's been doing to Amity's poor stomach. Butterflies seemed like a stupid analogy, it was like the entire zoo came in to visit. "I can't let a pretty girl walk inside that movie theater all alone. There might be some serial killers inside there."

Oh.

Well, this turned out to be the best possible scenario she could come up with.

Pretty girl? Her?

This night just keeps getting better and better.

Feeling uncharacteristically playful, she refutes back, cheeks ablaze by the little compliment. "And how do I know that you're not a serial killer, plotting to bury my body?"

Her eyes are squinting from absolute mirth, clearly not expecting her to reply back. "I can prove to you that I am not, in fact, a serial killer by politely introducing myself. "Luz Noceda. College student by day, billionaire philanthropist by night."

"By billionaire philanthropist, do you mean ticket booth manager? Because I think both are equally badass."

Luz shrugs, unfazed. "Eh, its hard living the double life. I have to keep my identity hidden so no one assassinates me in broad daylight."

Simultaneously, they both laugh at their dumb topic, and Amity has never felt this alight with another person before. Her chest feels tighter, her cheeks hurt from smiling so much and she thinks that maybe, just maybe, this night might not be as bad as she initially thought it would be.

"So, have I proven myself worthy? Can I watch it with you?" Luz is practically bouncing on her feet, tail wagging like a retriever waiting for her treat. She looks so damn adorable behind the ticket booth that Amity's heart threatens to jump out of her throat and melt right in front of her.

So what if a cute girl wants to watch a movie with you? Big deal! It's not like she's asking for your hand in marriage. It's not like it's a date or anything.

Oh God, is it a date?! Oh no, no, no. What has she gotten herself into?!

What if she says yes and embarrasses herself right in front of her? They barely even know each other! They don't know each other at all! What if this really, really cute girl doesn't actually like her and is just doing this out of pity and turns out they'll never see each other again, and, and—

"Hey, earth to bubblegum, I'm still here. In case, you forgot. I don't wanna be all rude or anything—"

"N-No!" Amity cuts her off so quickly, she's on the verge of a panic attack. "You can watch it with me! We can watch it t-together! I'd l-love to!"

Smooth move Blight, smooth move.

Her words seemed to be enough to calm Luz down and she feels like she has God to personally thank for for that beautiful smile of hers. Honestly, how can one smile like that? It's that type of smile that could brighten an entire room or the physical embodiment of joy, youth and everything else good in the world.

"Wait, but what about the ticket booth? Are you allowed to leave it alone?" Concerned, Amity asks Luz as she walks out of the booth.

"Nah, Eda won't mind. I think. I-I'll be back before she even notices I'm gone. Won't be a problem! Hopefully." Taking off her cap, Luz locks the door behind her, tucking the key safely in her pocket. She looks back at Amity, eyes gleaming from the adventure of it all. Eyes that remind her of chestnut and coffee on a cold, serene morn. And a low, pixie cut to tie it all together.

Luz hands out her palm, anticipation and adrenaline coursing through her, she's smiling that sunny smile of hers again, cheeks flushed and hair a mess from the stuffy cap and Amity thinks to herself again that wow, she really is cute.

"You ready?"

Two words, two simple words from a stranger she's never even met before. What would Ed and Em think if they saw her right now, watching movies with a random girl she doesn't even know? Her instincts are telling her to go, leave, maybe find another night to watch the movies, you can pay for the tickets another day, you barely even know this person!

But when Amity finally looks up from her hand to those chestnut eyes and that smile of pure unabashed warmth, she's made her decision.

She's positive that her cheeks are the brightest shade of red, practically glowing under the cheap porch light, but if she squints, just enough, the same shade of red are on Luz's cheeks too, flushed and cherry red, just as she was. Nervous albeit excited, just as she was.

"I thought you'd never ask."

#lumity #the owl house #lumity fanfiction #amity blight #luz noceda #modern college au #hey hey hey lookie its my first lumity fanfic

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honey-dewey · 3 years

Text

Between Old Friends and New Lovers

Pairing: Shane ‘Dio’ Morrissey/GN! Vampire Reader

Word Count: 3,000

Warnings: blood, biting, mind control, but it’s all very minor.

Permanent Taglist: @phoenixhalliwell @star-wars-hell

A/N: This is my first time making a header of sorts for my fics! I quite liked how this one turned out.

The prompt for this week’s Writer Wednesday was given, as always, by the lovely @autumnleaves1991-blog, and the masterlists are created by @clydesducktape.

The manor was always cold. Not that you minded much, but sometimes the ever-present chill in the air drove away your guests. Again, you didn’t mind all too much. Guests were never your forte. But he, well. He was always different.

“Your Grace?” Your lady in waiting, Camille, came into your study, bowing her head down. “You have a visitor.”

“Is it his visiting day already?” You asked, checking your date book.

Camille nodded. “Yes, Your Grace. It is.”

You smiled, putting down your pen and moving from out behind your desk. “Thank you kindly Camille. Send him to the sitting room and inform him I shall be down momentarily.”

Camille left, and you hummed to yourself, straightening out your papers and setting your pen back down next to its respective inkwell. As you worked, you reminisced on the day you had met your favorite human being.

Two years prior

You sighed, listening to the rain slam against the windows as you worked on a few neglected pieces of paperwork. It was mostly finances, but it all had to be done, and so you were doing it. Tonight was supposed to be horribly rainy, with scattered thunderstorms and no sign of stopping until the sun rose. You didn’t mind. It made hunting harder, but you didn’t need to hunt for a while.

A sharp bolt of lightning lit up your study, and you finally shut your accounting book, deciding your work could wait until after the storm passed. You stood, pushing your chair back in. Office work was annoying at best. You’d much rather see people in person, share a cup of tea, and continue to build your reputation as the mysterious gothic Duke/Duchess who lived almost entirely alone. But paperwork, it seemed, was easier to send, and it meant most people could avoid your often intimidating presence.

“Camille!” You called through the manor, shutting and locking the study. “Camille?” Usually your lady in waiting was somewhere nearby, working on her own work within earshot. But now, you had to tune your hearing up past what was normal to hear Camille’s pattering heartbeat and nervous breaths. Why was Camille nervous? She’d been serving the manor for three years, she’d stopped being nervous in the old building last year.

“Camille!” You shouted, moving towards the sitting room she was inhabiting, worried for her safety. She should’ve alerted you immediately to a guest, and you were starting to grow concerned. Her heart rate spiked, only for a moment, and you heard her rushing footsteps coming towards you.

“Yes, Your Grace?” Camille asked, rounding the corner and looking up at you through her eyelashes. “You called?”

You nodded, dialing back your hearing so Camille’s close voice didn’t overwhelm you. “Have we got a visitor?”

Camille bowed her head, nodding slightly. “I was just setting him up in the sitting room,” she said quickly. “I was about to come get you as soon as he was settled.”

Smiling at the reassurance, you began to walk to the sitting room, where Camille had just come from. “Walk with me,” you said, and Camille hurried after you. “Is the man lost?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Camille said, walking a pace behind you. “He said his car broke down and he saw the manor. He asked for shelter from the storm.”

“How is he?” You asked, already envisioning the man settled in your sitting room. “Healthy?”

Camille nodded, her face going pale. “Yes, Your Grace,” she responded. “He’s young and seemingly in good health.”

The sitting room doors came into sight, and you smiled, turning to Camille. “How do I look?”

“Perfect,” Camille responded, glancing at the ornate silver-backed mirror in the hall. Only she showed up, standing beside the silhouette of your clothes. You straightened your collar, running your fingers over the two neat lines of shining buttons before adjusting your gloves and pushing the sitting room door open.

Immediately, you noticed the smell. Deep and foreign, you had to dial your senses back further than you normally would to stand it. Leather and cologne and a deep internal lust mixed with the smell of the city. He was from New York City, you could practically taste it on him. He looked odd, but no odder than you, decked in all black and leather, every bit of metal on him glimmering in the low lamplight as he moved. You took a breath, but no silver. You were safe.

Looking the man up and down, you tried to silently determine whether he was one of you. You knew that the younger generation preferred to stay in cities, and called themselves goth in order to maintain the aesthetic. But despite his unique, timeless features, the man smelled organic and human, and you could hear his heart beating, a steady constant in the back of your hearing.

Your guest stood, and you smiled politely. “Welcome,” you said sweetly, clasping your hands in front of you. “I apologize for not welcoming you to the manor myself.”

The man smirked, looking you up and down. “No problem,” he said smoothly. “Nice place.”

“Thank you.” You sat in a chair in front of the fireplace, crossing your legs and gesturing for your guest to sit beside you. “Family estate. Would you like a fire?” You noticed the man was wet, and you assumed he’d been caught in the storm.

“I wouldn’t mind one,” the man agreed, and you gestured Camille over.

“Camille, would you mind starting a fire?” You asked. “And when you’re done, I would love some tea.”

Camille nodded, exiting the room and leaving you alone with your guest.

“May I have your name?” You asked politely, turning your full attention to the man.

He nodded. “You can call me Dio.”

“Dio.” The name turned over like a fine wine on your tongue. “A bit of a presumptuous nickname, don’t you think?”

Dio raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said slowly, in a tone that told you he knew exactly what you meant.

You stood, moving to stand in front of the fireplace. “I mean, calling yourself a god. Albeit in a different language, but still. Even I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Even you?” Dio questioned, leaning back in his chair. “Explain.”

“Well.” You gestured around at the ornate sitting room, at the dark embroidered seat cushions and the deep wooden surfaces surrounding you. “It does seem rather on brand for someone of my status, does it not?”

Dio’s smirk returned. “Of course,” he said, digging through his pockets and pulling out a box of cigarettes. “Instead you call yourself Duke/Duchess.”

“It would be improper of me to not,” you pointed out. “It is, in fact, my title. You, however, have no title, Shane Morrissey.”

Dio’s face went pale and the cigarette dropped from between his fingers, hitting the carpet below his feet with almost no noise. “How-“

At that moment, Camille pushed the door open, rolling in a cart with firewood and a tea tray. While she busied herself with the fire, you sat back down, taking Dio’s cigarette from the floor, lighting it on Camille’s match and handing it back to the stunned man. “I usually don’t allow guests to smoke,” you said casually. “But I suppose I can make an exception. Just this once.” You pushed an ashtray across the table, smiling. “You were saying?”

Dio blinked, wide eyed. “How do you know-“

“Your name?” You finished for him, accepting an empty teacup from Camille and nodding to her when she set the tray on the table and left once more. “I could see your identification card in your pocket when you reached for your cigarettes. But if you would prefer to be referred to as Dio, I will do so.”

Dio seemingly relaxed. But he was still on edge as you poured yourself some tea.

“It’s a lovely black currant tea, if you’re interested,” you said, not even looking up as you poured the thick black tea into your cup. “I see Camille brought two cups.” As you spoke, you took the cream jug and poured a splash into your tea, setting the jug aside from the rest of the set. “I promise it isn’t poison,” you added sweetly, taking a sip of your tea.

Despite your humorous remark, Dio still seemed cautious, waiting until you had taken a sip to pour himself a cup of tea. He didn’t add sugar, simply sat back and cradled the cup in his hands. You wondered if he was still cold. But the fire was going and you could feel it warming your skin, even if the feeling of warm and cold were long since lost to you.

“So, Dio,” you said, watching Dio take a sip of his tea. “You live in the city, don’t you?”

“Yes.” Dio’s voice was guarded, hesitant. He was scared of you.

You hummed, nodding to yourself. “I haven’t seen the city,” you admitted. “Do you enjoy it?”

Dio shrugged. “It’s alright.”

You sighed. “Dio,” you said firmly, forcing his attention to snap to you. “Do I scare you?”

“What?” Dio asked, surprised. “I mean.” His eyes went glassy as you waved your hand, forcing him to tell the truth. “Yes.”

“Why?”

Dio’s hand shook, spilling tea over his skin. “I-“ he faltered, blinking a few times, face pulling tight. “I don’t know.”

You waved your hand again, releasing Dio from your hold. “Maybe I should explain,” you said, standing and setting your cup down. “I am (F/N) (L/N), sole heir to my name and the last remaining Duke/Duchess of this land. I have held my title and estate for over twelve decades, and I am a vampire.”

Dio was silent, so silent you had to wonder if you had broken him. But eventually, he nodded slowly, setting his cup down. “Okay,” he said softly. “Okay.”

“You’re not dreaming,” you added helpfully. “Nor is this a hallucination caused by the tea.”

“Yeah,” Dio agreed quietly. “What about Camille, is she?”

“Oh of course not!” You said, sitting back beside Dio and picking up your cup again. “No, we don’t keep preternatural staff anymore. Her family has been in service to my family since long before I was born, and she seemed happy enough to have the job once I reached out. I do pay quite well.”

“Anymore?” Dio wondered out loud. “Tell me more about vampires. I want to know.” He leaned forward in his seat, and you grinned. It was rare you revealed yourself to a guest and were met with anything less than terror. But Dio seemed downright enthused. So you poured yourself a new cup of tea, adding a generous amount of cream this time, letting Dio see that it was not cream, but blood.

“Well. Where to start?” You mused. “I come from a long line of vampires, one of the longest in fact. My family, my bloodline if you will, was once well respected, but during the witch hunts, most of my kind died out. My mother survived and lived in this manor, alone, for centuries until she found me. I was lost, a wandering child, and she took me in and cared for me, turning me when the time was right.”

“So where is she?”

“Long dead,” you said, peeling your gloves off and setting them aside. “I’ve been the master of this estate for, oh, I guess it must be almost ninety years now. Yes, I inherited it during the depression.”

Dio nodded, his cigarette long since forgotten in the ashtray. “So, how do you survive? How much blood do you need? Are you like Dracula? Do you have any powers? What-“

“Dio!” You cut him off with a raised hand and a chuckle. “I cannot possibly answer your every burning question right now.” You stood, looking out over the storm, which was fading. “Here. Let us make a deal. I will send you home safely, with no complications, and in turn, I will entertain you once a month, on the first Saturday, and I will answer one question. Only one, until you are satisfied.”

Dio nodded, glancing out the window. “How do I know you aren’t just messing with me about the vampire thing?” He asked softly.

You smiled. “Come with me.”

He followed you out into the hall, where you guided him to the mirror just outside the sitting room. “Look,” you said, gesturing to the mirror. “It’s an old heirloom. Silver-backed, so I don’t appear in its surface.”

Dio gently reached out, touching the mirror with feather-light fingers. “You’re not,” he breathed. “It’s real.”

“It is,” you agreed. “Now, get going Dio. I’ll see you in one month. Don’t be late.”

Two years later

You opened the sitting room doors, seeing Shane sitting in his usual spot, right by the fireplace. He was already cradling his teacup, your cup sitting on the table, perfectly set up to your liking.

“Shane!” You said happily, and Shane stood, allowing you to hug him tightly. “You’re on time.”

“When am I not?” Shane asked, pulling away and sitting back down. “Shall we?”

You laughed. “We shall.”

Your cup was full to the brim of blood, no tea this time. It was a feeding day, and as much as you hated it, Shane promised he didn’t mind.

“Actually,” you decided, setting your cup down without taking a sip. “Perhaps we should do this a different way.”

“What do you mean?” Shane asked, worried. “Did I make it wrong? Camille brought me the teapot. She said it was your favorite.”

You shook your head. “No Shane,” you said. “You’re perfectly good. In fact.” You stood, offering him your hand. “You’re more than good.”

Standing, Shane let you lead him to the window, looking out over your night-darkened estate. “I don’t understand.”

“I don’t want some stranger’s blood,” You purred softly, pushing Shane’s shirt collar down. “I want you, Shane. I want to taste you on my tongue, to have your life filling my belly and making me warm.”

Shane gulped, his skin heating. “Really?”

“Would I lie?” You asked, almost pouting. “My love, I would never. Say the words, and I will make you feel amazing.”

Nodding, Shane put a hand to the window to brace himself. “I give you permission,” he said, voice wavering. “You may feed from me.”

You smiled, putting your mouth to his neck and kissing, trailing to the perfect spot. He shivered, moaning softly when you nipped at the tender flesh of his neck. Curving your lips up at the shameless sounds you were eliciting from Shane, you finally found the sweet spot and dug your fangs in.

If you thought Shane was vocal when you were just teasing, you were in for a surprise. As you lapped at the blood pooling on Shane’s skin, he writhed under you, moaning and breathlessly whining your name, both hands pressed fully to the window to keep stable. You licked a warm stripe up the curve of Shane’s neck, chuckling as he breathed heavily. “Do you like that, my love?”

“Yes,” Shane gasped out. “Yes, I do, Your Grace.”

You hummed, running a finger through the smeared blood and turning Shane around so he could see you suck his blood off your finger. “You taste exquisite,” you moaned around your finger. “So perfect.” You moved in again, licking up the last of the blood.

Shane breathed loud against you, his breath disturbing your hair as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. “More,” he begged as you pulled away. “Please.”

“No more my love,” you said, wiping your mouth on a nearby towel. “I will not push you, especially on your first feeding.” You gently pressed the towel to Shane’s skin, occasionally pulling it away and checking on the wounds. Two perfect little puncture holes, still seeping the tiniest bit, marred Shane’s smooth skin. “I’ll call Camilla, have her clean you up properly.”

While you two waited for Camilla, you lay beside the fireplace, Shane laying in your lap as you held a book, reading aloud to him and stroking gently through his hair.

“I was afraid to raise my eyelids, but looked out and saw perfectly under the lashes. The girl went on her knees, and bent over me, simply gloating. There was a deliberate voluptuousness which was both thrilling and repulsive, and as she arched her neck, she actually licked her lips like an animal.” You smiled, flicking the page and watching Shane’s eyes slide closed. “Lower and lower went her head as the lips went below the range of my mouth and chin and seemed about to fasten on my throat,” you read softly, urging Shane to sleep, to rest as you read.

Camille came in, carrying a tray of healing supplies. You gestured for her to leave them on the table, and she did, smiling at the sight of Shane in your lap before she ducked out of the room.

“My love?” You asked, laying the book down and grabbing the bandages. “My love, may I see your neck?”

Shane reflexively turned, showing you the side of his neck you’d fed from. You carefully dressed the wound, humming to yourself as you did so.

“I never got a question today,” Shane murmured, startling you.

“Oh.” You set down the roll of bandages, carding through Shane’s hair again. “What do you wish to ask today?”

Shane leaned into your hands, grinning slightly. “Can I be your boyfriend?” He asked softly. “In a strictly non-vampire way.”

You smiled, nodding. “Of course, my love,” you answered. “Of course.”

As Shane’s eyes fluttered shut once more, you picked up the book, determined to finish at least this chapter. With Shane in your embrace and the warmth of the fire surrounding you, you continued to read your newly christened boyfriend to sleep. “I closed my eyes in a languorous ecstasy and waited—waited with a beating heart.”

#NYPD Blue #shane 'dio' morrissey #dio morrissey #dio morrissey x reader #dio morrissey x you #Pedro Pascal #My writing #writer wednesday

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sunpopp · 3 years

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Warm to The Touch | {CCH}

→ Summary; it's not often that Chanhee gets sick, but when he does, he's a very big crybaby about it. That, or he really is in as much pain as he says he is—regardless that leaves you to take care of him, and funnily enough, it has its perks.

• WC/genre: 2K of smut + fluff

• Includes/cw: Chanhee being sick and reader taking care of him, no kissies on lips 😔, sub!Chanhee, gn!reader, fingering (m receiving), dick neglection (?), handjobs, brief praise, aftercare

Riding the bus wasn't your favorite thing to do, but it was soothing if you were in the right mood.

Sadly, you weren't. Mostly due to the fact that Chanhee was quite literally blowing up your phone with texts asking how much longer it'd take you to be off the train and on your way with his precious medicine, making you sigh and roll your eyes before shooting him a reply that you'd be there soon, but knowing nothing would calm him down until you were in front of him to prove it.

You can't help but smile.

Chanhee didn't complain much about anything, besides maybe you not helping him with washing the dishes or set the table while he made dinner, but everything else was, at most, a dirty look that softened relatively quickly. Sickness, though, was a whole other ballgame.

He would rant and rave about the tiniest of phantom pains, practically on the male equivalent of his period with the way his mood would get snappy and sour at the slightest inconveniences.

But maybe he really did just have a shit pain tolerance like he'd often hint at. Though it didn't stop you from still being baffled when he'd get a bad cramp in the middle of the night and whine about it until he'd fall asleep again.

Coming back to reality as you glance up to the bus's nearing destination, you stretch lazily and begin to stand, muscles aching from walking all day and back cracking loud enough for you to wonder if other people heard it. The bus slows to a stop before finally lurching against the sidewalk, and you take your leave through the opening doors with an appreciative thanks to the driver.

Almost immediately after you hop down from the steps, a layering of chilly wind washes harshly against your front and the familiar smell of petrichor into your nose, relentless rain droplets against your coat as you begin in a jog in the direction of your apartment. Chanhee must be freezing right now, you think, concern growing even heavier at the visible breaths of air you let out. If he's already got the sniffles, a sore throat, and headaches, he's probably getting worse considering you'd forgotten to turn the heater on before you left.

Stupid mistake.

It takes maybe a couple more minutes, less than it'd take if you were walking like normal, before you're finally at your door, punching in the code for the lock before shouldering it open and kicking off your shoes on the shoe rack. It's cold inside, you can tell by the way your cheeks still feel numb.

"Chanhee! I got your medicine!" Your words echo throughout the hall, spreading out when you keep calling his name as you move farther in; past the open kitchen and to the bedroom door opposite the bathroom.

When you come into the room, Chanhee is still in the bed where he was when you left, but this time, he's sat up, looking at you with hooded eyes and a thin sheen of sweat covering his face. He frowns, "It's about time. While I was here suffering, you were out with your friends. Unbelievable..," he pouts and shakes his head.

With a chuckle and now eased posture, you sit in front of him and set the bag of medicine beside you to check his temperature. He's extremely hot.

"Yeah, well, staying around you while you're sick is enough to drive me crazy so you can't really pin the blame on me for needing to leave. Plus, it's not like you tried to stop me, did you?" You smile at him, standing back up to go run him a lukewarm bath.

"I was asleep!"

"Your problem, not mine!"

___

"Alright, up you go."

"Ah, but my whole body hurts..."

"Too bad, you're sweating a bunch and you haven't done anything to clean yourself yet."

Another tug of Chanhee's hands, and he's stumbling into your arms with a raspy groan at the jerky movement. You pat his back, pecking his damp forehead, then drag him to the bathroom.

"Can you undress yourself or do you need my help with everything?" You half-joke.

"Don't be rude, it's actually hard for me to do a lot of things," Chanhee utters bitterly, but he does manage to pull his shirt over his head, albeit with your help, as well as his pants and boxers before stepping into the water.

"Or maybe you're just fragile as hell and the smallest things have you bedridden for a week."

"Oh my god I'm gonna-"

"Hush, princess, you won't do anything," you find yourself laughing as you lower yourself to your knees beside the tub, folding your arms on the side before resting your cheek atop them, "Just relax, okay? I know you're too tired to argue right now, so let yourself calm down for a couple."

He thankfully doesn't protest, and takes your advice for once; letting himself fall against the back of the bathtub and close his eyes, the sigh through his nose an indication that he's allowing himself to enjoy the water. He looks so peaceful like this. Doll-like eyelashes fluttering against smooth, heated cheeks, and head slowly lolling to face you.

You feel yourself reach out. You know it's happening, but you don't stop it when you run a hand through Chanhee's bangs, then swipe a thumb past his eyelid to trail to his nose, then lips.

He opens his eyes, but doesn't say anything, even if he probably finds it strange. He lets you touch him.

"You're very pretty," you mumble whilst pouring water onto his head using the wash bucket on the back surface of the bathtub. Drops trickle down into mini patterns on his face, and he drags a hand over it to clear them away.

"Even while sick?" He raises his eyebrows, pleasantly surprised at your answer.

You comb the water into his hair to wet it as you nod, "Even while sick."

Chanhee smiles, "So, how was your day out?"

"It was nice. Found a perfect place where I'd love to take you, actually."

"Oh? Where?"

"The bone zone-"

"Oh my god, you're so annoying!"

You erupt into a fit of laughter as Chanhee swats a hand at you, getting some of your shirt and arm wet where you shield yourself from his little attack. You pinch his cheek, flashing a toothy grin, "Oh, come on! That was a good one and you know it. Smooth as ever if I do say so myself."

"Yeah, and you're the only one saying so," He pouts, pulling away from your pinchy fingers and trying his best to hide the steadily growing smirk that threatens to break his face into a smile. Stubborn as always, you see.

"You can leave now," Chanhee gives you a pointed look.

"Alright, alright. I'll be in the bedroom awaiting any further commands, your highness," You shake your head, and make a grand display of leaving the room and him to his own privacy.

Chanhee doesn't take long in the bath anyway, so you knew you wouldn't have to wait long as you fall back against the bed, shifting around until you've made yourself comfortable against the strewn navy covers. You spare a glance out the window pressed against your side; still raining, and still bathed in a silver glow from the blanketing clouds. It'd make you kind of sad, if not melancholic, but you were in a good mood from coming home, so at the most, you were calm.

Calm, even when Chanhee emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam a half hour later, only wearing a pink striped button up pajama shirt and matching bottoms, hands raised above his head whilst he dries his hair with a small towel. He comes to a stop in front of you.

"There he is," you exclaim, looking up from your phone and patting the spot next to you with a mischievous glint in your eye, "C'mere."

"I wonder why I'm hesitating," he says, and you can practically feel the the sarcasm in his words.

"Because hot people make you nervous? Duh."

"Are you insinuating that you're hot?"

That's your queue.

Leaning forward, you grab Chanhee's wrist and tug him into your chest, causing him to stumble slightly, but you catch him and pull him flush against you. A flurry of kisses to his face, excluding his lips, ensue.

Chanhee squirms around in your arms and acts like he doesn't like the affection at first, but a few more seconds of the same treatment prove true to his soft side when he goes limp and begins to giggle at the ticklish feel of your butterfly pecks.

Oh, that giggle. How you loved to hear it; sweet and beautiful like the chime of the prettiest bell in your ears.

You pull him on top of you as you relax against the crevice where the mattress meets the wall, and rest your cheek on the top of his head, humming, "You saying that I'm not hot?"

"Yes."

"Damn."

"Kidding."

"No you weren't."

"Yes I was."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"You- Hush!" Chanhee covers your mouth finally and you chuckle against his palm at his feeble attempt to silence you.

You press a kiss to it instead of bickering further, causing him to soften. Just then, you realize something as you touch down his wrist.

"Woah, has your fever not died down at all? You're even starting to sweat a little bit again, too..."

Your suspicions prove true when a closer inspection at the ruddy skin flushed from his cheeks down to his chest and heavier-than-normal breathing indicates that he's still hot, or at least overheated.

"Here," you murmur, already shifting him on his back so you can easily unclasp the buttons of his shirt, "Are you in any pain or is it still just the sore throat?"

"The headache I had earlier is starting to come back. It's getting worse, but that's about it so don't worry, I'll be fine," Chanhee tries his hand at reassurance, you can tell, but it doesn't do anything to stop you from crawling over him to scurry into the kitchen.

"I'm getting you some water, hang on!" You call out from down the hall, making quick work of filling up a decently sized glass before you return to him with some painkillers as well. He barely manages to sit up when you reach him; his face scrunching at the obvious pain that's beginning to hit him tenfold as he gratefully takes the pills and throws his head back when he tosses them in his mouth, chasing them with the cold glass of water you provided.

"Ah, it's actually really starting to hurt...," Chanhee whimpers and at the sound, you slide back into the bed to pepper his face with pecks once again. He's grateful for the comfort, if the way he gently drapes his arm over your shoulder says anything.

"Oh, my poor baby," you coo lowly, feeling the goosebumps on his back that prickle at your tone, "Is there anything I can do to make it better? Did you already take your medicine?"

"Yeah.. still hurts.."

"I can tell," you snort and trail a finger down Chanhee's sternum, looping it back up to flick at one of his nipples. He jolts, and you can't help but give a cheeky smirk, "Even your nipples have taken on somewhat of a hue. I wonder what other places are doing the same thing...," your words would hold suggestion to even the most clueless of people, spoken through lips now slicked with saliva as you roll your tongue across the tinted flesh and lower your head for a taste of his exposed breast.

"Ah!" Chanhee gasps loudly and his fingers find purchase on the back of your head, his body trembling when he arches his chest up into your face, searching for more when his mouth fails to ask you such a favor.

Teasing his nipple with a gentle nip before pulling away to kiss it instead, you caress his narrow waist, "You said it hurts, no?"

"It does...," Chanhee pants and nods as fast as his throbbing head will allow him.

"Where does it hurt most, baby? Tell me," You wet your fingers with a quick swipe of your tongue then reach under his lower half to slide your hand into his shorts, Chanhee helping you by taking one leg out, and glide down the seam of his ass to tease his rim, "Here?"

"Y-yes..!" you chuckle when he huffs and flings both arms around your head, pulling you close into him and meeting your forehead as he grinds down against your digits.

"Awe, look at you..."

And look at him indeed; Chanhee is already a mess before you. Staring at you with those big watery doe eyes of his, and silently pleading for you to continue doing things to his body that has him feeling like bursting.

You give him exactly what he wants.

Pushing your finger into him, slowly due to how tight the fit is, you press sloppy kisses to the underside of his jaw. The reaction Chanhee gives is a familiar one, with sensual lips dropped open to let out a high-pitched moan and legs trembling as he holds them open for you, fighting to not shut his eyes upon feeling you enter him.

"Good," you drawl, tilting your wrist at an angle once your index and pinkie meet the backs of Chanhee's thighs and gently curling your fingers upwards, "Just like that, baby. Is this okay? Are you okay?" Your eyes search his face for discomfort, and though you don't find any, you still your movements.

He nods and nuzzles against the top of your head with his cheek, "Mm-hm. Keep going, please."

You start back up at his polite request, as much as you love hearing him ask for more of something, and begin to drag the pads of your fingers back and fourth alongside his walls until you feel the telltale firmness of his prostate, then start on massaging it.

"Ah!" He emits a short, melodical whine at the burst of sensation now seething within him. It drives him one step from crazy as he scrunches his face and unconsciously slaps at your shoulder in a sort of mid-euphoria result.

You huff out a half-laugh, sitting back on your knees so you can get a better view of what you're doing, "Good?"

Chanhee tries to use his words, but by the way you pin him down to the bed with a palm flat against his collarbone before speeding up your hand, he can only manage a broken sob. It's followed by another of the same needy type, but this time, it's louder and causes your stomach to all but flip at the sound. Chanhee throws his head back, thrashing this way and that to somewhat get away from the overwhelming feeling, but also pushing down against it at the same time; all the while your hand keeps him in place.

"I'll take that as a yes," you jest, mostly to yourself because Chanhee sure isn't listening, then bend down slightly to finally turn your focus to his weeping cock. It's full-blooded from being hard for so long, angry red at the tip and jumping every once in a while, especially when you open your mouth to lick a strip from the base to the head.

"P-please I can't! You're gonna make me cum!" Chanhee rushes to sit up, but you push him back down as soon as he tries. He looks absolutely horrified at being so close already.

"And what's the problem with that?"

"I-I just- I don't want to disappoint you."

"Oh, baby," You take your hand from his chest in favor of jerking him off, which he all but chokes at, "It doesn't disappoint me at all. I find it very hot, actually."

"Plea-ease..! Oh!" Chanhee wails one final time before he lets go all over your hand.

It covers your knuckles, dripping white down the side of your thumb as you keep stroking him to help him ride it out. The orgasm must've hit him hard, you think when you look up to see Chanhee shuddering in time with the aftershocks that zap his body every few seconds, eyes closed and skin dewy with a sheen of perspiration.

"Hey, come back to me. You alright? Does your head still hurt?"

He takes a moment to open his eyes, but when they roll open and find your face, he does something that catches you off-guard. He latches himself onto your front, straddling your lap, and rests his head over your shoulder with a sigh.

"Chanhee, hang on a bit, my hand's still dirty and I need to clean you up-"

"In a second. I'm tired."

"You still haven't answered my question."

"Mm, I don't feel like talking right now."

"... You are such a handful."

@vanillaknj @stealerhwa1

#sub tbz #sub tbz smut #sub the boyz smut #sub! the boyz #sub! the boyz smut #tbz smut #the boyz smut #dom!reader #sub!idol #gn!reader #idol smut #kpop smut #smut #chanhee smut #sub!chanhee #chanhee the boyz #the boyz chanhee

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